New Vistas
Iere would always look back on her initial meeting with Harry, her first business advisor, as the launch of her business career.
Harry's simple organization, putting each matter into one of three categories, became Iere's template for watching over and nurturing her affairs. Assets went in one box. Income in another. Obligations in a third.
Iere's most significant asset was Nott Hall. Even though the house was unfit for habitation, the lands of the estate were productive. Some was rented outright, some was farmed on a share basis. Both arrangements were profitable and brought in enough to pay Iere's taxes. Taxes were the major part of Iere's obligations. She did not have employees so she didn't need to make a payroll every Friday.
As a non-user of magic, Iere was freed from the primary occupation of her magical contemporaries—learning to cast spells, brew potions and defend herself against practitioners of the Dark Arts. She used the extra time wisely, reading basic accounting books as well as several business papers and magazines.
James enjoyed getting Iere's letters. He was immersed in quidditch and magical subjects. He kept an eye on Albus and Scorpius but they didn't really require significant mentoring. Getting the news from Owl Cottage was an agreeable diversion. Iere was always reporting on a new activity. She might write that she had saved some antique she would forward to the conservators. Elves and goblins were working on stabilizing the ruins of the old main house. The orangery was filled with the blooms of this or that plant.
Iere followed Harry's example and registered a little corporation to do business on her behalf. The LLC hired a magical architectural firm to survey Nott Hall and develop a plan for repairs. The report recommended demolition down to the level of the foundation sill. Saving what still stood would be more expensive than going down lower and beginning again. Taking the new construction option would also make it easier to build according to the latest codes. Iere approved and work commenced. She was sensitive to the gap between the scope of her work and James' so she respectfully limited her reporting on Nott Hall.
Iere had dinner with Astoria and Draco one evening and happened to mention an idea she'd had for a clothing line for young witches.
"They're always wearing jeans or slacks and polos in those photos in Witch Weekly," said Iere.
"I still do," said Astoria. "What would you have people wear? Professor McGonagall's tartan cape? Widow's weeds?"
Draco stopped eating and looked at Astoria.
"No, I was just thinking, witches might want that kind of thing, only with a more magical look. Muggle greens don't make me think of Slytherin. What about an emerald green polo with a band of silver on the collar and around the trim on the arms? What about a line of polos, with color combinations based on the Hogwarts houses' colors?"
"There is a little storefront close to me," said Draco. "Want me to see if it's available? Short-term, just for a pop-up? You could order some shirts, put up some shelves and see how they sell."
Thus began Iere's first independent venture as a merchant.
"They sell when people come in," Iere reported to Astoria. "I think we need to do something to get more traffic."
Astoria promised to think of something.
"James," Astoria wrote, "I'm trying to think of the name of that Slytherin seeker who plays for the Harpies…"
"Putney," James wrote back. "Don't worry about a first name, she likes to be called Putney."
Astoria contacted Ginny Weasley and asked for the name of Putney's agent, who she would like to offer an opportunity for consideration.
Astoria and Iere met Putney, who didn't have an agent for her interests outside of quidditch, and made an offer.
"Take your pick," Iere said. "Just tell people where you got them. Do you play with any Gryffindor old girls?"
Before the end of the month, Iere placed a second order for standard polos in house colors, signed a lease on the little storefront and found a specialty manufacturer for a line of color-coordinated silk scarves.
Iere named her boutique WHOOSH, for the sound the green flames make when they go up the floo. Astoria handled staffing, recruiting a few recent Hogwarts alumnae for customer service and an elf to handle keeping the shelves stocked and the space tidy. A magical advertising and design firm built a promotion around Putney doing things other than playing quidditch, wearing items available exclusively through WHOOSH.
"What have you learned?" Harry asked over ice cream at Fortescues.
Lily spooned chocolate sundae while keeping her eyes on Iere, absorbing every word.
"Work out supply in advance," said Iere. "We were out of stock in Gryffindor and Slytherin so we missed some sales. I now have employees. I have to be sure I can make my weekly payroll."
"Good," said Harry. "How is the space?"
"We'd like more, of course," said Iere.
"What kind of sales volume would you need to justify the expense?" Harry asked.
Iere sat, thinking.
"Good question," she said. Iere grasped the basic idea right away. The rent on her space could be expressed in a simple formula, sickels per square foot. The sales of merchandise over a given period, day, week, month and year, justified a rental of a certain amount of square feet.
"Ever hear of the Law of Diminishing Returns?" Harry asked.
"Not until now," said Iere. "I do see the point. More resources will pay back less and less if investment overtakes the capacity of the business to support it."
"Well said," Harry nodded.
Lily took a bit of chocolate sundae from her spoon. She thought Iere must be the smartest person on Earth, possibly after her dad, Harry Potter.
End of term arrived, students returned to their homes, Albus and James spent their days playing football and doing football conditioning drills. James feigned patience as the time for delivery of Hogwarts letters approached. He wasn't immune to the speculation that he would be a strong candidate for Slytherin quidditch captain. James believed he could do a good job. He gauged his performance against the other beaters and thought he was as good as anyone he played against. By extension…
Inside the owl post, instead of a quidditch captain's pin, James found a personal note folded in the letter with his classes and book list.
"James," wrote Professor Slughorn.
"This will no doubt be a disappointment but I decided, after much consideration, to appoint Astarte Pennyfarthing to be Slytherin's quidditch captain. She will be returning as keeper, has game experience equivalent to yours and equally strong interpersonal skills. I hope to see you back as one of our beaters in the fall. I know Ms. Pennyfarthing is counting on your support.
Regards,
Horace Slughorn."
Harry handed the letter back to James.
"One of life's disappointments," he said. "Would you say a minor one, considering our history?"
"Oh, yeah, of course," said a suddenly-mirthful James. "It would have made next year a lot more interesting, though."
"What do you think, are you leaning toward football?" asked Harry. "Still energetic enough to keep playing both?"
"I like both. Thing is, next year I might have to make a decision," James replied.
Harry understood. If James was offered a place in one of the elite programs he would have to commit exclusively to football. Academics and any other interests would be put aside until he was well-established in his career. Long-range planning was necessary while simultaneously holding the thought that a single bad break could mean instant retirement.
"They don't have magical studies at the academies," James began.
Harry held up his hand.
"How do you know this?" he asked.
James smiled.
"I've done some reading," he said. "To finish my thought…"
Harry nodded, silently.
"Fifth year finishes with OWLS, so it might be best to cut out everything, next term, but academics and concentrate so I get the best possible scores. That would be the end of my magical education, if…"
"If you went to an academy," Harry finished.
"Who's going to an academy?" demanded Albus who had just entered the living room.
"Oh, no one, yet," said James. "I'm not going to be quidditch captain next term. That made me think about the future. I could get in. I think I'm good enough, and big enough. If it happened it would be next summer. I wouldn't go back to Hogwarts for sixth year so I'd have to get the best possible scores on my OWLS. It might be best to drop quidditch…"
"NO WAY!" shouted Albus. "You can't quit. I'd have to quit. The rest of them would never stop pestering me."
Albus had yet to make the starting squad but he had been a Slytherin sub for two years, at beater and chaser, and had played in a number of games. James thought Albus did have a valid point. The quidditch Slytherins could be a tough crowd. They were hard to please in the best of times. Merlin forbid they fix on someone for special treatment.
"I have the rest of the summer to decide," James assured his brother. "Don't get upset with me in advance."
James wasn't exceedingly difficult that summer. For a young man caught in a life-altering dilemma he kept the disruption at minimal levels. There wasn't any acting-out of the blowing up and stomping out of the room variety. He did go about with a stern look and a stiff neck.
One July day at Owl Cottage, during a post-picnic stroll, Iere maneuvered James away from the others and was inspired to speak up.
"Loosen up, please, James, you're making everyone tense, just by being around you," she muttered.
"Sorry. I've got a lot on my mind," James replied.
Iere knew about James' problem from owl post correspondence. She also knew because Albus knew which meant Scorpius knew and Scorpius didn't have any obligation of confidentiality so they'd gone over and over James' existential question.
"I know, but you don't have to worry it to death," she said. "You have your choice of two sports to pursue. Most people don't get one."
"True," said James. "I should be so lucky."
"Do you want someone else to make your decision for you? Is it too hard? How about this: Play quidditch," said Iere.
"It isn't that simple," James protested. "I could get hurt playing quidditch and be done with football."
"Could you play professional quidditch?" asked Iere.
"Potentially, but I could make a lot more money from football," James semi-answered.
"Said the man who'll never have to worry about money," said Iere.
James nearly stopped walking. Iere's comment was very nearly tactile, an open palm to his forehead. Did Iere say 'Duh?' James didn't think so. It felt like it but he couldn't remember actually hearing the word. He took a few more steps, letting the reality of Iere's observation sink in.
"Oh, I'll play," James sighed. "Pennyfarthing will be a good captain."
"You should send her a note and tell her that," said Iere. "It might mean a lot to her, right now, knowing she has your support."
"What would I say?" James asked.
"What you just said to me," Iere said, very matter-of-fact, as if it were too obvious to merit additional comment.
James walked along, looking down at the lane, hands behind his back. Iere sensed James' muddied emotional state. He had made one momentous decision only to discover himself encountering a second conundrum. Iere decided it was time to let her inner, nurturer self step forward. She extended her arm and touched James' back with her fingertips.
"I'll help," she said, moving her fingers up and down. "I'll be your graciousness editor."
This brought a response, half-laugh, half-snort. James turned his head, unclasped his hands and found Iere's wrist, which he followed to her hand.
"Thanks," James said, smiling.
Iere did consult with James on his note. Astarte Pennyfarthing wrote back immediately. She thanked James for his expression of support. She thanked him for committing to quidditch for another term. Something in Pennyfarthing's words seemed to say she was worried James would lose interest if faced with another season as an ordinary player.
"She really wants you back," said Iere when James let her read Ms. Pennyfarthing's letter. "I believe she was concerned."
Iere kept her hand flat on the parchment.
"She is counting on you, James."
"She needs more than me," James replied.
"I know," Iere said with just a hint of sputter. "I understand team sports. A chain is as strong as its weakest link. If she has you, that leaves five positions to worry about."
"Hmm," James said.
For a non-athlete, non-sports fan, Iere had somehow picked up an understanding of some basic principles.
"Mr. Potter," Iere began.
It was the middle of August and Hogwarts students would be returning to school, quidditch, potions and DADA in just two more weeks.
"Harry," said Harry. "How can I help you?"
Iere had gotten Harry off to the side at Jasper Farm, just distant enough from the main body of the gathering to enable a private conversation.
"I would like to invite James to Nott Hall, so he can see what has been done," Iere said. "It's becoming a bit impressive."
"You're underrating yourself and your achievements," Harry said. "It's already impressive. I don't know what we'll call it when you're done."
Iere blushed, then cleared her throat.
"I can't take him because I can't apparate and he isn't qualified, yet," she said. "The hearths haven't been connected to the floos. That will come sometime before the first of the year, or so I've been told."
"So James needs travel arrangements?" Harry asked.
"Something like that," said Iere. "I also wondered if you would like to bring the family? You can all get a tour. The orangery is worth a trip."
"You'll get yourself over there?" Harry asked.
"Don't worry about me," Iere replied. "I'll put Scorpius on it."
They agreed, in principle, working the details during the week. The field trip and garden tour was set for Saturday, one week before James and Albus would leave for Hogwarts, commencing at eleven a.m.
Harry didn't know what to think about Iere's work on her Nott Hall project. She spoke seriously about Nott history, good and bad, and stated several times in Harry's presence that she felt called to turn the page and begin writing a new, honorable chapter. She was literally tending to her business as well. She stayed on top of her accounts and funded the restoration out of income, rarely dipping into the vault for anything but the largest, capital-intensive projects.
Astoria, Scorpius and Iere were waiting at the end of the tree-lined lane when Harry apparated in with the Potters.
"Wow," said James and Albus, together, when they'd regained their balance. Even under construction, Nott Hall made an impression.
"All set?" asked Iere.
She turned without waiting for an answer and walked toward the new Nott Hall. Harry looked at Astoria. Both of them had heard, from Draco, how and exactly where he had come upon Iere as she knelt on the ground, holding Daphne's obsidian head. Astoria held Harry's gaze, giving just the tiniest shake: "No."
Harry understood.
Not here. Not now.
"So this, as you can see, is the front entrance just ahead," said the tour guide Iere. "If the weather is favorable, guests might be asked to arrive via this lovely stroll up the lane here to the front of the house. You can see we've designed the entrance around the double doors. I envision people coming up, right in through this entrance, on inside, down the hall and outside again to the gardens."
The structure was off limits. A goblin construction supervisor met the party on the front steps and explained that, as an active construction site, only the goblins and elves actually working on the building could be in the operational areas. Iere knew that, of course, and had a request ready, that the goblin accompany her guests on a tour of the exterior since he would know the best places on the outside that provided a view of the inside.
The tour was very informative and Iere's little party proceeded to the orangery. Iere had laid on an additional surprise, a luncheon catered through the good offices of Sue, the house elf of Owl Cottage, late of Nott Hall. Iere and Sue had delivered lunch to the construction crew once or twice a month since the beginning of the work, but the tour group was Sue's first event at her old home since the terrible day when Llewellyn Nott went berserk and murdered Daphne and his own parents.
"Incredible, Sue," said Astoria as she spread a soft cheese with tomato and basil on a slice of bread.
Sue swelled up, blushing.
"Sue has been a big help with the construction," said Iere. "She seems to have the whole historical record of Nott Hall, right there inside her head."
"Miss Iere is too kind," said the elf. "The builders had a question that Sue could answer."
Iere looked at her and smiled.
"Sue will be back here when we start using the new Nott Hall," said Iere. "Her bonds are as strong as ever. All of the family magic will be restored."
"NOT ALL! NOT ALL!" Sue protested.
Iere held back a laugh.
"No, not all," Iere said. "Sue told me about some objectionable bits and we have agreed we'll not be bringing those back."
The afternoon wound down. Harry took his brood back home.
"Early night, men, and young lady," Harry said. "Everyone's tired and you both have games tomorrow."
James negotiated a cup of tea with lemon and honey from Bennie and tracked Harry down in the living room.
"What did you think of Nott Hall?" James asked.
"Very impressive," Harry replied. "Did you like it?"
"I don't know," said James. "I'm not used to those kinds of houses. I know about them. I've seen them. People I know live in them. They seem like a lot of unnecessary trouble, for a house."
"I agree. We can live wherever we want. I choose to live here," said Harry. "Want something different? I can put Potter Manor in shape for you. It's all there. The crew does necessary maintenance. They keep the water and sparrows out and paint the trim every five years or so."
James started to laugh.
"I'm sorry Dad, but it's like a barn," he said.
"You like Owl Cottage better, I think?" suggested Harry.
"Of course!" James exclaimed without thinking. "That is, after here, and the Burrow and Jasper Farm is nice."
His voice trailed off.
"James, it's fine," Harry assured him. "You don't have to dance around. Iere is a sharp young woman. It's clear she has a first-rate mind. I haven't heard of anyone who was handed the mixed bag of circumstances that she was. She is doing very well, getting her life together after Daphne…"
Harry stopped talking. His drew a breath, which rasped in his throat.
"After Daphne died."
Harry took another moment.
"Even with Astoria to look after her, no one could have predicted Iere would do her grieving then just get on with it. We all look up to her. I'm not exaggerating," Harry finished.
"I think I'll always like Owl Cottage," said James.
"Memories and associations mean a lot," said Harry. "I can't sit with Slytherin if there are crimson robes aloft. Sure you don't want to take an interest in Potter Manor? It would be a good project for you. The portraits of your ancestors would like to see more of you, I'd bet."
James prefaced his reply with a little snort.
"I might, after things settle down a bit. We really ought to take care of the things people leave us."
Harry and James looked around the little living room. Harry liked his modest suburban house. He liked life in the suburbs. It was his equivalent of Owl Cottage. He'd lived there with the Potter children, putting their family unit back together after Ginny moved out. He considered their situation, in light of what he had just seen a magical/non-magical teen doing with a manor that had fallen into her possession by a tragic accident. Iere was putting her best effort into a chore that she had not sought and probably did not want. She might not even know, at this point, why she was doing it. What was Harry doing? For himself? For the Potters? For Magical Britain?