Merit and Inheritance
Chapter Thirteen
Two Witches' Tales
Everyone's eyes were on Daphne as she began her story. Harry's tea had cooled, but it was delicious all the same, so he leaned back to enjoy it.
"Laurent sent me an owl last week," Daphne began. "His note said as long as we were going to become in-laws, he would like to get to know the other members of Astoria's family, which he was so much looking forward to joining. Laurent suggested conversation over lunch, split the tab. Strictly getting-to-know-you."
"Right, that sounds legitimate. We met in London. I suggested the Leaky Cauldron, because it's convenient, but Laurent objected. Too common. Too crowded on weekdays at lunch time. He suggested a surprise, which he said I'd like. He took me to Penzance. There is a magical pub, a side room attached to one of the old historical places, just for wizards and witches. It was a bit further than I wanted to be from London, just for lunch, but it is one of my favorite places in the whole world so we went in and sat down. Over lunch, separate tabs, Laurent Selwyn advised me he would not be interested in Astoria for very long, that I am much more to his taste, and he suggested what he called an 'arrangement' with me. He'd be married to Astoria, but he and I would meet regularly for sex. That way we both get what we really want. No strings, of course. He seemed genuinely puzzled that I was not enthusiastic."
"No, Daphne, no," said Cyrus. "There has to be some mistake! You could not have been having lunch with the Laurent Selwyn we're talking about. What did he look like?"
"Teeth like a toothpaste advertisement, gelled-up brown hair, blue blazer and a tieless white shirt. Looked as if it was tailored. It fit like a uniform," said Harry. He couldn't resist adding: "In a magical pub."
"Harry and I had been there just the night before," Daphne went on. "We had pasties. Harry woke up craving the fish and chips, so he treated himself to lunch in Penzance. How could you resist taking Laurent out back for a good session of fisticuffs, Harry?"
"It was hard," Harry admitted.
Cordelia, who had been keeping her thoughts to herself, chose then to speak up.
"I knew Laurent Selwyn had a reputation but that takes the cake," she said. "He's out. I don't want to see him within one hundred feet of either of my girls again. Ever."
"Cordelia, please listen…" Cyrus managed.
"He's out, Cyrus, done," said Cordelia. Her voice steady and even, Cordelia Greengrass had abandoned her tippler guise and was dictating, not negotiating. "We will work our way through this pinch. Tighten our belts. Daphne will come up with the most generous allowance she thinks is reasonable and we will not spend one knut more. There will be no need to get involved with dowries now, so we'll schedule a luncheon with Lucius and Narcissa and initiate a conversation. We'll terminate our talks with the Selwyns tomorrow and I'll owl Narcissa. Understood?"
Cyrus couldn't speak, but he did nod, finally.
"You'd better start composing your message to the Selwyns, Cyrus," Cordelia said. "See if you can put this to rest without getting yourself into a duel."
"Would you check on Astoria, Daphne?" Cordelia asked. "She was napping. She needs to get up or she won't sleep tonight at all. Then she's a crank all day tomorrow. She might need to be at her best, depending on how things progress."
"And I will ask your kind permission, Lord Greengrass, Lady Greengrass," Harry said as he stood. He nodded to Daphne, who reached for his hand and held it tight for a moment before turning toward the door.
"I'll see you out, Harry," said Cordelia, rising. They left Cyrus alone in the study. Cordelia closed the door and drew her wand, which she gave a little wiggle between Harry and herself.
"Nobody's business but ours, Harry," she said. "Thank you for doing this. I knew things weren't going well for Cyrus, of course. All the scrambling, paying at the last possible moment, the obvious lies about the accounts. Do you think that you and Daphne can get to the bottom of it all?"
"Oh, if Mr. Greengrass cooperates, sure," said Harry. "It's no more complicated than addition and subtraction. Is there enough income to spread around and beat back the tide? There ought to be, with a holiday on the mortgage repayment. I'll do the best I can. If we can just stabilize things it should all work out."
"Thank Merlin," said Cordelia. "You're really extending yourself, for a school friend. Is there anything I need to know? Just so I don't trip over my tongue in conversation?"
Harry thought Cordelia's way of keeping a delicate question neutral in tone hilarious. It was prying, but ordinary concerned mother prying, and Cordelia managed to pry without sounding like it.
"We're of one mind on something, Mrs. Greengrass, Daphne and myself—business first, personal later," Harry said, adding, "She's smart, level-headed, accomplished. She's beautiful, I'd say. You never know."
Harry and Cordelia were back on the front steps.
"Just get past that chunk of rock that pops up there, Harry, and you're outside the wards," said Cordelia. "I assume you're going by apparition."
"Yes, and thank-you for the hospitality. We'll do it again soon, no finances, just fun," Harry said.
"Merlin willing," said Cordelia, adding, "You have my thanks, Harry."
Harry was walking out to the rock that marked the extent of the wards when he remembered Pansy's expedition to Hogsmeade, and Harry's intention to check up on her. The time for checking was well past.
"Damn," Harry said aloud, slapping his own forehead. He reached the end of his walk, visualized the square in front of the Three Broomsticks, and disapparated.
"Harry Potter!" exclaimed Rosmerta when he walked into the pub. "Come for Pansy?"
"How'd you guess?" Harry asked. "Is she alright?"
"Fine, as far as I know," said Rosmerta. "We had tea, she told me about Romilda and her in-laws, then she went out and did the circuit here in Hogsmeade. One more cup of tea and she left for London. She said you might be coming by. How about a butterbeer? Firewhisky?"
"Butterbeer sounds good," said Harry. "Do you have a minute?"
Rosmerta looked around. She had a fairly good crowd.
"It'll have to be a minute, I'm afraid," she said.
"On the topic of Romilda, her in-laws are definitely here looking for her," said Harry. "They aren't fooling around. If anyone comes in and leans on you, don't hesitate to get help. Whatever the disagreement is about, it appears to have become an honor thing."
"Who are they, anyway?" asked Rosmerta. "Pansy said the name is Berg?"
"They're from some high valley around the Swiss-Italian border, and they're Romansh speakers, and they seem to think Romilda owes it to them to come back. Romilda, obviously, doesn't see it that way," Harry said. "That's all I know."
"Got it," said Rosmerta. "How'd Romilda get involved with something so, what's the word I want—esoteric?"
"Sold, plain and simple, is my understanding," said Harry. "Although I haven't spoken to her directly."
He finished his butterbeer, thanked Rosmerta, promised not to wait so long next time and took the floo back to the Leaky Cauldron. From there he walked across Diagon Alley to the mews, and the offices of Potter and Associates.
"Harry?"
"Pansy? Are you hanging around?" Harry asked.
Pansy walked out into the foyer, a pile of note parchment in her hand. She looked down and began reading off the principals' names.
"Neville Longbottom," she read, peeling off a parchment and handing it to Harry. She went on through the notes, odd bits of business that he needed to know about. Pansy got to the last note.
"Romilda Vane," she said, holding up the parchment. "Requests an appointment."
"Merlin," said Harry. "What. A. Day."
"Well, you like helping people, so perhaps she came to the right place," Pansy said. "Can you see her?"
"She's here?" Harry asked.
"Uh-huh. We've just been sitting around talking. She's in my office."
Harry shrugged. "Why not?" he said.
"Romilda, did you want to see Harry?" Pansy called out.
Romilda Berg, nee Vane, stepped out of Pansy's office into the foyer.
"Hullo, Harry," she said. She'd crossed the foyer but stopped several feet short of arm's length.
"Romilda," said Harry. "It has been quite a while."
Harry waved Romilda and Pansy both into his own office, followed them in and closed his door. He touched the lock/handle assembly with his wand tip, then set some confidentiality charms. Harry didn't sit down but stepped into his bathroom and looked around, even opening the closet door for a quick peek. Only then did he return to his desk and pull out his swivel chair.
"Please," Harry said, gesturing toward the chairs with his hands.
"Kreacher," Harry called.
"Kreacher is here, master," said the elf as soon as he appeared.
Harry solicited drink orders. He asked for some snacks for everyone in consideration of the time.
When Kreacher had departed Harry let go.
"Romilda, I don't know what in Merlin's name you're doing here, or think you're doing here, but one of the Bergs was here looking for you. He had us under surveillance, at least for a couple of days. I'd like to help you with whatever it is that has you upset. If Dieter Berg is indicative of what you were having to put up with, I wouldn't want anything to do with that family either. Still, he found the office. Someone could be watching right now. I don't even know the best way to get you out of here."
"Oh, I know some occlusion charms," said Romilda.
"All of which have corresponding counter-spells, as you know," said Harry. "What do you want us to do? Do you want to disappear for a little while? Let something blow over?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I do, but it won't make sense without the story up to this point," said Romilda. "Anyplace you just have to be?"
Harry wanted to be anywhere but right there in his office. His townhouse, #12 Grimmauld Place, reeked of magic, layers and layers of serious spells, offensive and defensive, laid on by the Black family over generations of occupancy. It should be impervious to any sort of assault by the Bergs or their allies. On the other hand, Harry thought, what if the Bergs were resourceful enough to make an official report and get the local authorities involved? It didn't take a lot of imagination to predict the outcome of a report of a kidnapping or hostage-taking. Let the aurors do the hard work, provide the diversion, then the Bergs snatch their prey and disappear into their valley, which was, surely at the very least, unplottable.
He considered Potter Manor, but Dieter Berg had been there earlier, and he could have had a co-conspirator watching from a distance. The hypothetical co-conspirator could still be there, concealed in a hedgerow. Morag's neighborhood was a possibility. They couldn't impose on the MacDougals but Morag might be able to suggest somewhere quiet. Harry and Pansy had been there recently, and Morag had owled her note. Harry didn't want to be responsible for bringing more trouble to Morag's cottage with everything else she was going through.
Harry came to a decision.
"Cloaks, hoods up. Balaclavas if you've got them," he said.
Minutes later, after they'd climbed the internal stairs, the three exited from a small penthouse and stood on the roof of the building. Harry put himself in the middle, they all interlaced their arms and Harry disapparated, taking the witches with him.
"Very, very good, Harry Potter," said Pansy after she'd had a moment to look around. They were in a cave in a sea-facing cliff. The breakers were below them but spray was reaching the cave entrance.
"Come on in, there is plenty of room. Get out of that spray or you'll be soaked," said Harry.
"Where are we?" Pansy asked.
"On the coast," said Harry.
Pansy doubled up her fist and shook it, as if delivering a genuine threat.
"I was here before," Harry explained. "Dumbledore and one of his field trips."
Harry's eyes were drawn back to the rock wall, the wall that opened when it was given fresh blood. He wondered if the lake was still inside, full of the dead. Harry had thought about the infieri from time to time. He wondered if it were possible to do anything for them? Were their souls in torment because their dead bodies had been reanimated? He wondered specifically about Regulus Black. Could he even be identified? If Harry got him out of the cave, would Regulus lay down, die, and be grateful to go to his rest?
"Well, the weather is not favorable and it won't be getting better, I presume, so we will be better off if we get to business. Romilda, bring us up to date, please," said Harry.
Romilda took a deep breath.
"I survived the battle and went home. I turned sixteen a few weeks later. My father decided it was time to unlock the capital I represented and took a hefty cash payment for me from a family on the Continent. I was married to an elderly wizard with grown children and grandchildren older than me. He was smitten with his teenage bride and wanted us to be in bed by seven-thirty. Then there would be some fumbling around. I was not much help. Too young, too inexperienced. I cried for weeks, whenever I could get off by myself. Then I decided to take charge of whatever little piece of my life and freedom was left to me.
"The Bergs speak Romansh among themselves, so I studied Romansh. I threw myself into it and worked harder than I'd ever worked at Hogwarts. I was desperate to learn. They'd go off into Romansh, obviously talking about me. I made more progress than they thought I had. I'd speak broken Romansh and they'd laugh, but my comprehension was getting better by the day.
"I decided to try to get better at old people sex. It's okay, you can laugh, I came up with the label on my own. I'll even confess I was really pissed at you, Harry, for not taking advantage of me when you had the chance. At least I would have had some idea of what was realistic. Well, take heart—we'll all be getting old, if we don't die first, but I can assure you, with some patience and a willingness to experiment and learn, the physical side of married life is possible for centenarians. It's true.
"I actually began to like my husband, a little. When he pawed and drooled on me and said sweet nothings in Romansh I could give him a little positive feedback. The first time I complimented him, in Romansh, on his potency, he was so happy. The following night I got into bed and slid my hand under my pillow. I came out with a diamond necklace. I don't know a lot about jewelry but I could see it was real, and it was old. An expert advised me recently the stones are real diamonds and the setting is platinum. My husband told me it was for making him feel like we had turned the clock back fifty years.
"I knew I had a problem, or would, soon. The children and their husbands and wives all watched me like a hawk. If the old man was giving his young toy the family jewels they'd naturally step in, just to protect their own interests. I hid the necklace under the floorboards of a wardrobe in our suite.
"The oldest son started to get aggressive. At first it was looks, angry, disgusted. Just being negative. He'd curse in Romansh but I was still trying to get better so it wasn't as much fun when I got to where I could understand. My husband started to go downhill during the second year I lived with them. His son, my step-son, got worse. I suggested we all cooperate and make the old man's last days as happy as we could, under the circumstances. When the time came I'd walk away and get out of their lives. I thought they'd be reasonable.
"My step-son became more angry and demanding. He trapped me in a bedroom that was kind of off by itself and insisted I have sex with him. I reminded him I was his father's wife, and that really enraged him. That was the first time he raped me. It was rough, but he didn't beat me or slap me around that time. I suspect he feared the old wizard, who still had some magic in him, bless him. My husband's mental condition slipped, bit by bit. Derek, the son, had trouble getting aroused. I tried different approaches. I had no idea what I was doing, just experimenting. Let's see, what's a delicate way to put this? When on one's knees there are some spots one can reach for some massage. He liked it, a lot. It worked better than slapping me, so I negotiated—plenty of what he liked in exchange for a slap-free session. It might have—I expect it saved my life.
"Eventually the old baron gave out. He was well over one hundred. Hearts and livers and kidneys all have their useful lifespans. He wasn't cold before Derek was after me. I don't know why but that is so sad for me to think about. Sold off or not, I tried to give my husband a mate, to the extent he still had use for one. He had so little life left to live. Derek's wife was evil. She threatened me with all kinds of things. Death was the least of it.
"She watched us one time. Didn't want to take part, just stood there radiating hate. I didn't initiate anything because I had to follow Derek's orders and move how he told me, when he told me, or risk getting one hell of a slap. When he was done she'd verbally abuse me, call me a whore, swear she'd never seen a woman as ugly as me. She accused me of using a whore's tricks for doing the things she had just heard Derek order me to do. Cursed me for imagining I, a whore, could take her husband from her. While he was getting dressed I had to lay there just the way I was when he finished so the wife could berate and spit on the whore. Things were deteriorating, fast. I could see, clear as day, how it was going to end.
"I thought I might have one chance to survive, if I got it right. I got all the gifts my husband had given me together and waited. It wasn't long and Derek came in my bedroom, late. He started bragging about how he'd just had sex with his wife and now I was going to perform as usual, while both of us enjoyed the scent of his wife's musk. He made it easy. He'd had a few drinks, so I assured him we could take all the time we needed. That's what I did. Took my time. Did all his favorite things. Made it last. His heart quit before I did.
"I left him on my bed, got my prezzies from the wardrobe, put them in a small rucksack, climbed a tower and apparated to a spot just inside the wards. The wards faced out, so nothing tried to keep me inside. I walked out, which did set off alarm spells. Even so, it took them lots longer to figure out I was missing than it did for me to disapparate several times, here and there in Europe. Then I came home. The next day I ran into Pansy in Fortescue's."
Harry sat still, just processing Romilda's story. Pansy looked like she wanted to throw up. Harry expected her to take a couple of steps to the mouth of the cave and let it go. Pansy stayed, listening.
"Where does Dieter Berg fit in?" Harry asked.
"Another step-son," Romilda said. "A year or two younger than Derek. I guess he's the baron now. What was he doing here?"
"Looking for you," said Harry. "You're to be brought back to your family. He was convinced I knew your whereabouts and was obligated to tell him. We had to leave that as unresolved. Neither one of us changed his position."
"Dieter was not one of the smarter ones, that was Derek," said Romilda. "Derek was a slave, though, to his appetites. He was getting worse the whole time I was there. That's not advisable when you're an alcoholic, a glutton and seventy years old."
"We need to wrack our brains," Harry said, looking at Pansy.
Pansy was embarking on a bit of crying but she quite ably nodded her head.
"What can you tolerate, Romilda?" Harry asked. "A little freehold on the summit of the tor so you can see who's approaching from any direction? You're seriously traumatized, believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Can you handle solitude? Do you have to hear peoples' voices? Can you sleep? I know that sounds ridiculous."
"It's not," said Romilda. "It's just our bad luck we're familiar with those subjects at our age. That's all it is, bad luck. We do what we have to do. We cope."
"You're a long way ahead of where I would be," Harry said.
"I'd like someplace quiet. Non-magical wouldn't be a problem. I can be discreet, keep the magic under cover. I'm going to be resting and paying attention to my diet. It seems logical to me that my interests would best be served by anonymity," Romilda said. "I do need access to a healer."
Some kind of witch perception lit up in Pansy. She raised her head and studied Romilda.
"How?" asked Pansy.
"The regular way," answered Romilda.
"Who?"
"I suspect Derek, although, it is, just possibly, the old baron," said Romilda. "Once, twice, maybe, in the zone."
"Merlin," said Pansy.
"What?" asked Harry.
Pansy looked at Romilda. Conversation lapsed for a moment while Romilda waited for Pansy to deliver her insight and Pansy kept silent, ceding to Romilda the right to decide.
"I'm pregnant,' said Romilda. "The Bergs don't have a healer. I'm two months overdue. I got back to civilization and did one of the home tests. That's one of the things I bought on the outing when Pansy and I met. I'd rather have a professional confirm it but the preponderance of evidence…"
"That will make things a little more complicated, eventually," said Harry. He stared out the mouth of the cave at the breakers hitting rocks. He stepped close enough to the edge to catch a little salty spray on his tongue.