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CHAPTER 26
12 February 1994 - The Master Suite - Castle Basilicus, 4:49AM
A gently smiling Libra gazed fondly at her sleeping husband, stifling a giggle at the soft sound of his snoring.
She was happy to have him home, resting and relaxing. He always looked so peaceful when asleep, expression perfectly unencumbered.
'Like a little angel.'
Libra had always admired his beauty, a near identical copy to his deceased muggle father. The eyes, however, were all Gaunt - crystalline blue orbs that were at once piercing and utterly disarming. For a wizard nearing 68 years of age he didn't look a day over 40, if that. She wasn't blind to the appreciative looks - covert or otherwise - he received from other witches of all ages they passed in the street, though he seemed utterly oblivious to all but her.
Lady Gaunt would have been lying if she claimed not to have been rather chuffed by that.
He snored again, causing a more audible giggle to erupt. The baby kicked its feet in response, causing Tom's hand gently cupping her belly to give a slight squeeze.
Lord Gaunt shamelessly fussed over her, spending his free time hovering over her in her office as she attempted to get work done.
And not so secretly indulging in the plethora of delectable free samples Molly Weasley bestowed upon the expectant mother. The older witch's business was growing exceptionally, having catered mountains of orders over the Christmas holidays and earning quite the pretty galleon for it. It'd taken a considerable amount of effort on her and Tom's end to convince Mrs. Weasley to not give them a 50% share of ownership and profits in her new business endeavor. A much tougher negotiator than she seemed, Molly was not above using guilt to make a point.
Thankfully Libra had a bit more hardworn experience in tough negotiations, whittling the Weasley matriarch down to a respectable 10% equity with standard solicitor's billing as her sole recompense.
The baby kicked again, causing Tom to once more squeeze her belly. The soon-to-be parents had opted out of a gender reveal, wanting to be surprised.
In truth, it was at Libra's insistence that they wait until the child's birth. She didn't want it officially confirmed that the child could potentially not be the male heir to the Gaunt Seat. Her lord husband had indicated that he didn't care much about having a son or daughter and would be happy either way. She wasn't considering she would only have one chance to bear him an heir, all thanks to the secret and highly illegal potion she'd ingested for this specific purpose.
The Elixir of Heqet.
A fertility potion of legends, named after the Kemetic goddess of fertility. It had been around since the days of the Old Kingdom, rumored to have been used by Queen Pharoah Meryt-Neith in the conception of her son Hor-Den. It had been utilized by other notable Kemetic noblewomen, eventually spreading to Ancient Europa and parts of the Americas. It had been outlawed since the passage of the Statute of Secrecy on account on the rarity of ingredients along with the…spell needed to activate the potion.
It possessed a 99.9% effectiveness, and Libra was exceptionally pleased that she wasn't part of the infinitesimal 0.1% for whom the potion didn't work.
But like all things that seemed too good to be true, this was no exception.
For utilizing the respective…essence…of each intended parent, the potion would strip a year's worth of life for each month of gestation.
It was for this very reason that the name and recipe for this potion had come to be included in The Elysium Opus - the antithetical opposite to The Anathema Codex that featured Wild Magick spells of equally sacrificial intent aimed at protecting life instead of destroying it.
At the current time, Libra was almost seven months along.
And she still hadn't told Tom.
Granted, the guilt churned deeply and unrelentingly, enough to compound her gestational heartburn.
It was one thing to knowingly draw from her own well of life, but it was a whole other thing to draw from her husband's without his consent. He hadn't a clue what she'd done, and while she knew Tom loved her as she loved him, she wasn't entirely certain that he would forgive her for robbing him of his life.
Even if it meant creating a new one with her.
She fidgeted uncomfortably, finally rousing Tom from his sleep.
"Darling," he said, his voice thick with sleep. "Can't sleep?" He rubbed her belly affectionately, tenderly kissing the protruding orb before planting a soft kiss on her lips. "Are you alright?" The concern wasn't hard to miss at all in his tone, causing her eyes to crinkle warmly.
"I've been awake for a while, just thinking."
"About what exactly, mon amour?" He continued to rub her stomach, causing the baby to gently kick against his warm hand.
Libra smiled, placing her hand over his and interlocking their fingers as she gazed into his hooded eyes. Though much warmer in the low light of the expansive room, those crystalline blue orbs were no less penetrating. Libra was certain she wasn't being legilimized; Tom had sworn that he'd never use his prodigious abilities against her, and certainly not without her consent.
Her Inner Voice would have long since warned her of such an intrusion.
She tightened her fingers in Tom's grip, tenderly brushing a kiss against his cheek as she ruminated on her answer to his unintentionally penetrative question.
She gazed into his eyes for a few moments, weighing her options as his expression grew a touch more concerned.
A beat passed…
Truth lost.
"About the garden mon chéri." Tom's brow quirked curiously. "Moth has been experimenting with her wild ivy, rose, and peony hybrids, and she's successfully cultivated a full garden's worth." Her expression turned coy. "I was wondering if a certain lord-husband of mine would be interested in taking his beloved for an early morning walk." She wiggled her eyebrows cheekily, causing him to snort out a delighted laugh.
"It would be my pleasure, dear lady-wife." His yew wand seemingly appeared in his hand, and a few quick waves saw them both draped in thick brocade cloaks tingling with Warming Charms. Matching initialed velvet loafers appeared on their feet, before Tom gently helped Libra to her feet while casting extra Cushioning Charms on her footwear to ensure maximum comfort. A gallant arm was extended to her, causing her to giggle as she grasped it firmly.
As one, the happy couple made their way to the gardens.
Summerisles, 12:19PM
'Well…this is certainly one way to spend a Saturday.'
Thankfully, the disdain of the mental statement was not reflected on Acacia Lady Brown's face. As with any noblewoman of proper breeding, she sat ramrod straight with a perfectly blank and polite expression as she delicately nibbled on her serving of pissaladière. Her ire at her foolish Heir had thankfully calmed to a warm simmer, though it would take the next lifetime for her to forgive Lavender for so brazenly incurring something as life-altering serious as a Life Debt!
Sitting beside her was Dedalus Diggle - House Brown's solicitor since Acacia had taken the mantle of Acting Lady in the post-Grindelwald peace era. Across from them were Lord Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and their solicitor Artemus Podmore. The Podmore family had worked as solicitors for generations, primarily supporting Houses Greengrass, Abbott, and Avery. They also served as consultants for lesser non-Wizengamot families who required such legal services.
Acacia was well aware of Artemus' halfblood protégé Hestia Jones' work with Lily Evans, along with other similar work Artemus himself undertook with other such…groups of people.
In her evaluative gaze, Lady Brown had noted the very real fondness Daniel held for his ward in their interactions. It was obvious the witchling was a touch nervous, though she was doing a considerable job in masking her discomfort with a bubbly smile and bits of engaging chatter one would expect from a proper young lady.
'At least she's taken to some form of deportment.'
The older witch had found the girl's inclusion into the Greengrass family to be exceptionally odd, verging beyond the boundary of propriety. Her private inquiries to her source within the Ministry's Administration Office had yielded very little in any useful intel regarding the girl's parentage save her muggle mother's name - Mrs. Leslie Davis.
It was considerably ironic that an unmarried woman went by 'Mrs.', even moreso that her supposed married and maiden name were one in the same.
Acacia was doubly frustrated considering Daniel's wife Winifred was her second cousin Angelica's daughter. Granted, she could have invoked her power as Lady Brown to easily compel Angelica to divulge what she knew regarding the halfblood's true parentage, but that was technically veering into the Greengrass' private familial business and thus considered a serious breach of privacy for a Wizengamot House.
Especially now that House Greengrass had been promoted to Ancient and Noble whilst her family still occupied a fledgling Noble status. Her jaw lightly flexed on instinct.
Still, Acacia was very curious, enough to surmise that Tracey was more than likely a bastard child of either Lord or Lady. She'd initially assumed it was the former, as he would not be the first Lord to sire a sprog born out of youthful indiscretion. But upon first seeing the child and noting the upturn of her nose and the crooked tilt of her smile, she'd been shocked into realizing the striking similarity to Winifred!
Granted, while it seemed impossible with Daphne being a few months younger than Tracey, the witch knew that the power of magic was capable of Occluding a child's actual birthdate and obscuring a pregnant woman's belly.
'Stranger things and all that.'
Soon, the appetizers were cleared away by their server Marcel, who reappeared with their levitating entrées and expertly dispersed them.
"Well, I believe we have been sufficiently nourished to begin the afternoon's discourse." The clanging of silverware benign set aside followed Acacia's statement as Solicitor Podmore took the lead.
"Certainly madam."
A flourish of his wand - 15½ inch apple with unicorn hair - summoned a small stack of papers, a quick swish-and-flick levitating a few over to Dedalus and Acacia.
"As previously corresponded between our respective parties, on the 13th of September 1993 Lavender Heir Brown incurred a Life Debt with Miss Tracey Davis for the latter's actions in saving the life of the former. The Life Debt was fully and willingly acknowledged by Heir Brown whom, and I quote "I owe you my life Tracey, thank you!" as well as "I owe you a great debt, on my honor as Heir Brown" end-quote. Keeping in line with established precedent with oral tradition as it pertains to contract creation for Wizengamot Houses, Heir Brown's verbal declaration created an acknowledged Life Debt between the two aforementioned parties."
He paused to take in the reactions of Lady Brown and Solicitor Diggle. The latter merely nodded along as he read through the corresponding parchment documents. The former wore a blank expression that would have been a formidable poker face if not for the noticeable pinching around her eyes.
Lord Greengrass merely sipped his sauvignon whilst Tracey fiddled with the straw of her fizzy lemon water.
"Now," continued Artemus. "I understand Lady Brown, that you'd expressed some initial concern regarding the validity of this Life Debt between your Heir and Miss Davis, but per the witness memory phials submitted by my client and Heir Greengrass, the younger Miss Greengrass, along with Miss Bulstrode and Miss Patil attest to the truth of the Debt's existence and Heir Brown's acknowledgement. Those documents also confirm that the validity of the memories' content based on the assessment of a Mr. X - a Ministry-licensed Mind Arts professional."
Diggle nodded along once more as his client delicately chewed on her spoonful of cassoulet.
"All seems to be in order," said Dedalus quietly. "We do appreciate the confirmation of the memories' validity as that-"
"Mr. Podmore," interrupted Acacia in as dulcet a tone as she was capable. "As we have readily confirmed twice over, the Life Debt between my Heir and your client's…ward is legitimate." Daniel merely blinked before once more sipping his wine. Tracey's nostrils lightly flared but she merely continued chewing the chicken in her blanquette de veau.
"I'd like to direct the conversation to the young lady at hand?" Acacia turned her full attention onto Tracey, who suddenly felt a touch too small. "Miss Davis, what would you like in exchange for the…selfless act of rescuing my Heir?"
The witchling fidgeted for a beat before looking at Daniel, who gently nodded for her to proceed. Taking a deep calming breath, Tracey launched into the spiel she'd practiced at length with her adopted family.
"Firstly, I appreciate the acknowledgement of the Debt between myself and your House. In line with established practice, I am free to request whatever I believe would satisfy the obligation between our two parties. Even…asking you to lay down your life to protect my own." She blinked once as she paused to sip her lemon water, pleased to see Acacia's nostrils pointedly flare.
The old bint had standoffish and snide since their arrival at the famous wizarding restaurant, and Tracey's nerves were long past frayed. She was rather surprised to discover that Lavender's grandmother was a bigot, especially considering that she'd never witnessed Lavender mistreating anyone due to blood status. While flighty, a touch snooty, and overly dramatic were the words Tracey would use to describe Heir Brown, pureblood dogmatist was certainly not one of them.
"To start, I request you grant me and mine sanctum in the hearth of your abode." As arcane as the language was, it was described as 'ceremonially necessary' in fulfilling a Life Debt. "I'd like the deed for the Brown Haven signed over to my mother and I. I will, as the magical, anchor the wards of the property to my magic in the transference spell."
Acacia blinked rapidly.
"...You know of the property?"
"Indeed I do." The Slytherin didn't bother expanding, but she and Daphne had done their research. The Brown Haven was an obscure property located near the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole on a convergence of three notable ley lines. The home proper was done in an earth-berm style, perfectly ensconced and protected within the magically enriched earth. It had served as a wartime sanctuary for Browns of olde, obscured by powerful magicks and nigh unbreachable.
Lady Brown took a hefty sip of her wine. "Thy request for sanctuary will be granted in accordance with thy demand."
"Perfect. Secondly," the older witch blinked again as her lips noticeably pursed. "I beseech you to grant me succor in my time of need. I would like a sum of 30,000 galleons transferred into my Gringotts account."
"30,000?!" exclaimed Acacia, finally losing a bit of her composure. From her periphery Tracey noticed Daniel's eyes crinkle in amusement as Artemus skillfully hid his smile in his lemon water. Dedalus looked surprised at the amount, before he peeked worriedly over at his client who looked to be close to breathing fire.
"Yes madam, 30,000. Rather miniscule compared to the pricelessness of your Heir's life, don't you agree?"
The matriarch's eyes flashed, before tightly replying "Thy request for succor will be granted in accordance with thy demand." While 30,000 was a mere drop in House Brown's considerable coffers, it was still 30,000 being freely given to a halfblood whom Acacia was all but certain was the Lady Greengrass' bastard!
"And lastly, I'd like to request thou fulfill this duty demanded within thy capacity as Lady Brown. Should my magical guardian Daniel Lord Greengrass ask thee, thou shall vote in accordance with his vote in the Wizengamot."
"This is utterly absurd!" Acacia looked furious, blue-gray eyes flashing in outrage. "It is one thing to ask for shelter and funds, it's an entirely other matter to influence the politics of my House of which you have neither knowledge or proper status to even inquire about! How dare you?!"
Dedalus was immensely grateful for the privacy charms he and Artemus had cast, else he imagined the entire restaurant would be tuned in to their admittedly bizarre conversation.
'What are you playing at little witch?'
"Madam," said Daniel as magnanimously as possible. "Allow me to clarify. My ward is not asking that you enter into a de facto vassalship with House Greengrass, or always throw in your vote with mine in a manner that would negatively impact the longstanding politics of your House. Just that should the situation arise, I will ask you to vote once, and only once in accordance with my House."
They could all hear the matriarch's teeth grinding as she ruminated over Lord Greengrass' explanation. "And exactly what will the situation be?"
"You will know when the time is right," was Daniel's rather cryptic response.
A few seconds ticked by, though the moments seemed to stretch taut indefinitely. Finally, Lady Brown verbally agreed.
Tracey reclined back in her chair, subtly exhaling in relief that all had gone along to plan. The ease of tension was palpable, though Acacia looked to want to gauge out her eyeballs with the spoon tightly gripped in her left hand. Their solicitors quietly dispersed most of the privacy spells now that business was complete.
"Garçon!" barked Acacia.
Marcel appeared in a flash, almost as though he'd apparated.
"Yes, madam?"
"A bottle of your Domaine Leroy."
Marcel nodded magnanimously. "The 1961 Musigny Grand Cru? To accompany your cassoulet?"
"Obviously."
Le Procope - 6th Arrondissement - Paris, 1:28PM
"How was your coq au vin?" Montmorency's dulcet slightly accented voice sounded over her cup of cafe au lait, smiling eyes focused on Hestia Jones.
"Oh it was lovely, perfectly flavorful. The moulin-à-vent paired quite wonderfully with it as well, thank you so much for treating me to this lovely meal." Benoîte giggled appreciatively as she sipped on her armagnac.
The two witches were seated on the balcony of the renowned Le Procope, afforded a perfect view of the street below. While the establishment was known for its famous muggle patrons, it served as the perfect meetup for the wizarding bourgeoisie who enjoyed mingling with the more cosmopolitan of their non-magical counterparts. It had been a favorite of House Montmorency during the height of their influence, having several private dining rooms at their disposal. The post-French Revolution years had dwindled their access significantly, but not so much so that Benoîte couldn't afford to keep one room on retainer.
In line with standard practice, each table laid out for the magical clientele came with a unique set of salt and pepper shakers that when flipped over, would confer multiple privacy charms to prevent any conversation from being overhead.
"Indeed, remind me to give my regards to the chef." Benoîte raised her glass in a small toast, smiling in a teasing enough manner to cause Hestia to lightly blush. While she would never admit out loud, Hestia used to think the French witch was flirting with her, speaking with just enough innuendo to cause her to stutter or freeze or turn bright red as a tomato while Benoîte tittered in delight. It'd made for a rather interesting time during their apprenticeship with Master Solicitor Renaud Billaud-Varenne.
"So, were you able to find something helpful in la Bibliothèque for your sister?"
Hestia nodded gratefully. "Surprisingly, yes." She'd found an obscure reference to an even more obscure footnote to a Restorative Draught that had been created by a little-known potioneer named Salomo Belasco. According to said rare text, the brew and its very name were outlawed in practically every wizarding nation save parts of the Balkan Alliance Hestia wasn't sure she'd be allowed into without pulling considerable diplomatic strings. Such complications would make finding the draught's full name and its corresponding ingredients extremely difficult, if not outright impossible.
Thankfully, Hestia was as resourceful as she was persistent. Nothing would stop her from saving Gwenog's life.
Nothing.
"Are you going to share with me ma chérie?" The coquettish lilt to her voice was back, icy blue eyes glinting with flirty mischievousness.
A dusting of pink bloomed on Hestia's cheeks. "Not much really." Benoîte's brow crooked. "Honestly! It was a reference to a rare potion by a Salomo Belasco fellow - not even the potion's full name or a complete ingredient list! Quite maddening to be honest…"
"...Belasco, you say? My my my…assez intrigant ma chérie."
Hestia didn't seem to catch the hint of concern in her friend's tone. "Not that intriguing if I can't find a bloody straight answer for once in an entire bloody library. Um…not that I'm not grateful for all the help you've provided."
The blonde giggled good-naturedly. " Ne t'inquiète pas chérie, I was more than happy to help!"
"That's lovely to hear…" Hestia's gaze turned conspiratory. "I'll be requiring just a bit more of your help…say…another afternoon in the Bibliothèque?" She allowed her expression to become as desperate as possible, hands clasped in front of her. "Please say yes, please! I am so close I can feel it, I just need a bit more time-"
"Chérie I-"
"And Gwenog desperately needs my help-"
"Darling I am-"
"And I swear to Circe it will only be another afternoon-"
"Well if you'd let-"
"And I promise I won't be any trouble because it's a library and I'm always on my best behavior in the library and-"
"HESTIA!"
The brunette jumped at the shout of her name, eyes wide as she finally stopped blathering.
"I was trying to say 'yes' darling, if you'd let me get a word in edgewise!"
Hestia's eyes lit up ingratitude and glee. "Thank you-thank you-thank you-thank you-thank you!" She jumped from her seat to embrace the blonde in a tight hug, who eagerly returned the action as she held the brunette tightly. It took a bit of effort, but she succeeded in pulling away from the Frenchwoman before resuming her seat, cheeks practically on fire.
"De rien, I was more than pleased to help! Nothing is more important than our family." Though the Montmorency's had been exiled in disgrace during the French Revolution, she (like her mother Vivienne and uncle Alphonse) worked tirelessly to restore honor and dignity to the family's name. She worked tirelessly as a Consulting Solicitor for the Bureau de la Justice Magique, on top of the various charity-aligned projects for her private clients.
Hestia nodded. "I fully concur. I…I'm going to repay you for this kindness, seriously I can't even imagine just how much I am imposing on you. I'll absolutely have to find some way of paying you back!"
Benoîte waved her off dismissively. "Worry not! I am certain we can reach an amenable accord, non?" She winked at Hestia, who nodded eagerly as she sipped on her wine.
Though entirely innocent on her part, Hestia really hadn't a clue what she was agreeing to.
One simply didn't enter an accord with La Trésorière of Le Milieu without knowing exactly what one was expected to pay.
Law Offices of Caecilius Spangle, Esq. - Hogsmeade, 2:08PM
"I must say Lucius, this…this is quite titillating."
Lord Malfoy elegantly snorted in response, equally pleased at the current state of affairs. He was currently with the Malfoy family's solicitor, reviewing the very important intel Andrew had provided. His dutiful vassal had not only passed his liege's test, he had, with little prodding, fully divulged Tiberius' intentions in squirreling away with Lucius' vassals. Parkinson, with Lucius' encouragement, had accepted Nott's invitation to The Whistling Gnome and bore firsthand witness to Nott's schemes. While heavy-handed promises and a lot of booze-fueled wooing had been the primary mode of communication, the outing had revealed that Tiberius was a touch more calculating than one would be willing to give him credit for.
His intended coup was to be a public affair to inflict maximum damage and humiliation. The stage was to be the Wizengamot summer session, where new legislative matters could be presented for discussion and resolution, one of which included liege and vassal contracts and the former's inability to honor his or her outlined duties to the latter. Tiberius intended to demonstrate that Lucius was unable to honor the fiscal duties owed to his vassals as a liege, a direct violation of the reciprocity clauses in the oaths. As such, it was perfectly acceptable for another Wizengamot lord or lady of equal status to step in and scoop up the vassals for his or her purposes.
In theory, it was a fairly sound plan.
However, in this case, theory did not align with reality.
Lord Malfoy's so-called bankruptcy - the legal cause for Tiberius' intended claim - was absolutely false, though none would be the wiser if they'd checked with the Department of Ministerial and Wizarding Archives, the body authorized to inquire and maintain records about a House's relative net worth. Naturally, Lucius had updated House Malfoy's records to reflect a significant dwindling in wealth, but had done so in such a manner as to seem overly secretive and embarrassed by his new status.
Additionally, the persisting belief that Lucius was bankrupt was being spread by Lucius himself, with plenty of assists from Andrew and his wife Tauria in their interactions with their friends and colleagues. Lucius had dropped subtle enough hints during his appointments in the Magical Administrative Services Office, knowing that nosy blabbermouth Isolde Fenwick would be sure to spread the gossip far and wide about House Malfoy's impending destitution.
Lucius had never liked her, even less so when she'd been Isolde Avery. She'd never shied from snidely gossiping about Christina behind her back, feeling more emboldened when she'd become betrothed to Christina's first cousin Tristan. Whom, by some great miracle, was even more of an insufferable twat than his intended.
An unconscious tick made its way through Lord Malfoy's jaw.
"Did Crabbe and Goyle receive similar documentation?" asked Caecilius.
"No, they didn't consider asking." Lucius sneered in reflex. "Andrew was the only one sensible enough to request something tangible, relying on his status as my "most loyal and valuable asset". Fittingly ironic if I do say so myself. Anywho, Lord Nott was so kind as to oblige my vassal's request to provide written detail - however scant they may be - regarding the fealty contracts he intends to enter with my vassals. As you can also see the document providing written reference bears the official crest of House Nott, which my would-be source in the Wizengamot Administration sub-department may or may not have confirmed its legitimacy."
Sprangle laughed then, the sound warm and booming.
"Perfect. This will make my job exceptionally easier. I certainly won't bore you with the Wizengamot-related specificities which I am certain you know like the back of your hand, but this will make filing for certain sanctions almost child's play. When the time is right of course."
Lucius chuckled at the coy tone, knowing Caecilius' methodologies all too well. A Hufflepuff born from an accomplished wizarding family, Caecilius possessed a unique tendency for steadfast ruthlessness that could rival a worthy Slytherin's, making him the perfect precision tool for Hephaestus III's needs. And thus equally worthwhile for his grandson and protégé.
Abraxas had been a lost cause.
Claudius hadn't been worth the effort.
"Do you think Nott's solicitor is aware of his machinations?"
Caecilius snorted contemptuously. "I sincerely doubt it. Mortimer Renwick is off-putting at best, but he is a trained solicitor. He would never advise his client to put anything in writing until the right time, which this most certainly is not. It is my hope we're spared gazing upon the man's visage during the upcoming session, given his adversity to sunlight and all other matters pertaining to daytime."
The two men laughed heartily for some moments, before moving on to review other matters considerably less dramatic but no more important to House Malfoy's business.
13 February 1994 - Staff Room #4 - Hogwarts, 10:44AM
Obediah was bored.
Granted, these Board of Governors meetings were always painfully dull, but today seemed to really drag on.
'Blimey I'd kill for a cigarette.'
He'd recently acquired several crates of potion-altered Gitanes Blondes and Gauloises (along with several other illegal items), courtesy of plundering Scabior's stash house after the vermin had successfully gotten himself killed with the redacted spell Arachne himself had painted on his chest and those of his colleagues.
Arachne hadn't known all that the spell was truly capable of; Rex Novergicus had shared it with him in the utmost of secrecy, a spell taught to him as Anselme by his Papa Gustav. He'd mentioned that his Papa had used the spell in one of his death camps whilst experimenting with the 'rage threshold' of his Apocalypse Thirteen prototypes.
The spell had only halfway worked as intended. While it'd wrought absolute devastation against the filthy muggles, it hadn't succeeded in using the Outcast as a catalyst to kill Harry Potter and his filthy mudblood mother. Said mudblood mother hadn't even been there, and by some strange intervention (courtesy of Potter's house elf!), Harry and Theo No-Name had escaped with little injury and their lives intact.
Prewett was convinced that the Fates were playing some form of a cruel trick in having the boy survive yet another unsurvivable event.
'I mean seriously, what else could justify surviving a bloody train explosion, a bloodthirsty werewolf attack, and an arcane spell that's supposed to result in everyone dying?!'
A soft snort erupted from the man's mouth, causing McGonagall to freeze and direct her full scowling attention onto him as the room's remaining occupants stared with varying degrees of curiosity.
"Mr. Prewett," said Minerva with a touch of noticeable asperity. "Something to add?"
Thankful for his bifurcated thoughtstreams that ensured he'd been paying attention to her nattering, Obediah replied:
"No madam, my sincerest apologies. The current crop of Auror track students seem to be well up to par, an excellent reflection on Hogwarts' consistently high standards. I am certain Lord Gaunt's Youth Program will be pleased to sponsor another batch of qualified talent." The man in question merely quirked an elegant brow in response as he merely gazed at Obediah. The Potter Seneschal was certain he wasn't being legilimized, though one could never be too certain with Riddle. While he would never admit it out loud, Prewett found the older man intimidating and a touch unsettling. He made, as the muggles would so crassly put it, Obediah's spidey senses tingle.
"Indeed," the man softly replied, before turning his gaze away in dismissal. Seated two seats to his right was Lord Malfoy, who merely sniffed in Obediah's direction before continuing sipping his tea as the room redirected their attention to the Deputy Headmistress.
Lightly grinding his teeth at that reaction, Obediah allowed Minerva's voice to fade into the background. Snobby purebloods like Lucius Malfoy always grated his nerves, especially their propensity to unearned superiority.
It didn't help that Lucius was related to Claudius Malfoy, whom Obediah would have gladly resurrected from the dead just to torture to insanity and inevitable death.
Those were the same kind of purebloods who'd made his time at Hogwarts nigh insufferable, especially considering that Huffleuff was generally regarded as the 'safe zone' out of all the Hogwarts houses. Ayers Smith, Phyllis Ogden, and Digby Macmillan openly shunned him for being "as impoverished as a muggle", Edgar Bones was dismissive at best, and the Marauders had been complete asses.
On instinct his eyes cut over to Lord Black's seat, only to recall that the man was on active Auror duty and had sent his solicitor Ewald Wiggleswade in his wake.
'And father could have ended it all.'
Virgil Prewett had been a brilliant and strategically-aligned academic but utterly lacking in any form of drive or self-ambition needed to raise his family from the cusp of poverty. He possessed the expertise on which families they needed to court and alliances they needed to form to properly guide the Prewett Family into a respectable Wizarding House (Noble even!), but Virgil was also a stickler for propriety and rule-following, deferring to his grossly incompetent Cousin Connor who was as thick as the word.
'Scrounging for sickles in the Magical Maintenance Department when he could have been running the entire bloody Ministry!'
But unlike his pathetic father, he had risen above his paltry station to achieve the success he rightfully deserved. His introduction to Anselme Kleinwuchs (hidden behind the psychic mask of Peter Pettigrew) in his Third Year had set him on the path to Augustus Rookwood, whose prodigal grasp of the Mind Arts combined with Animagery: The Deeper Mysteries had provided the impetus for Mr. Arachne's genesis.
Narcissa's cruel rejection of him in his Sixth Year had been the proverbial cherry on top.
Coming back to the present, Obediah listened to the meeting drag on for another half hour before the topic shifted to the school budget. As the Board's Treasurer, Tauria Parkinson led the discussion with the exacting precision one would expect from a Ravenclaw. Obediah was a touch amused considering her liege lord had been bankrupted by his ex-wife and was currently sat less than three feet across her. Seneschal Potter had initially been dubious of the man's newly impoverished status (Tiberius had a tendency to exaggerate whilst blathering), he'd witnessed the man repeat outfits.
Multiple times.
He'd never seen the man wear anything twice since assuming the mantle of Lord Malfoy. But now, he was rewearing a set of deep navy robes he'd seen him wear barely two weeks ago! Granted, they were bespoke Sébastien Bonhabille and infinitely more sumptuous than what most wizards could ever afford to wear, but still.
'The bill comes due for everyone.'
"Professor Sinistra has mentioned needing five Fifth-Edition Celestia Contemplors for her NEWT class," said Tauria in her warm rasp. "She also requires twenty lunascopes for her First and Second Year classes."
As part of the duties in providing operational support for Hogwarts, the Board of Governors was also responsible for managing a small auxiliary fund consisting entirely of donations. Said funds could be used to support individual students in the form of financial aid, provide a class with specific equipment, or sponsor a school club. Since its inception, the bursary of Riddle's program provided a rather hefty influx of capital that provided all of the aforementioned.
"I believe we have more than enough in our funds to accommodate that request," replied Riddle.
"I concur Lord Gaunt, thanks to your Program's inestimable contribution." Riddle nodded magnanimously as he sipped on his tea.
From his vantage, Obediah noted Duncan Lord Rosier's scowl as Riddle outright ignored him. As the Department Head for Wizarding Child Services, Duncan was guaranteed a seat on the Board. The pureblood was notoriously lackluster in his role, not really giving enough of a damn about any of the children who were not descended from the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. Though he never dared insult Lord Gaunt to his face, Duncan always ensured his disdain for what he thought of as a "useless mudblood charity" was always mirrored in his expression.
It was rather amusing to the Potter Seneschal that the man's own sons Felix and Evan Rosier had perished in the war, leaving a pathetic old man with the House on the cusp of extinction.
"Moving on, we've received a request from Miss Cho Chang regarding the Pureblood Advocacy Club. Specifically, she is requesting the support of an official Club Sponsor from a member of our Board." Tauria's expression became noticeably uncomfortable. "Lord Malfoy, since you have the most sponsorship experience out of this Board I…" she trailed off uncomfortably, fidgeting at the look her liege lord flashed her.
"...I will consult with my Gringotts accountant and later inform you on how I wish to proceed." It was delivered with a frigid asperity that at once communicated the blonde's anger at being asked such a question and his discomfort at the answer he had to provide.
Obediah didn't miss the looks Hecuba Goyle and Belphoebe Crabbe exchanged, though both quickly looked away as to not draw Lucius' attention.
"Excellent." Lady Parkinson paused to take a much-needed sip of water. "Madam Pince has requested some budget allocated for extra parchment, quills, and inkwells for students who require their use whilst in the Library. I believe that lies in the purview of the Jim Potter Charitable Trust?" She turned to Obediah, who gave his custom grin in response.
"Certainly! We will be more than happy to oblige!"
While he'd embezzled to the tune of a few million galleons out of the Trust accounts, he was certain there were plenty of leftover sickles to aid Lady Parkinson's efforts.
AN 1: The role of Acacia Lady Brown will be played by Lindsay Duncan in her role as Ysabeau de Clermont in A Discovery of Witches. That character is aloof and rather snooty but fiercely protective of her family. Pretty fitting for Acacia despite her tendency towards pureblood-ism. While she loathes the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters and will never join their ranks (and would expel any member of House Brown who would), she still believes purebloods to be superior, with an occasional exception for a Halfblood born of her house.
AN 2: The role of Benoîte Montmorency will be played by Natalie Dormer in her role as Jamie Moriarty (ELEMENTARY). Quite fitting for a woman playing a double role as a do-gooder charity lawyer by day and French mafia accountant by night. The role of Hestia Jones is played by Eva Green (Penny Dreadful).
AN 3: Libra is quite craftier than one would give her credit for. We'll see how her plans pan out.
AN 4: Lucius vs. Tiberius will be wrapped up towards the end of Book 3. So excited ***maniacal laugh***. Obviously, the little exchange between him and Tauria was purely theatre.