The next order of business for the summer, clearly, was to plan a party.
"We have this amazing house!" Harry said, grinning. "We have to show it off. We have to."
The logistics were determined. Susan went to the Ministry to fight about getting the coven house added to the Floo Network; Blaise worked on the guest list; Luna made invitations and owled them out; Hermione figured out catering for the party; and Harry cleaned and decorated with an aggressive sort of cheerfulness.
Eventually, they decided to invite only their friends – but everyone's friends. From Susan's side, that was Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchney, and Wayne Hopkins. Harry wanted to invite Ron and Neville, and Luna wanted to invite Ginny. Hermione put down Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, Terry Boot, and Mandy Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw, and then nearly all the Slytherins of her year. Hermione was surprised to see Blaise add a few other names, ones she didn't expect to see.
"Sally-Anne?" Hermione said, surprised. "I—ah—I thought you broke up."
"We're still on good terms," Blaise said, flashing Hermione a grin. "I thought she might have fun."
"You invited all these Gryffindor girls?" Harry said, making a face. "Why?"
Blaise just shrugged. "Thought it'd help balance the numbers."
"Then I want to add Seamus and Dean," Harry said stubbornly.
"If we're inviting Parvati, we should probably invite Padma," Luna said, twirling her hair.
"Fine," Harry said, with a long-suffering sigh. "I'll allow it."
The others laughed at his dramatics, and the invitations were sent out.
As it turned out, Hermione didn't have long to wait; Bloodthorne's owl arrived two days later, and it was with glee that Hermione returned to Gringotts once more, Blaise tagging along at her side.
"I would tell you what I have found," Bloodthorne said, sitting down. "Pay attention, Hermione Granger; it is more complicated than you would think."
Ownership of the Daily Prophet was held by a conglomerate with three distinct parts: the Morgan family, with 35%; the Broadmoor family, with 35%; and the Ollerton Brothers, with 30%.
"Each brother effectively has 10%," Bloodthorne elaborated. "One brother may have given his share to his two children; it is still unclear."
The difficulty, Bloodthorne explained, was that each family was unlikely to sell unless they knew the other family was also selling. They had rival aims, he explained, and each family held the others in check. As he spoke, Blaise began paging through the documents Bloodthorne had brought, and he started laughing.
"This is all over Quidditch?" he asked, grinning. "This is surreal."
Bloodthorne looked disgusted. "Wizards and their games."
The Morgan family, as it was, had two famous daughters who played for the Hollyhead Harpies, one of whom was still on the team. The Broadmoor family had two well-known sons who had both played for the Falmouth Falcons. Each family was determined to hold the other in check to make sure slanted material would not be published about one Quidditch team over another, with the Ollerton Brothers often mediating disputes.
"The Ollerton Brothers are aging, elderly, and weary," Bloodthorne told them. "They created their Cleansweep business 68 years ago."
The Morgans and Broadmoors only trusted the Ollerton Brothers to arbitrate disputes, it seemed, because both families trusted the integrity of the broom makers implicitly. As it happened, the Ollerton Brothers didn't give a damn about the news coverage of Quidditch so long as they were able to continue placing free advertisements about their latest models, and they left the actual decision-making entirely up to the editorial board.
"The only journalistic integrity this paper has is in the Sports section?" Hermione couldn't stop laughing. "Oh, of course that's fair and balanced, but the front page? Who cares?"
Once she settled down, they formulated a strategy.
"You need to buy out the Ollerton Brothers first," Blaise said, making a diagram. "Once you've got their share, the Morgans and Broadmoors will both be alarmed and sit up and pay attention. If you make it clear you don't intend to advocate for any particular Quidditch-oriented agenda, they might pull out, but only if they're certain the other is pulling out as well."
"So I hunt down the Ollerton brothers first?" Hermione asked. She sighed. "Well, at least they'll all be at the Cleansweep building, right?"
"We can hope," Blaise warned her. "They're getting old – who knows who they might have running things now?"
Bloodthorne went on to document what he could find of their finances, which was very little. He'd made up some estimates, but even they made Hermione frown.
"This supposes everyone gets the Daily Prophet," she said. "That's almost certainly not the case. It'd be one per household, max, and most students at Hogwarts don't take the paper either."
"You figure they'd be running what, 10% profit?" Blaise said. He snorted. "Then split that three ways? They probably don't know how much what they have is worth."
"Wizards generally offer the predicted profit for 5-10 years," Bloodthorne said. "I would aim for the lower, but I would be prepared to offer the higher value as well."
Hermione sighed. "Well. It's a place to start."
The Cleansweep factory was allegedly on Diagon Alley, but Hermione had never seen it before. The street numbers simply didn't go up as high as the address Bloodthorne had given them, and Hermione found herself lost.
"What am I missing?" she despaired. "It's got to be somewhere."
She and Blaise finally went to Quality Quidditch Supplies to ask the people there where they got their Cleansweeps from.
"Oh, they're not on Diagon Alley at all!" the shop boy laughed. "Not really."
"But their address—" Hermione protested.
"Maybe for mail only," the shop boy conceded. "But no, they're in the business district, up Galleon Alley."
"Galleon Alley?" Hermione repeated, astonished.
"Follow Diagon Alley up and around past Gringotts," the boy instructed. "It gets real narrow. But on the other side, you'll find it. Most of the magical factories are back there, out of the way."
It had never occurred to Hermione where magical factories might be located before. Thanking the boy profusely, she and Blaise headed off back towards Gringotts.
"I've never even heard of this before," Blaise said. "Galleon Alley?"
"It's got to be a nickname, if they're all still officially part of Diagon Alley," Hermione mused.
When they arrived back at Gringotts, it was as it always was – Gringotts setting firmly at the end of the street, massive structure that it was. Hermione and Blaise exchanged a skeptical look.
"…is that it? We just walk around the side of Gringotts?" she asked. "Is that gap really a street?"
"Well, it's not a moat," Blaise said. "Worth a shot. If it's not and the goblins get mad, at least you're friends with them all."
"And if it's actually a back alleyway leading us to our doom, I've got a sword," Hermione said dryly, and Blaise snickered.
The street to the left of Gringotts was very narrow, more of a narrow alley than a real road. She and Blaise went single file, wary, down past Gringotts, only to emerge on the other side of Gringotts to the same road, now much wider, with a fountain. It widened even further past the fountain, dividing into a V and becoming two separate roads with very plain, dull-looking buildings lining both streets. There were a few robed wizards going in and out of the buildings, often with coffee in their hand. There was a large sign with three arrows nearby, all of them labeled 'Diagon Alley'.
"This doesn't make any sense!" Hermione protested. "How can anyone keep any of this straight?"
"You've been here how long, and you still think wizards make sense?" Blaise snickered. He looked up at the sign and hummed. "Well. 'Diagon Alley' is where we just came from, yeah? So these other two must be North Diagon Alley and South Diagon Alley."
"But they're not running north to south," Hermione protested. "They're running east to west!"
Blaise gave her a puzzled look. "Yeah… so one is on the north, and one is on the south."
"That's not how—" Hermione cut herself off, scowling. She looked down at the scrap of paper she had the address written down on. "We need 722. Do you see that anywhere?"
They headed off down the street, glancing around. They quickly realized the numbers were arranged rather oddly – buildings on the south side of South Diagon Alley were in the 500s, and the north the 600s. A quick check revealed that North Diagon Alley's south side had claimed the 700s, and the north side the 800s. Hermione was shaking her head as they went down North Diagon Alley, pushed past the point of annoyance into amusement.
"I've never seen streets numbered like this before," she said. "Never. Who came up with this?"
"Probably the people themselves," Blaise said. "That way, they could just increment up one every time someone new moved in."
Hermione laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised."
722 N Diagon Alley (Hermione helpfully penned in the N herself) was a large square gray building between a brick building and a building that looked to be made from marble. Faded golden letters over the entrance read "The Cleansweep Factory". There was nothing stopping her, so Hermione took the door handle and tugged it open, trying for an arrogant confidence in her stride as she walked in.
There was a stone floor foyer with a few armchairs that had seen better days, along with a desk where a middle-aged woman sat, doing the crossword. She raised an eyebrow as she and Blaise entered.
"You're a bit young to be looking for work, aren't you?" she said. "Expelled?"
Hermione flinched violently, and Blaise laughed.
"Hardly," he told the woman. He grinned at her charmingly. "We've come to discuss a business proposition with the Ollerton brothers."
The woman sighed, very exasperated.
"Bill, Bob, and Barnaby have no interest in selling the Cleansweep Broom Company," she said, her voice suddenly an exhausted monotone. "They will not sell, and any further attempts or offers from the Nimbus Company or Comet Trading Company will be met with curses."
Hermione blinked.
"I have absolutely no interest in running a broom company," she told the woman flatly. "I've come to discuss their share in the Daily Prophet."
The woman's eyes widened, and she rapidly brightened.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so? Come right this way."