"Miss Granger, these are the acolytes' recent purchase invoices for Diagon Alley. Please review them."
Diagon Alley, acolytes' shops.
Hermione, who had spent the summer buried in books on management and economics, was finally getting her hands dirty. She planned to shadow Vinda during the break.
Vinda was impressed by the Muggle-born witch, though seeing her with Argus stirred a familiar pang—a cycle of hope and heartache. Hermione still had a shot; Argus's heart belonged to someone else entirely. Vinda, once a black rose thriving in France, knew she'd lost her chance long ago.
"Yes, Ms. Rosier."
Hermione lived up to her potential as a future Minister of Magic, picking up the ropes with astonishing speed. In days, she was managing the acolytes' operations like a pro.
"Aunt Vinda, how's the sponsorship talk for the Quidditch World Cup going? What did Fudge say?"
In the wizarding world, the Quidditch World Cup rivaled the Muggle FIFA tournament in fervor—only more intense.
As Britain's dominant power and commercial powerhouse, the acolytes couldn't pass it up. Whether supplying Portkeys, lodging, food, or gear, or using the event to hawk new products, the upfront costs were steep, but the returns? Astronomical.
"Fudge has granted us the Portkeys and hosting rights on behalf of the Ministry," Vinda said.
"But... Argus..."
She frowned. "By tradition, organizers only handle the stadium. We cover the rest—like tents, right?"
Hermione, standing nearby, looked baffled but held her tongue. She knew her insights couldn't yet match Vinda's or Argus's experience, so she just shot Argus a questioning glance.
"We're not mere suppliers, Aunt Vinda," Argus replied with a grin. "Tents are a loaner—retrievable and reusable after. The Cup's in Britain, but wizards from across the globe, especially Europe, will flock here. It's our chance to expand beyond borders."
"Germany and Austria may have lifted the embargo publicly, but they've got endless ways to undermine us quietly. We need prestige to pressure their everyday wizards into keeping them in check."
Vinda didn't argue, just voiced her worry. "The investment's massive. Recouping it won't be quick."
"Tents tiered by luxury: basics for free, premiums for purchase. Pure-bloods have Galleons to spare—it's about status, not just money. Limit the top tier to drive bidding wars among those face-saving types."
"For standard tents, stock them with cheap samples—candies, joke items. Want to buy? Summon an acolyte house-elf."
Argus nearly suggested charging for everything inside but rethought it. Sure, it'd rake in gold, but it'd tarnish the acolytes' hard-earned reputation. Not worth the backlash.
"Adults have restraint," he added, "but kids? Put a toy in reach but out of grasp, and temptation wins."
Vinda nodded, accustomed to Argus's sharp instincts. Hermione's eyes widened in awe. She'd always credited the acolytes' rise to Vinda's team, with Argus chiming in only on big calls. Youth limited experience, she'd thought. But now? She saw it: every cornerstone strategy came from this teenager.
"Aunt Vinda, prep the team. Coordinate with the Quidditch league on VIP box sales upfront. Scale top-tier tents to match—scarcity sells."
"Right away," Vinda agreed.
"Oh, and Mr. Orion—Hogwarts' assistant Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—wants to meet. Says he owes you."
"Orion?" Argus blanked for a second, then it clicked. Sirius!
He still hadn't claimed the Black family library.
"Tomorrow, at the acolytes' bookstore."
"I'll arrange it."
Vinda departed, leaving Hermione curious. "Mr. Orion? What could he owe you?"
Argus realized he hadn't looped her in on Sirius. He sketched the basics: Sirius's innocence, his disguise, the grudges with Snape, Harry, and the rest. It left Hermione sighing.
Snape aside, Sirius had essentially signed his own death warrant. Not through betrayal, but by his cleverness—giving Pettigrew the perfect scapegoat role.
"So, Mr. Orion... the Ministry hasn't cleared Sirius Black's name yet, right?"
"We captured him, but he slipped away before handing him to Headmaster Dumbledore. Still, with my account, Lupin's, and even Snape's, Dumbledore will dig deeper."
Argus knew the Headmaster's persistence. The Blacks were few but influential. Clearing Sirius would help everyone—him and Harry included. Shame Dumbledore couldn't know Argus had already stripped the family vault bare. Rescue or not, Grimmauld Place was all that remained.
"I'll deal with it. Focus on Aunt Vinda's World Cup prep first. And pick her brain on spells—her dueling rivals McGonagall's."
"Don't count me out at school!" Hermione punched the air playfully, then dove back into the paperwork.
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