Acknowledgment: The author wishes to acknowledge Ms. J.K. Rowling as the creator of all things Harry Potter. This story is fan fiction written solely for the reading enjoyment of the fans of Harry Potter and of Ms. Rowling's original works.
Merit and Inheritance
Chapter Ten
A Negative First Impression
Harry popped out of bed the following morning, already thinking through his first few hours of work. By noon he would have his loan secured and be ready for closing on the new building, as soon as the seller and their representative were available. It might be possible to have it all wrapped by the weekend. Whoo!
Then Harry and Neville would have to get busy on the details of their partnership arrangement and transfer half to Neville. Harry had a genuine strategic interest in laying off some of the risk alongside deepening his alliance with Neville and the Longbottoms. Each of them had vulnerabilities of one kind or another and they'd be stronger facing the challenges of Magical Britain together than they would as lone wolves.
Harry was also anxious to get Neville cornered for a session of deep analysis of the Greengrass situation. He had the outline of a plan to extract Daphne and Astoria from their difficulties but the details were being dismayingly difficult to pin down. Harry thought Neville's familial ties and better understanding of magical life and culture would be critical to Harry's understanding.
"Kreacher?" Harry called out as he descended the stairs at #12 Grimmauld Place.
"Master? Are you ready for breakfast? Eggs any style, pancakes, porridge, fresh fruit, toast, fruit juice…"
Kreacher was always prepared for anything. Harry thought it was a shame he was so underutilized, working for just one occupant, but the obvious counter-argument always lay there in readiness—Kreacher's years with only the portrait of Walburga Black for company. Walburga didn't eat anything.
"Oh, thank-you, Kreacher, that's more than I could eat if I took all day. I think I'll stick with a bowl of porridge with a little skim milk, one slice of toast, a large orange juice and coffee this morning."
Kreacher took it well.
"Of course, Master," he said. "In the dining room?"
Harry often ate his breakfast at the long table in the kitchen, Daily Prophet propped up on the coffee carafe, ten minutes, start to finish. Then he thanked Kreacher for the delicious breakfast and headed for the door to see what the day would bring. Kreacher sometimes expressed mild disappointment in Harry. Kreacher's late mistress, Walburga Black, relished the life of an upper class magical Londoner, going out in daylight only to her little jewel of a garden at the rear of the townhouse, or an occasional garden party at one of her peers' homes. She took breakfast in bed and could linger over a bowl of fruit with yogurt and a slice of raisin bread toast for an hour or more, studying the Prophet for anything salacious and delivering pronouncements on whatever subject caught her attention.
Harry was interested in #12 Grimmauld Place only because it had been his godfather's home. He felt Sirius Black's presence in every room. If not for that he would move to a flat in one of his buildings. Then Kreacher would have literally nothing to do. Harry liked keeping the place in the best possible condition, as a tribute to Sirius. He hadn't been able to adopt the ways of the old upper-class gentleman wizards, working from home and summoning a house elf for everything from a sharpened quill to a glass of water spiked with a few drops of Pepper-up Potion. Harry did what he could to make it up to Kreacher, including letting Kreacher handle his beverage needs, apparating back and forth between #12 and Potter and Associates with carafes and trays of nibbles.
The goblins were accurate, as they almost always were. Harry entered Gringotts' front door a few minutes before ten and was ushered in to meet his loan officer on the hour. They went over the documents together. Harry asked about his plan to bring in a partner, making sure there were no prohibitions embedded that he hadn't noticed. This got him a mild display of approval from his goblin counterpart.
"Spreading risk and responsibility, Mr. Potter? Very good idea. Someone who shares your outlook on business?"
"Exactly," Harry said. "Our skills and interests are complementary, I believe, and our general approach is the same. Spot an opportunity, minimize risk, no getting rich quick, think in years and not months."
The loan officer studied Harry for several seconds.
"Was there anything else?" he asked.
Harry knew he'd been spotted, caught, dead to rights. He wondered what had given him away. At the same time he realized it would do no good to ask. That would be tantamount to requesting a briefing on all the goblins' trade secrets.
"Actually, since you ask," Harry began, moving on to a very general outline of a problem that a magical acquaintance had brought to his attention, his thoughts on extracting the acquaintance from the immediate threat to the individual, and, by extension, the family, and a proposal he thought merited consideration by Gringotts. Of course, if the goblins, who were much better business persons than he was, found a flaw in his thinking, he'd welcome their critique.
Harry was asked if he had anything pressing. He said he didn't and was shown to a small lounge and asked to wait. He waited. Then he waited a little longer. It was nearly an hour since he'd ended his conversation with the loan officer when a uniformed messenger approached him as he sat on the lumpy sofa in the lounge.
"Could you come with me, please, Mr. Potter?"
Harry stood. Coming up off the lumps, he had to let his buttocks and thighs adjust back to their natural forms before following the messenger out of the lounge and down a corridor. The occupants of the offices on both sides were clearly important. The paneling and carved doors became more lustrous as they walked. The messenger stopped before a door bearing a plaque that read, simply, "Director."
The messenger didn't knock or do anything that Harry recognized as announcing their presence. Rather they stood, then they stood some more. At some point a voice from the office said, "Come in." It didn't strike Harry as an invitation.
"Mr. Potter, please."
A goblin in a tailored Beau Brummel suit stood up from a substantial, high-backed chair behind a substantial wooden executive desk and made a waving motion to a guest chair. Harry saw his loan officer had been occupying the other guest chair.
"Coffee, tea, water, fruit juice, or a little taste of some goblin-made brandy?" asked the director. "My name is Ragnak, I don't think we've met, something I've been meaning to remedy, of course. Business."
Ragnak made a little backhand gesture in explanation.
Harry noticed the messenger stood waiting at the door. He made a show of checking his watch.
"Will we have something to memorialize with the brandy? And will your distinguished selves be free to join me?" Harry asked. "It is just barely late enough in the day."
Ragnak and the loan officer tried to suppress grins but weren't very successful.
"Three brandies," said Ragnak to the messenger, in English. "The small glasses. Anything else?"
"A little water to go with it," answered Harry. Ragnak nodded his approval.
"And three waters," he said.
"Now, Mr. Potter, to business," Ragnak said, sitting down. "Anvil has brought me a proposition. I find it very interesting. The bank, therefore, finds it interesting as well."
Ragnak asked a few questions, which Harry answered. Ragnak went over Harry's loans, acquisitions and repayment record in detail, literally line item by line item. Harry was sure Ragnak knew Harry's answers before Harry gave them. Due diligence complete, Ragnak leaned forward.
"There are aspects of Lord Greengrass' business affairs that have caused the bank concern," Ragnak began. "The bank would like to resolve the matter of the loan. The bank's exposure is not that great, although in the event of a collapse of his lordship's finances it would be impossible to make the bank whole. Not catastrophic for us, but certainly for the Greengrass family, and a loss is a loss. You are seeking to take on the Greengrass obligation. That's what your proposal amounts to."
At no time that morning had Harry spoken the name Greengrass. Those goblins.
"Exactly," Harry said. "I'm prepared to offer my investment properties as collateral. The most recent sales, what I paid, do not reflect the current value. They were derelict and deteriorating, now they are in perfect condition and paying their way, which they show every sign of doing for years and years to come."
"Anvil has put together quite a file on your holdings, Mr. Potter," Ragnak said. "I must admit I was not fully aware until this morning. Of course I knew you were working hard. Word does get around, you understand."
Ragnak looked down at the file folder before turning a few sheets over for a bit more study. He turned to Anvil and exchanged a few sentences in the goblin language. Anvil smiled, rose and nodded to Harry, then turned for the door.
"Mr. Potter," Ragnak said when they were alone. "This amounts to a coup targeting the head of a noble house."
"And a rescue mission for a noble family," Harry added.
"Point," said Ragnak. "Goblins, for all our aphorisms, 'Time is gold,' and such, are not one-dimensional. We experience empathy. We have compassion for others. We do believe time is gold, Merlin help us, but we get great satisfaction from turning our talents and energy to helping others. I am proud of our relationship with you, Mr. Potter. You have been using Gringotts' capital to improve our neighborhoods and provide decent housing for magical folk who need it, and you repay with interest. Is it your honest intent to help out a family in distress? Or is this another acquisition?"
Harry held Ragnak's gaze. He felt the goblin's intensity, his intent to plumb Harry's soul, if he could.
"Lord Greengrass, who undoubtedly has his good points, is in a pickle. He does not seem to be able to perceive a way out save an exchange of funds as part of a marriage contract. The old ways, of course. I believe this is a means to get the family's business into competent hands while saving everyone, not least Lord Greengrass, from the public humiliation that would attach to becoming bankrupt, which would surely happen as soon as he'd run through the ready cash he'd get for what amounts to the sale of his youngest daughter," said Harry. "In addition, if it is not too crass, may I observe I will be taking on the risk of the loan, thus relieving Gringotts of what must be a worrisome problem?"
A hidden door opened in the paneled wall behind Ragnak's desk and the messenger returned with a tray of drinks. At almost the same time Harry heard two knocks on the main door, which opened for Anvil's return.
"Anvil, take one of these," said Ragnak. "Mr. Potter has given us an occasion that must be recognized formally."
That Sunday afternoon, Harry outlined the Potter and Associates business news for Neville. They were sitting in the garden at Longbottom Manor. Hannah was on the verandah with Augusta, catching up on all the gossip she'd missed because she was busy at the pub, as well as passing on all the gossip she'd gotten at work that Augusta had missed because she didn't go to the Leaky Cauldron unless she was forced to pass through for some reason.
"You what?" exclaimed Neville.
"I bought the loan. I have the lien on Greengrass Manor," Harry said. "Don't worry, you're not part of that. I'm on my own on this one."
"What did you pay, if I may ask?" Neville demanded.
"That's really…" Harry meant to say none of his business, but it was Neville so he changed his mind.
"Oh, what the heck," he said. "Three hundred eighty-nine thousand."
"You threw it away," Neville huffed. "Cyrus is going to pay it back a hundred a month in perpetuity? There is no way the farmland makes the kind of money it would have to for you to pay it off."
"Maybe I don't want to pay it off," said Harry. "I can pay Gringotts, barring a meteorite hitting the Earth and wiping out us wizards. That's the important part of all this. The Greengrass family is out from under the threat of immediate catastrophe. Now we can engage on the other issues one at a time."
"We?" asked Neville, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.
"Daphne's pretty solid," said Harry. "She's got her feet on the ground. I don't get the impression her healing practice takes up all of her time, or all of her gray matter, either."
"Where does Daphne come in?"
"I can't tell you everything, can I?" Harry asked. "After all, we are raking through an affiliated family's personal finances, which is just short of re-enacting the raid on the Sabine women."
Neville loved an apt classical reference and broke out in a laugh.
"But…" Neville said.
"But, I think Daphne might like a project. Something for her spare time," said Harry. "I think she's got it in her. Why not give her a chance?"
Neville looked doubtful but he kept his own counsel, and they moved along to getting the partnership organized and registered so they could do business as an entity. Harry became the one asking probing questions, this time on the views of Hannah Abbott Longbottom. The last thing Harry wanted was the wrath of the mistress of the Leaky Cauldron coming down upon him. Besides, she was a fellow Diagon Alley business person, and he wanted to be on good terms with all of those.
Hannah was ambivalent at first, Neville told Harry, but after she'd slept on it a time or two, she became mildly supportive. Neville thought there were a small number of threads that made up Hannah's view. She knew the business in the pub side of the Leaky Cauldron was at maximum capacity. They literally had no room for more seating, so the ability to grow was stymied by the available space. She wanted to do more with the rooms upstairs, while being careful with the people. Several of them were near-destitute and literally had nowhere to go. Hannah saw it as a witchly duty to take responsibility for some of the magical widows and castoffs from her community who were old, debilitated or otherwise incapable of fending for themselves.
Hannah had great respect for Neville and Harry's shared history, resilience and their hard work in the post-war magical economy. She knew they had a greater tolerance for risk than she did, and that tolerance for risk was a valuable personality trait. Neville needed a larger canvas. Hannah decided to be grateful he had Harry Potter to work with as he developed his fully-adult place in the society and economy of post-war Magical Britain.
Harry proposed, and Neville accepted, a partnership plan based on a corporation registered in Douglas, Isle of Man. The corporation would be capitalized, initially, by Harry and Neville. Once they had permission to engage in trade, the corporation would buy Harry's new investment property and the mortgage for one peppercorn and other valuable consideration, taking over the collection of rents and payment of the mortgage. From then on the building ought to be self-financing. Harry thought there might be a need for some minimal administrative assistance and planned to pitch Neville on hiring Pansy, should the need actually emerge.
"Keep an eye open for someone who might want to occupy the ground floor," Harry noted. "I think that will be prime office space. A shop would work, too."
"Any thoughts on timing?" Neville asked.
"The goblins are working on setting up the closing," said Harry. "I'm hoping for Monday, Tuesday at the latest."
"Good," said Neville, slapping his hands on the tops of his thighs.
Harry was back at Grimmauld Place before he realized he had absolutely nothing left to do and it was several hours before he'd be able to sleep. He thought he'd like to take Daphne out, for coffee, or a coffee and a biscotti, along with some civilized conversation, but they hadn't exchanged floo addresses and he was sure she had moved since their few days of misadventure years before.
"Should've stayed at Madam Augusta's," Harry thought. "She has a hammock."
Monday morning arrived and Harry woke up rested and rejuvenated. He was very close to becoming the owner of another building which would lead to establishing a partnership with Neville Longbottom. That would give the two of them the opportunity to pool capital to fund larger enterprises than either could alone, as well as the ability to expand into wider fields. Harry had been building a portfolio of magical rental properties, which he assumed he could do more or less forever, but he would always be the owner of rental properties, whether he had one or one hundred. Number one hundred would not be likely to have anything at all interesting about it that he hadn't already seen ninety-eight or ninety-nine times.
Harry got to his office before eight, opened up and did a walk-through, just in case, and spread on his desk the files he'd brought with him. His priorities for the day were to close on his building, if the goblins had been successful in setting up the meeting, then take Kreacher, Mort and Daisy by to discuss maintenance and renovation. He needed to talk to Daphne, and scolded himself again for not getting current contact information. Harry hoped Pansy would have some ideas.
Time was critical, if they were to keep Cyrus from doing something stupid that ended with Astoria betrothed to a man who had already offered her sister an arrangement. Merlin! Harry wasn't sure exactly how they'd do it, but they had to get control of the Greengrass finances so they could see what was there to work with, put the elders on an allowance, use whatever they had left over to start paying down debt, and get Astoria betrothed to Draco Malfoy, if that was really what they both wanted. That would be the only way to be certain of ending Cyrus Greengrass' thoughtless trampling through the lives of his nearest and dearest.
The street door opened triggering the bell spell.
"Harry!" someone shouted from the foyer.
"Pansy!" Harry shouted back.
"Look at this!" Pansy said as she literally bounced into Harry's office. She was waving a small piece of note parchment which she tossed across the desk when she got close enough.
"Morag," she explained.
"Succinct," said Harry, nodding in approval. "Anything else?"
Pansy picked up the note.
"I know that you know how to read," she announced.
Harry nodded.
"Potter!" she said. "Read it! It concerns you!"
"Oh, well, then, why didn't you say so?" Harry asked. He held out his hand, thumb and fingers slightly spread, and drew the parchment to him, making it do a couple of barrel rolls on the way. Bowing to convention, Harry held the corner of the note parchment between his thumb and forefinger and began to read aloud:
"Pansy,
"I want you and Harry to know that Mother has been talking about your visit constantly, whenever she is awake. She isn't improving, physically, but her spirits haven't been higher since she suffered her stroke. I've had to promise a return visit, so far 'soon' has been sufficient, but I don't know how long that will continue.
If you find yourselves with another excess baguette, please bring it along. I will make us a cauldron of soup to go with it!
Regards,
Morag"
"Well, that seems to say you did a good deed last week, Pansy," Harry said. "How does that make you feel?"
"Wonderful, of course," Pansy said. "When should we go back?"
"Why, as soon as possible," said Harry. "Let's reconcile calendars today and look for a date."
They both looked toward the foyer at the sound of the bell spell.
"Mr. Potter?" someone said.
"Come in," Harry said. He motioned to his left with his eyes and Pansy sidestepped once, twice. She noticed Harry's thumb and first two fingers disappear into his sleeve.
"You are Harry Potter?" asked the man.
He was well-built, close to six feet tall, with a blond crew cut that stood straight up from his scalp, and blue eyes. He wore a tweed jacket, white shirt, and black trousers. His shoes were the only odd part about his streetwear—a pair of leather boots with heavy lug soles. Harry recognized them as Italian, the kind hiking enthusiasts, muggles and magicals alike, wore to trek around the mountain ranges of Europe. There weren't a lot of mountains in magical London, so far as Harry knew.
"Sir," said Harry, nodding once, not taking his eyes from the man's center of mass. "Yourself?"
"Dieter Berg," said the man, bringing his heels together and dropping his head.
"Would you like to come in, Mr. Berg? Can we get you coffee, tea, water? Juice?" Harry asked.
Dieter Berg stood still, just the other side of the threshold. He seemed to be debating coming inside. Before he moved he let his eyes go up one side of the doorframe, across the top and down the other side. Finally, he moved, walking across the office. Harry stood up, still seeming to fiddle with his left shirt cuff with his right hand, until Berg extended his. Harry took it.
"Delighted, please sit down," Harry said.
"What's your pleasure?" Harry asked.
"Just water, if you please," said Berg.
Harry summoned Kreacher, asked for a coffee for himself and water for his guest. Pansy shook her head 'No.' Harry made a little motion, just moving his fingertips, and Pansy glided out the door.
"What brings you to London, Mr. Berg?" Harry asked. "I'm sorry, I know just enough Italian to pick up a little accent, and your English is excellent."
"My mother would be very happy to hear you say so," Berg said with a smile. "She insisted we work at our languages. I grew up bilingual, Romansh and Italian. Our world is so tiny, we have to be able to communicate with neighbors. I managed German, French and English. Not bad for one of the slower members of the family."
"I'm sure that's not true at all, Mr. Berg," Harry said. Kreacher arrived with the water and the coffee. Those sorted, Harry continued.
"Italian and Romansh—do you differentiate between them as to a first language?"
"Yes, we're in a tiny, isolated pocket of Romansh. A few miles one direction, you'll need standard Italian. A few the other, you'll need German. We descended from Roman colonists who arrived sometime in the last century before the calendar was changed, according to the scholars. Demobilized legionaries, wives, children, et cetera," said Berg. "Perhaps an augur or two? A soothsayer, here and there?"
"Fascinating," said Harry. "Romansh, so you're Swiss? Austrian? Italian?"
"I carry a Swiss passport," said Berg. "Have you visited our part of the world?"
"Just once," Harry said. "A very short pleasure trip. Getaway, you know? I've always wanted to go back and stay longer. So, what can I do for you?"
"I'm looking for someone," said Berg. "You might know them. A distant relative of mine, English, educated. Her name is Romilda Berg, although before her marriage she was known as Romilda Vane. I need to contact her. It's a family matter. I hope you don't mind, but I'm not at liberty to divulge more."
Harry knew very little about Romilda, other than Pansy's fragmentary report from a few days before. He was quick enough to judge Dieter Berg did not have Romilda's best interests foremost in his mind. Something about the man's attitude, posture, accent, or all together, already irritated Harry. He'd be damned before he'd give Dieter Berg one piece of information that might help him locate Romilda Vane.
"Oh, Mr. Berg, that is a name from my past. I haven't thought of Romilda for quite some time. She was at Hogwarts School, years and years ago. Not in my class. I was, you could say, stressed, during my school days. What memories I have…"
Harry let the sentence drift off. He allowed himself a moment of reverie.
"What do you wish to do, Mr. Berg?"
"Offer her a return to her rightful place in the Berg family," said Berg. Harry did not like the way he said it.
"Admirable," said Harry. "My own family, the war, and all…"
He stood, walked around the desk and extended his hand.
"If you'd like…" Harry took a business card from a holder on his desk blotter.
"Harry Potter," it said.
"The Lane (nr. Diagon Alley)"
"London"
"If you wish to send something by owl, just," Harry said, making a little, waving gesture toward his address.
Dieter Berg accepted the card, nodding once again as he brought his heels together.
"Thank-you for the hospitality, signur Potter."
"Best of luck, sir," said Harry as he led the way to the door.
Harry stood back and watched Dieter Berg until he disapparated some yards down the lane from Potter and Associates' front door. Pansy opened the door to her office and stepped out while Harry was occupied.
"What do you think?" Harry asked.
"Bad business," said Pansy. "You?"
"Oh, I definitely agree with you there," said Harry. "Dieter Berg, Romansh-speaker from a tiny pocket that isn't anything particularly, carries a Swiss passport but perhaps pointedly did NOT say he was Swiss, comes all this way to offer Romilda her rightful place in the family. Besides, he creeped me out. Always go with your feeling if some wizard creeps you out, you can't go wrong."
"I have to start writing these down," said Pansy. "I sense a steady position on the best-seller lists: 'The Wisdom of Harry Potter.' You know, for graduation, bridal shower gifts, that sort of thing."
Harry didn't know whether he should take her seriously or not.
"What do you want to do?" Pansy asked.
"Not call attention to Romilda, first of all," said Harry. "Did you get it all?"
Harry knew Pansy could follow anything happening anywhere in the office as she was very good with some simple eavesdropping charms.
"Definitely," Pansy said. "We don't have anything. A vague reference. I don't know if a skilled Legilimens could do anything with that."
"Oh, I rather think they could," Harry said. "Did you feel our friend Dieter probing? I didn't."
"That would be a very high level of skill, if he could get in and out without detection," said Pansy. "That's not to say it can't be done."
"It definitely can be done, but the number of wizards who can do it is very small," said Harry. "Besides, if Dieter is one of them, why would he tip his hand by stopping to see us? If the trail was a good one and it led to London, all a wizard with that level of competence would need to do, would be to circulate a bit and listen."
"How'd he just happen to come across the office? Know of an association with Romilda, slight as it was?" Harry asked.
"Putting two and two together," Pansy began, "What if the Bergs are fanned out, checking the places they know for sure figure in Romilda's past? Initial stages of their investigation? Standard technique, according to all the police procedurals. 'My partner and I went to the old neighborhood, knocking on doors, asking if anyone had seen the suspect recently.' I've been craving a shot of that mead Madam Rosmerta keeps underneath the bar. I remember it from my wild days. Throw it back and it makes a miscreant feel good about herself. Take it a sip at a time and it can lead to real insight. Of course, one must remember to stop in time if one wants to have the memory of the insight when one wakes up."
Harry looked at Pansy. She looked back. He raised one eyebrow.
"Yes, I'm sure," Pansy said. "Pretty. Sure."
"Playing with fire, Pansy," said Harry.
"One," said Pansy. "Strictly for research purposes. I'll tell Rosmerta you're to be informed immediately if I ask for another. Then you can come and drag me home. It's not as if you've had to do that recently."