CHAPTER 15: BARGAINING WITH THE ENCHANTRESS
Harry sauntered along the bustling street, adorned in his most exquisite acromantula silk robes. Bellatrix, in her serpentine form, gracefully wound herself around him, her head draped over his shoulder as they proceeded towards the distinguished gentlemen's club.
The establishment, however, cast a perpetual pall over Harry's mood. Its dimly lit interiors and somber atmosphere always made him uneasy. This discomfort was only intensified by the recollection of his initial visit through the Floo network—a mishap that had left an indelible mark on his psyche, making each subsequent visit a haunting experience.
As Harry and Bellatrix traversed the entrance, he couldn't help but recall that fateful first encounter with the eerie locale. The memory of inadvertently stumbling into the gloomy confines clung to him like a ghost, a shadow from the past that tainted his perception of the place.
Amidst the hushed whispers and secretive glances, Harry moved past a group of hags who, sensing the potent aura emanating from both wizard and serpent, instinctively recoiled. The unspoken acknowledgment of his formidable magical prowess lingered in the air, dissuading any potential confrontation from those wise enough to avoid tangling with such a powerful duo.
As Harry and Bellatrix advanced further into the club, the murmur of clandestine conversations surrounded them like an enchanting melody. The low hum of magical discussions and the clinking of glasses provided the backdrop for their entrance into a realm where secrets and alliances danced in the shadows.
A voice from the shadows echoed, "Ah, Mr. Potter, we've been expecting you." The mysterious figure emerged, bathed in dim light, their features obscured. Harry couldn't help but wonder what dealings awaited him in this enigmatic establishment, fraught with both the mystique of the magical world and the ghosts of his own past.
In this arcane realm, populated by hags and vampires, Knockturn Alley bore the weight of its dubious reputation, even though, by and large, its inhabitants were relatively harmless. The true cause for concern lay not in the creatures that prowled its shadows but in the fellow wizards who frequented the dimly lit thoroughfare.
Much like Harry remembered from his previous visits, the atmosphere in Knockturn Alley remained unchanged. Despite the sun hanging high in the sky, the alleyway perpetually exuded an ambiance resembling twilight. The buildings, standing in close proximity to one another, seemed to conspire with some magical force, preventing sunlight from penetrating the alley's depths.
"I spy the brothel," Bellatrix hissed, her serpentine eyes fixated on the establishment.
"Indeed, I see it too," Harry replied, his hand gently stroking Bellatrix's head in a gesture of familiarity and reassurance.
With a purposeful turn to the right, Harry led the way towards the sole structure in the alley that exuded a semblance of respectability. Its outer walls, hewn from granite, gleamed as if recently washed, and expansive windows, deliberately opaque rather than neglected, adorned the facade. Above the entrance, a large wooden sign swung, displaying a muggle-style fairy indulging in a bottle of ale, accompanied by the whimsical words 'Drunken Pixie' carved underneath.
As they approached the entrance, the wooden door creaked open, revealing an ambiance that contrasted sharply with the foreboding exterior. A cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and lively chatter spilled out into the alley. Harry couldn't help but ponder the secrets concealed within the walls of the Drunken Pixie, wondering what awaited them in this seemingly ordinary yet mystifying establishment.
Harry exuded confidence as he confidently approached the Drunken Pixie's entrance, crossing the threshold with purpose. Upon stepping inside, he couldn't help but pause, captivated by the opulence that greeted him. The grandeur of the place triggered memories of the entrance hall at Malfoy Manor, the vaulted ceiling adorned with a row of sparkling crystal chandeliers, while the floors beneath his feet luxuriously cradled in velvet carpet, and the walls and ceiling boasting an elegant white marble finish.
As Harry surveyed the interior, he was met with a visual spectacle that juxtaposed the refined surroundings. Tapestries adorned the walls, depicting women in alluring outfits engaged in provocative dances and even more explicit acts. The provocative scenes seemed to vie for attention against the sophisticated backdrop, creating a surreal atmosphere within the Drunken Pixie.
Turning his attention to the lounge area, Harry couldn't suppress a snort at the sight that greeted him. Velvet chaise lounges and overstuffed couches were scattered liberally, each accompanied by end tables. The room's decor boasted thick, luxurious red velvet carpeting, while paintings of nude women adorned the walls, their depictions seemingly engaged in animated gossip. The incongruity of the setting, resembling a cliché brothel with its abundance of red velvet, tickled Harry's sense of humor.
Amidst the plush surroundings, Harry observed that the lounge also featured boxes of complimentary cigars strategically placed on end tables. Presumably intended for patrons eager to engage in socializing and political discussions while awaiting their turn with a companion. The juxtaposition of opulence and the mundane aspects of life intrigued Harry, stirring a curiosity about the characters and stories concealed behind the lavish facade of the Drunken Pixie.
Nonchalantly, Harry settled into a seat, mentally noting to dispose of the acromantula silk robes once he returned home. Seated comfortably, he awaited someone to approach him, the air thick with the anticipation of the unknown.
Before long, a striking redhead approached with an air of confidence. She moved gracefully, barefoot and adorned in a sheer white negligee that accentuated the allure of the black lace underneath. The cobra wrapped around Harry's neck reacted with a hiss of irritation at her presence.
"Good afternoon, sir. My name is Ariel. Are you here to see a specific lady?" she inquired, her voice a soft, sensual melody that hung in the air.
Harry, adopting a passable imitation of Draco Malfoy's aristocratic drawl, responded, "No, I've never actually visited this establishment before, but I have heard tales that you have some Vella in your employ."
Ariel's gaze lingered on Harry, assessing him with a mixture of curiosity and professionalism. The ambient murmur of the lounge, combined with the provocative decor, created a surreal backdrop for this unexpected encounter. As the narrative unfolded within the Drunken Pixie, Harry couldn't help but wonder how this seemingly casual visit would unfold and whether it would lead him deeper into the clandestine underbelly of magical society.
Ariel, her demeanor a mix of professionalism and subtle hopefulness, raised an inquiry about the high rates for the veela, suggesting other alternatives. Harry, however, dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand, stating, "Cost is hardly an issue; I want the best." Casually, he picked up a cigar from the complimentary box, placing it in his mouth with an air of nonchalance.
"Very well, if you would follow me, I believe Isabelle is free," Ariel replied, her initial enthusiasm slightly diminished. Undeterred, Harry rose, ready to proceed with the arrangement.
Following the captivating redhead through the plush lounge, they entered a side door that opened into a narrow hallway, lined with doors on both sides. Harry conscientiously avoided glancing at Ariel's swaying figure, mindful of the cobra coiled around his neck that might react to any perceived threat.
As they neared the end of the hallway, Ariel gently knocked on the last door to the right. A melodic, French-accented voice invited them in, "Come in."
Harry crossed the threshold, intrigued by the unfolding scenario. Behind that door, he sensed the beginning of a tale that would intertwine with the mysterious threads of the Drunken Pixie, leaving him wondering about the secrets and stories concealed within the walls of this enigmatic establishment.
Ariel gracefully ushered Harry into the room, closing the door behind him. The compact space held only a bed, a vanity, and a small door leading to a presumed bathroom. The lush red velvet carpet underfoot and the flickering candlelight lent a romantic ambiance to the room.
Seated on the bed was a woman, adorned in a similar white negligee but without the concealment of undergarments. Her silvery blond hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, and her blue eyes appraised Harry appreciatively. Striking similarities to Fleur Weasley crossed Harry's mind, attributing them, perhaps, to the veela traits that ran in her blood.
"Bonjour, you requested an 'our wiz a veela," she greeted, her voice exuding sensuality with a captivating French accent. Harry couldn't help but notice the fullness of her ruby red lips.
"Yes, but I was hoping to hire you for something besides the obvious," Harry explained with a cough, making a conscious effort to maintain eye contact and avoid any inadvertent glances.
The veela, named Isabelle, regarded Harry suspiciously. "And what exactly is it you want?" she inquired, her demeanor tinged with curiosity.
"I need you to get a patron of yours to sign this," Harry said, extending the parchment that Narcissa had provided him to terminate the betrothal contract. The request hung in the air, the room imbued with the anticipation of a clandestine mission entwined with the complexities of magical contracts and personal connections.
Isabelle deftly unrolled the parchment, her eyes scanning the name before a smirk curled on her lips. "Ze man is a cochon, he is very rough wiz ze other ladies. I would 'ave no problem 'elping you if ze price is good," she remarked, her French accent adding a layer of intrigue to her words.
"I will pay you quite a large sum if you can pull it off," Harry affirmed, punctuating his words by tossing a substantial sack of galleons onto the bed.
Isabelle's eyes widened as she picked up the bag, astounded by its weight. " 'ow much is this?" she inquired, her curiosity evident as she opened the bag.
"Five thousand galleons. You will get five thousand more if you get him to sign it with this," Harry explained, handing her a blood quill with a solemn undertone.
"You 'ave a deal. He should come 'ere tomorrow night. I will get him to sign zis," Isabelle declared with confidence, sealing the agreement. The room, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, bore witness to a clandestine pact that transcended the boundaries of the Drunken Pixie. Harry couldn't help but wonder how this veela's involvement would unfold, setting in motion a sequence of events that would entwine fate, magic, and the secrets concealed within the depths of Knockturn Alley.
"Excellent. I will return the day after tomorrow, but if you try to cheat me on this, no amount of fireballs will save you from me," Harry stated menacingly, causing Isabelle, the veela, to physically recoil.
"You 'ave my word. Zat money will get me out of 'ere, and I would not risk zat," Isabelle assured him, her voice tinged with a hint of apprehension.
"Good. Now, how much is the standard rate for an hour with you?" Harry inquired, shifting the conversation to a more transactional tone.
"Three 'undred and fifty galleons," Isabelle promptly responded.
Nodding in acknowledgment, Harry pulled out another pouch and summoned the required amount, making it hover in the air before gently lowering it onto the bed.
"I have taken up enough of your time, Ms...?" Harry trailed off, prompting Isabelle to provide her last name.
"Dubois. Are you sure you would not like to experience what being wiz a veela is like?" Isabelle asked seductively, her blue eyes gleaming with an enchanting allure.
Harry, maintaining a composed demeanor, simply shook his head. "Another time, perhaps. I have business to attend to." With that, he left the room, the door closing behind him, leaving Isabelle alone in the intimate glow of candlelight, the weight of their agreement hanging in the air like a secret waiting to be unveiled.
Harry chuckled uneasily, feeling the coils of Bella's veela aura tightening subtly around him in response to Isabelle's words. "My girlfriend would have my head if I indulged in anything remotely risky," he quipped, eyeing the encroaching magical tendrils warily.
Isabelle sighed softly, her wistful expression revealing a trace of disappointment. "Ah, it is regrettable. You possess the qualities that veelas seek in a mate."
Curiosity piqued, Harry inquired, "What qualities might those be?"
"Ah, the trifecta," Isabelle replied with a melancholic smile. "Handsome, powerful, and immune to our veela charms that render most men utterly spellbound."
Harry paused, slightly taken aback. "I see," he responded, struggling to find an appropriate reply to such a candid revelation.
"Very well then, Harry Peverell," Isabelle stated, reaching for the parchment. "I shall have your documentation signed. Your name, it has a certain weight to it."
Exiting the room, Harry navigated through the building's corridors, mulling over the encounter. As he stepped outside, the bustling streets of Diagon Alley welcomed him back into their fold.
"Girlfriend?" Bellatrix's voice carried a soft edge, laced with curiosity and a hint of something more.
Harry glanced over, catching the subtle shift in Bella's demeanor. "Well, aren't we?" he asked, a playful lilt in his tone, unsure of the direction their relationship had taken.
"We are, but we've yet to discuss it," Bellatrix murmured, her words laced with a tinge of reproach.
The familiar streets seemed to swirl around Harry as he walked, pondering the unspoken nuances of his connection with Bellatrix, wondering if their unvoiced expectations mirrored each other's thoughts.
Harry strolled through Diagon Alley, the air tinged with the scent of magical wares and the lively hum of the wizarding world. As he approached 'Borgin and Burke's,' he turned to Bellatrix with a casual smile, his tone masking the weight of his question. "What do you say, Bellatrix? Would you like to be my girlfriend?"
The question hung in the air for a moment, and Bellatrix's eyes sparkled with a mix of surprise and delight. "Yes, Bella would love to be your girlfriend," she hissed happily, the edges of her lips curling into a pleased smile.
"Excellent," Harry said, his confidence growing. "Now, let's keep this between us until we get home." He pushed open the door leading out of the darkened Knockturn Alley into the brighter ambiance of Diagon Alley, squinting at the sudden assault of sunlight on his eyes.
As they stepped into the bustling marketplace, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. He guided Bellatrix toward Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, the sweet aroma of magical confections wafting through the air. Inside, he purchased two cones, a small indulgence to celebrate the newfound understanding between them.
"Step one is complete," Harry declared with a grin as he handed Bellatrix her cone. "Now, let's enjoy these and head home. I've got a good feeling about this, don't you?"
Bellatrix nodded, savoring the ice cream as they apparated away, the first whispers of a plan taking shape. The journey home was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the sounds of crackling apparition and the shared excitement of a secret beginning to unfold.
Returning home, Harry was taken aback by the lively atmosphere that emanated from the drawing-room. Laughter and the pitter-patter of tiny feet echoed through the halls, drawing him upstairs with a sense of curiosity. Ascending the staircase, he followed the joyful sounds until he reached the open door of the drawing-room.
Stepping inside, Harry's eyes widened at the scene that unfolded before him. Sirius Black and the enigmatic Black sisters—Bella, Andromeda, and Narcissa—were gathered, their attention focused on three children engrossed in play on the floor.
Among them, a younger Draco Malfoy caught Harry's eye. The toddler, in all his blond-haired innocence, sat with a coloring book, crayons in hand. Harry found himself reluctantly acknowledging that Draco was, indeed, a cute baby. The little Malfoy concentrated on his artistic endeavors, occasionally glancing up to observe the other two children engaged in playful antics.
The room exuded an unexpected warmth, a contrast to the usual grim and serious air associated with the Black family. Harry couldn't help but marvel at the sight of these pureblood witches and wizards reveling in the simple joy of watching children at play. It was a side of them he hadn't anticipated, and for a moment, the familial bonds seemed to soften the edges of the formidable Black family legacy.
Harry lingered at the doorway, silently observing the domestic scene, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Little did he know, this unexpected tableau would soon become a backdrop for the intricate threads of fate that wove through the tapestry of his life.
The animated scene in the drawing-room continued as Tonks, with contagious laughter, played the role of a four-legged steed for a dark-haired toddler. The air was filled with the delightful sound of the child's gleeful laughter, echoing through the room as he urged Tonks to go faster, his tiny voice punctuating the air with a spirited, "Faster, Tonky, faster!"
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