Merit and Inheritance
Chapter Thirty
Finally
The last light was fading as Pansy Parkinson and Morag MacDougal left the offices of Harry Potter and Associates and struck out for the Dragon.
"How's work?" asked Pansy.
"Different," answered Morag. She'd come straight from St. Mungo's to pick up Pansy. "I like the structure. Mother, Merlin bless her, was conscious about eight hours a day. She might not say anything for an hour or two, or she might want to talk an hour straight. I didn't have any time off. This is completely different. They have me in admissions, doing exams and taking down histories. I like it. I go to work, meet people, have interesting conversations, and I come home."
"Great," said Pansy. "Up north?"
Morag had worked out an arrangement with St. Mungo's and the Ministry-supported clinic where she had worked before Madam Livia became her full-time occupation. She worked three days a week in London and two and one-half days at the clinic.
"Going well," said Morag. "Primary, patient-contact healing. I'm trying to catch up on my reading. I didn't think about the journals when I was with Mother. Healing moves ahead constantly. One can't just take a few years off and come right back."
"You can do it," said Pansy. "Everything you had to do to get your mastery? I still wonder about you. How did you do all of that? I feel like a slacker, a lay-about."
"Stop," Morag protested. "You have more courage in your little finger than I do in my whole body."
Pansy had shared her flat with Morag until Morag's salary started coming in. They had had several long, catch-up conversations. Pansy wasn't ashamed of what had been done to her, nor what she had done while she was drinking. She freely admitted she had suffered damage and taken an inappropriate route to fixing it. Pansy found a more productive path by admitting her dependency on alcohol, conducting a merciless self-assessment, working each issue she wanted to change until she got it right, and completely re-wired herself. Morag knew from her own experiences that Pansy was an exception, not a rule. Pansy had it in her to do anything she wanted, as long as she stayed sober.
"Thanks, love," said Pansy.
Little by little, during the time they shared the apartment, Morag and Pansy had become friendly enough that such terms of endearment crept into their personal conversations. Neither one overdid it, nor did they shy away. They were comfortable together.
"Here we are," said Pansy.
The Dragon was not yet full so they were seated immediately. Their tastes were similar and they had settled on a standard meal—vegetable lo mein, stir-fried pea pods with black and white mushrooms, vegetable fried rice and two spring rolls. They took turns serving, one tablespoon of the fried rice on each plate from Pansy, one apiece of the pea pods and mushrooms from Morag, and so on.
They talked a bit over dinner, but they were efficient. Neither was a habitual time-waster. When they finished their meals they each took a last cup of tea.
"Going home?" asked Pansy.
"Uh-huh," said Morag, looking at her watch. "Getting up and going to Glasgow tomorrow."
They left the restaurant for their apparition point.
"Bye, then," said Pansy. "Let's do something again when you get back."
"We'll do that," Morag agreed. Then she half-turned and was gone.
Morag was the first close friend Pansy had made, other than Harry, since Hogwarts. The long, dim tunnel commencing with the events of their sixth year, the lost months of Pansy's walk on the wild side, her struggle with recovery and finally finding refuge as an Associate of Harry Potter, had all combined to distance her from most of the people with whom she'd gone to school.
Pansy enjoyed having a friend again. She and Harry were close. They were bound to be in light of their shared history. Still, both were very careful about boundaries. Harry respected Pansy's privacy, to the degree that she would not have been comfortable opening up to him about the things one holds most closely. Pansy knew Harry's history, and that he kept a lot of his experiences to himself. Having personally witnessed Harry dispense justice, according to his own code, Pansy respectfully kept her knowledge under wraps.
Morag wasn't there yet, either, but she had potential. Pansy knew healers were accustomed to keeping to themselves the things they learned in confidence.
Morag, for her part, felt deep gratitude toward Pansy and Harry. When Harry asked Pansy to drop in on Morag, just to make sure she was alright and not in need of anything they could provide, Morag had been seeing Livia through a long, lingering decline. Morag's care for her mother had made the old lady's last years as pleasant as they could be, considering Livia's circumstances. Morag, though, had been in a kind of suspended animation. She had one patient and no contact with professional colleagues. She thought, at the beginning, that she would care for Livia for a few months, or a year at most. She'd been with Livia nearly three years.
Morag credited Harry, Pansy and Daphne with her transition from rural eldercare specialist back to a practicing healer. By extension, they were responsible for her successful re-entry into the society that was Magical Britain. She hadn't stopped to make plans when she had Livia as her primary consideration. When Livia died and Morag was without a job or a home, her classmates closed ranks and took care of her. Morag vowed she would never forget. Harry and Daphne, especially Daphne, were critical to Morag's smooth transition. Daphne knew St. Mungo's needed healers and made the connection that brought Morag to London, a job and a flat. When Livia released her, Morag's friends brought her straight into their ranks, stood her up on her feet and steadied her until she regained her balance.
Activity was picking up at Potter and Associates. The partnership with Neville and the new building kept everyone focused. Harry continued to ask Pansy if she had any leads for a potential occupant for the ground floor space, as well as the basement. Pansy continued to look. The commercial space was perfect. The open question remained, "Perfect for what?"
The new building faced onto a passageway formed by the fronts of several structures. The buildings had shops on the street level and offices or flats on the floors above. The sides facing the passage were the magical faces of the buildings. On one side the buildings' rear sides faced a Muggle London street. The location was perfect for people who had to interact with the magical and muggle aspects of metropolitan life.
At the same time, Harry and Pansy had been unsuccessful in identifying a business to occupy the ground floor space. The passage had a pleasant coffee-and-news stand with a small magical bookstore next door. The two even had a door between the spaces. The two businesses had loyal, overlapping clienteles, who returned again and again to purchase a book or periodical and a cup of coffee, then sat and enjoyed both at leisure. The space wasn't big enough to be a proper pub. Magical tailoring needs were well-met by the community in Diagon Alley. The space in the all-magical passage would be best occupied by a magical business, but Harry Potter and Associates was running out of ideas.
"How about a tea room?" Pansy asked.
"What would a tea room require?" asked Harry. "I don't know the first thing. Water. Something to heat it with, or in."
"That's two things right there," said Pansy. "A selection of teas. Tea pots. Cups. A drawer with a box inside, with a lid, for the cash. That's pretty much it, isn't it?"
"Darn close, I'd say," said Harry. "That's a big space, though, for a couple of people sipping tea."
"Uh-huh," said Pansy. "There isn't any law that says you couldn't divide it and turn the rest of it to other purposes."
Harry thought about that.
"What would work with a tea room?" he asked.
"Herbalist? A section with more specialized publications. Things for particular tastes, pastimes, avocations, like runes, seers, magical nutrition," Pansy said. She stopped to think those things through. "Alchemy?"
"Did you know the muggles have shops that cater to travelers?" Harry asked. "They sell luggage, specialized guidebooks for different cities and countries, power adapters…"
"So?" Pansy said. "Muggles have to fly on those mechanical contrivances and worry about the different brands of electricity on the other side of the planet. How would we find a market for that in a magical building?"
"Wizards travel," said Harry. "What's that magical travel magazine?"
"There are two that are pretty well-known—Port Key, and Disapparations," Pansy said. A light came on.
"Oh, the kinds of things in their ads!" she said. "The guidebook to spells you can or can't use in one country or another. Magical maps. Guides to the dominant and minority religious groups in different places, so you know, just in case."
"Wand waving is prohibited in Be-Bop-A-Lula," said Harry. "That's just a hypothetical, of course."
"Of course," Pansy agreed. "I did grasp that."
"Okay, do we know anyone who is in the tea shop business?" Harry asked.
"Um, I didn't come prepared…" said Pansy.
"That's okay, this is still speculation," Harry said. "What else?"
"Some coffee shops have bookshelves," said Pansy. "They put a few old books out and people are free to take one or come in with their own books and donate them or swap for something that's there. What if the tea shop encouraged that? It could even go along with the specialized idea. A shelf for alchemy, another for travel."
"Unusual magical gifts," Harry said. "A children's alchemy lab, everything you need to turn lead into gold in one box. All the Newt Scamander books. The magical travel books. Gulliver's Travels."
"Uh—I don't know if that was really magical," Pansy said.
"I've never seen it documented, one way or the other," Harry noted. "Still, if it could be magical, and you can't tell, it follows that it makes its own magic, doesn't it? Seems to me, anyway."
"Point," conceded Pansy. "Do you want me to do a little research on tea rooms? See what it takes to start one up, a budget for a basic kit, other magical tea shops in London or the suburbs?"
"You're a true self-starter," said Harry. "Let's do those things you just mentioned, then we can come back to the other possibilities. Merchandise, and so on."
Harry felt like he was on a roll. He didn't know what that meant, exactly, but he understood it had something to do with a series of good outcomes.
The real estate was part of it, but foremost in his mind was his joint project with Daphne to get the Greengrass finances on a more responsible footing. Once Harry had Daphne, and then Cordelia on his side, Cyrus seemed content to sit back and let the triumvirate run things. Harry wondered if Cyrus had found personal finances tedious and not really worth his time.
Daphne's financial workout plan was a success from the beginning. Harry relieved the Greengrass family income stream of the burden of the mortgage on the manor and the farmland that should have supported it. Cyrus and Cordelia lived on their allowance. Astoria tried to pitch in, moderating her 'suggestions' for pre-wedding shopping and hospitality. Daphne had her own responsibilities but she contributed a bit from her personal funds to make sure Astoria and Draco had a respectable courtship by magical nobility standards. Harry and Daphne ruled with a light touch, but neither Cyrus nor Cordelia nor Astoria doubted they could apply a heavier hand if necessary.
Harry's initial assessment proved prescient. There actually was sufficient Greengrass income for living expenses and debt retirement, once the great dead weight of the mortgage was lifted. Daphne identified underutilized assets and began selling them for cash or turning them into profit-making enterprises. One piece of rental property had been bringing in the same amount for decades, despite the incremental tax increases and rising value of the underlying land. Harry arranged for a fresh appraisal by one of the goblins' experts. He recommended selling the property outright. Daphne thought it worth holding onto, gradually increasing the rent until the income reflected the current value.
Harry pointed out that the renter (it was a commercial building with a single tenant) would almost certainly find any increase a burden. After all, he had had decades to get used to the very low rent and would have figured that into his overhead. Better to put the building on the market after offering the tenant the opportunity to buy the building outright.
"I'd buy it, if it weren't for the conflict of interest," Harry said.
"What conflict?" asked Daphne.
"You and me," said Harry. "We're compromised. It would always look like I did just what Cyrus accused me of doing. Manipulating you to pick off the low-hanging fruit. That's not something I want to do."
"Not arguing, Harry, but don't some of these operators do that kind of thing all the time?" Daphne asked.
"Yes, they do," said Harry. "Muggles, wizards, it doesn't matter. Speculation becomes an obsession. Some of the things you read or hear about, it isn't like they're human anymore. That's not for me. If you want to hang onto the building and try to get the rent back up to market rates, I'll help. Just be sure you anticipate a little pushback and are prepared to insist you're sticking to your position."
The solution turned out to be somewhere in the middle. Daphne met with the occupant and made her case. The rent was far below the market, mainly because no one had looked closely as the value increased. Daphne wasn't trying to recoup, but the Greengrass family would be gradually increasing the rent until the property was bringing in the fair market value.
The renter became dramatic, citing the long relationship between himself and Cyrus, his history as a caretaker, and more. Daphne listened patiently and strategically before offering the alternative course of letting the renter buy the building. Harry and his appraiser had a solid grounding for the price, and the renter knew it. He gulped once or twice, then asked for two days to consult with his lender. He came back with a pro forma counteroffer so close to the asking price that Daphne agreed to it, just to close the deal.
"Brilliant," said Harry, raising his coffee mug. Daphne blushed. Harry thought she was quite fetching, her professional dress and demeanor accented with a rosiness of cheek befitting a schoolgirl being praised before the entire class.
"Thank-you," said Daphne. She'd tipped her face down and forward to look back at Harry through her eyelashes. Harry couldn't help it if his brain went blank. Daphne devastated when she did that.
They were sitting in Harry's office at Harry Potter and Associates, post-Gringotts. After several months of research and negotiations Daphne had just retired a significant chunk of the Greengrass debts by selling the building and turning the cash straight over to the goblins for debt retirement. Harry was very proud of his intended, who had taken the lead and done all the work throughout. Even though Harry had supplied an idea along the way, it was truly Daphne's deal and she deserved to feel proud of herself.
"I'm talking out of school, Harry, but I honestly believe Father had forgotten all about that building," Daphne said. "According to Gringotts' documents, he inherited it. They didn't have it under active management, they just received the rent and deposited it in his account. No one brought it to his attention for all these years."
"Is he showing any interest when you bring those kinds of things up?"
"Oh, he can carry on a conversation," answered Daphne. "He's just detached. He gives the impression he would like to be doing something else. I had figured this process would end and he'd be back in charge, eventually. Now I'm wondering."
"How is Cordelia?" Harry asked.
What he meant was, "How is Cordelia's drinking?"
"Good days and less good," said Daphne. "I've offered to connect her with people in the field, but she isn't ready. Says she can work it out on her own. I don't know…Maybe she can."
"Maybe she can," Harry agreed. "Maybe she's going to follow your lead, straight to adulthood. Maybe she is the manager the Greengrass family has been looking for."
"Could be," said Daphne. "Can I change the subject?"
"I don't see why not," answered Harry.
"You need to increase your study time, Lord Harry," said Daphne. "Specifically, the entries in your grimoire by and about Iolanthe Peverell and Hardwin Potter. Your ancestors have some interesting history. This beautiful ring was Iolanthe's, and a gift from Hardwin. It is charmed, although I still can't say what all is embedded in it. The grimoire mentions long life and happiness, although those are more sentiments than actual charms. Whatever it has must be beneficial, or at least harmless, or I'd be showing signs of some hex or other."
Harry didn't know whether to laugh at Daphne's description or thank her for the useful information.
"Had I known," Harry began.
"Exactly," said Daphne. "No harm done, this time. Just remember in the future. Your grimoires may be the most valuable thing you own. More than Potter Manor, more than #12 Grimmauld Place. A smart, accomplished wizard, someone like you, could lose everything. If he had his grimoires, he'd be back on his feet in a year."
Harry didn't say anything, he just sat there thinking over what Daphne had said. It was true that Harry had come late to the study of Potter Magic and the contributions of all the other family lines that had culminated in him. His first eleven years had been a magical blank. Hogwarts was filled with magical children who assumed he knew all the magical esoterica, since he was Harry Potter and the son of two of the best-known practitioners of the previous generation. Albus Dumbledore had a habit of putting himself between Harry and any sort of magical knowledge other than the standard school of magic curriculum. Study of Your Own Family Grimoire did not appear on Hogwarts' list of available courses.
There were sound reasons for that, Harry well understood. Some of the magical families reveled in their Dark reputations, collecting cursed artifacts and proscribed texts. They wouldn't permit the children to bring their grimoires to Hogwarts and Hogwarts would not have wanted some of them anywhere on the property. Without a doubt, mere knowledge of some volumes would entail an obligation to come forward and give a statement to the authorities.
"You're right," said Harry, emerging from his reverie. "I will do better. I very nearly put Iolanthe's ring on your finger, before you had the presence of mind to stop me. I'll think about that, and this conversation, and see if I can't cultivate a habit of looking such things up from now on. How do you like your ring, now that you've worn it awhile?"
"I still adore it," said Daphne. "I'm connected to you, and at least one of your distinguished ancestors as long as it is on my finger, aren't I? I'm going to be in the literature looking for anything I can find on whether that establishes a mystical connection. At any rate, you took the time to visit your vault and pick out a historical piece from your family jewelry and you gave it to me to mark a beautiful moment. Whenever I notice Iolanthe's ring is on my finger I remember."
Harry wasn't sitting across his desk from Daphne. They each occupied one of the visitor's chairs. Harry slid forward to the very edge of his and reached for Daphne's hand. He drew them closer and gave her a brief kiss on her lips.
"That is so…" he began, speaking barely above a whisper. Harry slid back into his chair.
"You did great with your real estate deal," Harry said. "We need to review everything and see where the accounts stand. We may be closer to concluding our business than we know. Then we can, if you want to, talk about, ah, the other."
Daphne rolled her eyes.
"We can talk anytime you want, Harry," she began. "We've done all the traditional rituals, adapting for our particular circumstances. You've met my parents and I've met yours. You and I read our grimoires together and talk about what we've learned. We declared our love and you gave me a ring to wear to distinguish me from every other witch in creation. Betrothals are a bit passé these days, particularly for those of us old enough to have established careers. The only other thing left to do is to send the announcement to the Prophet."
"Oh," said Harry. He was rolling the last exchange around, trying to penetrate the layers of meaning. "So I can think about us as a permanent thing? An item?"
"You haven't been?" asked Daphne, sounding a bit demanding.
"I have, ever since you said you'd wear my ring, but I've also been keeping it to myself," said Harry. "In light of business first, personal later, and respect for your independent streak. Hence my curiosity about your progress. It would be nice if the business were done, complete, cleared away."
"I see," said Daphne. "That's good, then, because I've been thinking about us as an item as well. I've been working hard on forming an idea of how I will function as I am now with the additional duties that will come with…"
Daphne was stumped, or so it appeared to Harry. He tried to help.
"The M word?" he suggested.
"Exactly, thank-you," said Daphne.
Conversation stopped. Harry looked at the ceiling. Daphne picked up one of Harry's business cards and held it between her thumb and middle finger, fidgeting, twirling it around and around. Harry sneaked a look back at Daphne but she was watching the card, so Harry turned back to his study of the ceiling. Daphne looked at Harry. He could see her in his peripheral vision but delayed looking back at her because he'd already tried and she wanted to continue looking at his business card twirling around. She kept her eyes on him, though, and Harry had to give in.
"Fine," he said. "It sounds like the resolution of our impasse is for me to table an open proposal of marriage which you can accept at such time as you get your professional and personal calendars clear."
Harry got out of his chair and knelt on the floor of his office before Daphne, who started to laugh.
"Oh, Harry Potter. Aren't we a pair?" she said, sliding out of her own chair and kneeling. Daphne took Harry's hands in hers.
"Will you?" he asked.
"I will," she said. "Will you?"
"Absolutely, yes" said Harry. "What do we do now?"
"We keep doing what we've been doing," laughed Daphne. "I have a sister to marry off. You have business interests, and so do I. If you're at loose ends you can work on your manor. Get it into a proper state to house its new mistress. And right now I'd like you to kiss me."