Chapter 58 — Agreements
Lessons did go ahead that day, and they were intensive enough — Flitwick wanted to make up for the few hours I had spent on the preliminary business with Hermione, and to build in some buffer for the time that would still need to be spent on her family.
And now I was standing at the door of the manor house where a room had been prepared, watching the French Healers — who had put on a very convincing performance in front of the Muggle paramedics as a medical transport crew transferring critically ill patients — carry Hermione and her father inside.
"Mrs Granger."
I gave a nod to the girl's mother, and she very nearly threw herself at me with embraces and kisses. I think the only thing that stopped her was the presence of strangers.
"Thank you."
One word — but the weight of feeling behind it.
"Not yet."
I shook my head.
"You can thank me when your family is well. My mother said your husband should be able to come round within about a week, but Hermione would be better off staying as she is for a month."
"But—"
"Please. As a Healer, my mother understands this a great deal better than an Auror does. If she says it will be better for your daughter, then it will."
"All right."
"Don't worry. I have no intention of standing at your daughter's funeral, or your husband's — and I have no desire to lose her company at Hogwarts because she's become an Obscurial."
"I... thank you."
She held herself together while the Healers were still with us — but the moment they left, she simply broke down and wept on my shoulder. All I could do was pat her gently on the back, though Penny oriented herself remarkably quickly.
"Here, take this — meow."
"This is..."
Jean looked in mild confusion at the vial Penny was holding out to her — my girl with her little ears and her attached tail.
"A Calming Draught — meow. You need it right now — meow."
"Thank you."
She gave a small sob, took the potion from Penny's hands and drank it in one go. It made her sway slightly, and I had to steady her. But then she looked around the room again, and now her eyes held an arctic calm.
"I... that does help. Really."
She gave a slow nod.
"Wonderful. Please sit here while my mother checks on Hermione and your husband once more — after that you'll be able to go through to their room. We can discuss all the particulars properly once your husband is conscious."
"I... thank you."
"As I said — not yet."
I rose from the small sofa where I'd been sitting beside Jean.
"Now if you'll excuse me — I have studying to get back to."
The woman gave a slightly faraway nod, and I left her. Flitwick immediately descended on me again with tripled intensity.
At that pace, nearly two weeks flew by — and at last Cissy told me it was time to bring Hermione's father round.
"John!"
Jean flung herself towards her husband and burst into tears on his chest, despite what was practically a horse's dose of Calming Draught.
"Jean."
His voice was faint.
"You're alive."
A weak smile appeared on his lips and he clearly tried to do something, but found he couldn't. That much was plain from the faint bewilderment on his face.
"I'm glad. Come now — why are you crying?"
"Mrs Granger — if you would allow me to speak with your husband for a moment. He needs to be fully briefed on the situation."
At the sound of my voice he turned his gaze to me with a slightly lost expression — he had to turn his head a little, but that gave him no trouble.
"You..."
"Indeed, Mr Granger. Let's begin with the relatively good news. I'd ask you not to interrupt me."
He gave a very slow nod.
"After you lost consciousness, your daughter had a magical discharge. Despite an initially rather poor diagnosis from the French Auror on scene, and the negligence that resulted in her being placed in a Muggle hospital, she is all right. Relatively all right — she is in a coma, but there is no threat to her health, and when we bring her out of it in two or three weeks' time, she will be a stronger witch for it."
"What's wrong with her?"
He looked at me with a demanding expression.
"The technical terminology won't mean much to you, so to put it simply—"
I glanced at his wife.
"Severe magical exhaustion. She was fortunate in that the damage to her magical core was minimal, and what there was has already nearly healed. If the discharge had been slightly stronger, she could have lost her gift entirely."
"I see. And how much do we owe you?"
"For Hermione? Nothing."
I shook my head.
"The potions we're giving her to maintain her weight and the spells we use to keep her muscles from deteriorating — those cost us virtually nothing. I see no reason to charge you for them."
John gave a dry sound.
"Well, I can manage without an eye."
"I'm afraid your situation is rather more complicated, since you've lost not only an eye but an arm as well."
A look of mild confusion crossed John's face.
"In addition, your body carries a great many scars that will cause you considerable pain for another year or two at least. Certain potions can help, and there are salves, but—"
"Is it expensive?"
"Not exactly expensive."
I shrugged.
"You can quite reasonably afford it — assuming your wife is able to keep the business running without you. Or if you were to sell it and put the money into stocks."
"Ha — you know your way around the Muggle world rather well."
"Indeed."
I gave a nod.
"The more pressing issue is the arm. You could manage without our help and simply have a wooden prosthetic made. Though it is within our means to provide you with a fully functional one. It won't transmit sensation — but otherwise the hand will work exactly as it did before."
I saw scepticism in John's gaze.
"And how much would that cost us?"
"It depends on the materials. The best option is silver — not pure silver, obviously, but an alloy of silver, steel, and certain other components. It's quite expensive, but it's a one-time investment that will last a very long time. There is a wooden alternative, but that won't serve you more than two years — if it's made from decent wood, that is. If the wood is poor, it won't last six months."
"How much for the metal version, and how much for good wood?"
"The metal version — expect somewhere around five thousand Galleons."
"Cough — cough—"
John choked.
"The wooden version—"
I continued past his reaction.
"—roughly two thousand. I can't be more precise, since material costs fluctuate, and then there's the artisan's fee — an Artefact-maker who will inscribe the correct runic sequences and make the artefact compatible with an ordinary person... Incidentally, we can make you an eye as well. Rather a good one, in fact — but as you can imagine—"
"Even more expensive?"
"Yes."
"I'll manage without any of it."
The man gave a dismissive snort.
"A man can live quite comfortably without an eye and a hand. And my wife and daughter won't leave me."
"Darling."
Jean lifted herself from her husband's chest and looked at him with a firm expression.
"Please show some small amount of courtesy to Mr Black and his family. You've been in a coma for two weeks, and believe me — I was ready to offer everything, including myself, just to save our daughter. And you. But instead of using the situation I was in to bind me to some ruinous contract, they waited until you had recovered sufficiently, and right now they are telling us that we owe them, in practical terms, *nothing — yet.*"
"Darling—"
"I'm not asking you to love Mr Black. I'm simply asking you to show a little courtesy towards someone who did not exploit the situation I was in, and who conducted himself as a true gentleman."
"All right, darling."
John sighed.
"So — I take it this isn't the end of it?"
"Precisely."
I gave a slow nod.
"You see — these creatures, which the magical authorities are calling them for lack of a better name, have appeared before, and you were not the only family to be attacked. I expect you heard nothing of this because the Memory Department has been managing the situation fairly well so far — but..."
I sighed.
"...their capacity won't be sufficient for much longer. The breaches will become more and more frequent, and the most unfortunate part is that at the moment no one knows what these creatures are."
"If *you* don't know, that doesn't mean no one does."
"Fair point."
I smiled at John.
"But as it happens, I am acquainted with the daughter of the head of the French Auror Corps — that is to say, the magical police — and he spoke with us very candidly. At present nobody knows what these creatures are, where they come from, or what they want. What has been established is that the frequency and the scale of the breaches are increasing. Before long it will be impossible to conceal this from ordinary people. Wizards will emerge from the shadows — and close behind them will come the Inquisition, and a good many other organisations."
"So what are you offering us?"
"Safety."
John blinked his one remaining eye in surprise.
"Safety? But didn't you just say—"
"I remember what I said. But I also know that schools are, in the main, secure — and the wards on my home are not much weaker than those around the schools. My family is an ancient one, after all. In the near term we intend to acquire a great deal more property and extend the reach of the wards. All of that has already been planned out. I am offering you a place to relocate to — a safe one."
"That is... a very interesting proposal."
"It isn't especially urgent for the moment, since we still have properties to purchase, work to be done on them, wards to be laid — and you will need to think about how to keep yourselves and your daughter safe in the meantime. I have every confidence that the Crown will also be providing security. The army, the police, possibly hired wizards and members of other organisations."
I shrugged.
"So I have to choose?"
"Yes. You will have to choose which particular debt to put yourself and your family into. With the Crown, nothing is predictable — it could mean a lifetime of service in the armed forces for your daughter, or something in medicine for you and your wife. But all of that would be for conditional safety, at best."
John gave a slow nod to indicate he had followed.
"From our side, on the other hand, you would simply need to retrain somewhat."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if we fit you with an eye and an arm, you would make an exceptional engraver — one capable of covering every millimetre of an artefact with runes. Artefact-makers would only need to design their work so that the runic sequences could be applied by an ordinary person, or improve their engraving machinery so that the result is indistinguishable from hand-cast runes. Your wife, meanwhile, could become a potion-brewer — producing potions in volume. Naturally something truly complex would be beyond her, but brewing simple potions at scale — potions that are none the less effective for their simplicity — is entirely within her reach. And naturally, a contract from your daughter: that she repays me five times the sum spent on her education. Nothing beyond that."
"That's—"
"Darling, hush."
Apparently reading something in her husband's expression, Jean stopped him.
"Draco — my husband and I will think over your proposal. We can take a little time to consider it, surely?"
"Of course."
I gave a nod.
"You have until the end of this year if you want to choose your own flat. Longer, if where and how you live isn't a pressing concern. I simply intend to take on people fairly quickly — people who will be in my employ."
"We'll think it over. I don't imagine it will take us more than a couple of weeks. I think my husband can make some calls — reach out to old friends who haven't left the service yet. They may know something."
"Perhaps."
I smiled at the voice of reason in that family.
"In any case, I'm not rushing you — and I'm happy to offer you my hospitality until you are well enough to leave the country under your own power."
"Thank you, Draco."