The quiet and calm evening at Malfoy Manor smoothly began to flow into night, but the few guests were in no hurry to disperse, and there was no reason to.
In a small living room decorated in beige tones, in a light twilight, prevented from seizing complete power over the room by four lamps, several wizards and witches sat on sofas and armchairs around a table with fruits, snacks, and drinks. The dim light from the barely alive flame in the large fireplace had almost no effect on the atmosphere, except for a quiet, rare crackling.
Three men sat in armchairs, having just finished discussing various common affairs and plans—Malfoy, Parkinson, and Smethwyck. The latter was a frequent visitor to the homes of very different wizards with sometimes diametrically opposed views on life. Naturally, the reason for this is a simple and obvious fact—he is a Healer. No one asked him about confidential information from other families and houses, and he wouldn't tell anyway. So now Smethwyck simply decided to stay after a routine check-up of Lucius's health—after all, Smethwyck's own assets also revolve in business connected with good old friends.
The ladies, of whom there were only two in the company today, Narcissa Malfoy and Aida Parkinson, were whispering quietly on the sofa almost embracing, sipping wine, eating fruit, and giggling about something of their own, as if they hadn't even graduated from Hogwarts yet. And the reason is simple—atmosphere. All this light gloom, halftones, dim light of magical lamps—it's as if they are back at Hogwarts, escaped from the common room and arranged a get-together in one of the classrooms. Yes, the companies were different, different wizards, but the essence remains the same, evoking a forgotten flair of teenage mystery, completely meaningless, but no less attractive for that.
"Well then, gentlemen," Lucius leaned back relaxedly in his armchair, and judging by the slight smile and the characteristic movement of the glass in his hands, he was also imbued with notes of light nostalgia. "Since we are done with business, I suggest discussing Hogwarts."
"By the way, yes," Benjamin Parkinson, a wiry middle-aged man, the owner of black-black hair and a nose with a characteristic hump, followed Lucius's example, settling more comfortably in his armchair. "My daughter writes interesting letters."
"And I, perhaps, will listen," Smethwyck didn't need to "settle more comfortably"—he did it immediately. "If anything—I'll express my opinion. If it interests you at all."
Smethwyck waved his hand in the air, as if brushing off some annoying fly, and the ladies chose this very moment to again unaristocratically giggle about something of their own. Surprisingly, one could consider that at the same time they remained the truest ladies both in posture and in movements, which could cause strong dissonance in an unprepared witness, should one appear here.
"Allow me, Benjy," Malfoy smiled, "to start myself."
"Oh please-please, just provide us with endless wine and you can talk as much and about whatever you want."
"Very mercantile of you," Malfoy chuckled. "But, actually, I'm used to it..."
"...for there are only two wizards," Smethwyck chuckled too, beckoning orange slices with a gesture of his hand, "in whose presence you are silent. And one of them, by the way..." Smethwyck chewed one slice with relish, "...is getting closer and closer to returning."
"And aren't you afraid?" Parkinson shifted his gaze to the Healer. "He might gather... selflessness, and this time will poke his nose into St Mungo's."
"Let him," Smethwyck shrugged indifferently. "Or people started forgetting the reasons for the immunity of Healers."
"Let's talk about Hogwarts after all," Malfoy interrupted the not very pleasant topic. "Let's start, perhaps, with the ball. As you know..."
Lucius's face became slightly inspired and everyone immediately understood that now they would be listening. Listening to quite a lot of words, possibly even beautiful ones, but the main thing—not to lose the essence of the conversation.
"...The Yule Ball, which, by the way, has not been held for a very long time, is an official event. However, unlike other official events, it gives us all a unique, rarest opportunity, for the sake of which it was generally held before."
Malfoy began to shift his gaze from one interlocutor to another, maintaining a dramatic pause, and even Narcissa and Aida decided to listen to this impromptu speech.
"The opportunity to get to know our younger generation a little better. Their preferences, their interests, their passions, and for the sake of what or whom they are ready to cast a shadow on their school reputation. In our time, I remember, school reputation was exalted to a certain absolute, and we all believed that it would be our foundation in the future."
"What stupidity," Smethwyck chuckled, folding his hands on his stomach and fiddling with orange slices in them.
"We understand this now, and even more so, you understand this, Hippocrates, from the height of your age. And then, reputation meant very, very much to us."
"Are we going to talk about the age group of our children?" Parkinson asked importantly.
"I think so. They, if I understood correctly, distinguished themselves the most. The rest—trifles. The Davises pulled a small unexpected feint, the Selwyn girl brazenly managed to drag a fifth-year to the ball, being a third-year. Some so, trifles, came with some, left with others to snuggle in corners—nothing new," Malfoy waved it off.
"Well, then, broadcast already, in the end," Parkinson literally downed the remaining third of a glass of wine. "Or we will lose touch with reality before you get to the point."
"Now-now, my impatient friend," Malfoy smiled. "I think you yourself know how interestingly everything is twisting there. For example, the hope and joy of all the British Isles ignored this wonderful social reception. Moreover, from reliable sources it became known to me that he gave his dress suit and robe to Ronald Weasley, his friend."
"That's why that red-haired boy was so ridiculous in Pansy's memories," Benjamin chuckled, filling a glass with white wine. "Did not think that Dumbledore's hope would show such blatant social unconsciousness."
"It sometimes seems to me," Malfoy thought for a second, adjusting the collar of his black suit with a habitual movement. "That Dumbledore, to put it mildly, doesn't care about the education and social adaptation of the boy. As if there is no point in them. As if he won't have to use such skills. He clearly has some plan, and he follows it."
"As if it were otherwise," Smethwyck tried to settle even more comfortably in the armchair, but decided that this would be beyond the bounds of decency, and eventually sat even more strictly than before.
"A strong failure was for the fourth year of our beloved Slytherin. Almost all couples, even those with whom they used to go to receptions, fell apart immediately after the mandatory first dance. Well, and further communication, splitting into groups, and all that."
"That yes," Parkinson nodded. "Nothing personal, Luce, but my daughter wrote about an extreme degree of final disappointment in Draco."
"Ah," Lucius waved it off. "We perfectly understand that nothing good would have come of them as a couple. Cissy, what do you think?"
"I think," she smiled meagerly, retaining her impressiveness even at home. "That our Draco was interesting for Pansy only as a potential house leader. Although lately he began to show small progress, but this is insignificant. I assume she will soon reassess priorities, yes, Aida?"
Narcissa turned to her friend, and she nodded.
"She is a smart girl," Aida spoke, adjusting a strand of dark hair. "Even too much. But just as stubborn. No offense, but Draco won't pull her. Will always trail behind. Neither he nor she will tolerate this."
"What offense," Lucius smiled. "But, nevertheless, we have prepared a magnificent program of summer educational activities. Maybe Draco won't become smarter and more cunning, but he will definitely learn to hold a wand in his hands."
"About holding wands," a voice sounded from the entrance to the living room, and a dark shadow literally flew into the hall in the guise of Snape. Or Snape in the guise of a dark shadow. "If you are talking about the youth, then I have curious information."
"Severus, my friend," Lucius pointed to one of the free armchairs. "Sit down."
"I'll stand," gloomy, as always, all in black, Snape poured himself a glass of Firewhisky and took a tiny measured sip, simultaneously inhaling the aroma of the drink. "Just today, Granger laid out McAllister with a Dark Curse."
Everyone froze in slight shock, waiting for continuation, and Snape swept them with a gaze in his manner.
"Reflected by the Wilson-Satoshi method."
"Hmm..." Lucius thoughtfully looked at his old friend. "Is that certain?"
"Undoubtedly. Filius does not make mistakes in such things. But that's not all."
"Even so?" Narcissa smiled, levitating a small chocolate to Severus with a gesture of her hand, and he gratefully accepted it, immediately biting off a piece.
"Have you already discussed the ball?"
"Not completely."
"Then, I'll stand, drink, listen. Later—add."
"Okay," Lucius decided to continue his speech, and the others nodded. "Since the conversation turned to Granger, I consider it important to note several details. For starters, he invited the French champion, a Veela, to the ball, and conducted this ball more than decently."
"Does that surprise you so much?" Narcissa really didn't immediately understand the reason for emphasizing this fact. "At the championship final he showed himself more than worthy in this regard."
"And that's why you spent the entire match talking to him. And even tried to curse him, like Draco, so they behave decently," Lucius stated a fact. "True, he reflected it. Again. Your Black joking curses, of course, are joking for a reason, but... Just 'but'."
"And I am forced to admit that this event, completely unpleasant to me, turned out to be brightened by such unusual company," Narcissa nodded importantly.
"Yes-yes," Aida nodded to her friend, and when Narcissa turned to her, continued: "And next time curse more interestingly."
"Of course. Only will need to attend to reflecting the reflected curse..."
"Don't trouble yourself, Cissy," Snape answered in a quiet, but perfectly audible to all and distinct voice. "You will lose this battle."
"Really?"
"Granger practiced reflection with Romanova at one of the training sessions in our club. Heard of her?"
"Best duelist of Durmstrang, seventh year," Lucius nodded. "As far as I know, quite pleasant, well-bred, but also moderately reckless pureblood witch in far from the first generation. Even a pity that we don't climb into other people's flower gardens, just as they don't climb into ours. Although in vain, in vain..."
"So what is it with reflection?" Narcissa leaned forward, looking at Snape with keen interest in her eyes.
"There is such a Muggle game—ping-pong. Like tennis..."
"Less preludes, more sense," Parkinson asked Snape.
"As you wish. For fifteen minutes they threw a single Stupefy back and forth, accelerated to close to ideal speed."
"Curious," for a few seconds everyone was deep in thought, and Parkinson, taking advantage of the pause, decided to take the floor.
"Since the conversation is about Granger, it should be mentioned that the elder Greengrass came to the ball in clearly pre-agreed colors. Agreed with him. Completely ignoring Nott. With Theodore, according to my daughter's information, she generally went because of a promise to her parents."
"Speaking of which," Snape finished the glass of Firewhisky. "Strange business, the background of which I learned already on December twenty-sixth."
Almost everyone leaned forward or sideways—depending on how they sat relative to Snape standing in the shadows.
"Greengrass received a letter from her parents right during the ball about their plans for her further fate after Hogwarts."
"Oh," Narcissa drawled sadly, and her friend, Aida, nodded understandingly. "Not the most pleasant information, I understand."
"And so, in the darkness of the night," Snape continued his thought, escalating the intrigue. "Young Miss Greengrass went to the very top of the Astronomy Tower. To indulge in sadness and sorrow with all her teenage dedication."
The ladies nodded understandingly, the men snorted, receiving displeased looks from these very ladies.
"And here is a strange thing," Snape drawled thoughtfully and quietly, in his manner. "According to verified information, a Hogwarts student peacefully sleeping at this time, Hector, better known in narrow circles as Holy-Shit-He-Can-Do-That-Too Granger, woke up, and went, guess where?"
"To the Astronomy Tower?" the ladies said simultaneously, clearly tipsy, and inventing romantic pictures for themselves—why not.
"Exactly," Snape nodded. "And arranged a romantic date for the saddened Miss Greengrass there with magical fireflies, music, and dancing, because together they danced only one dance at the ball. By the way, they looked happy both there and on the Tower. Wouldn't be surprised if it came to more intimate moments."
"Wait-wait," Malfoy stopped Snape's story. "And you didn't even disperse them to the common rooms?"
"Exactly."
"Do you understand how suspicious this is, my harmful friend?"
"Decided for a change to be not only a greasy-haired ghoul from the dungeons," Snape shrugged. "And here's another thing. Dumbledore obliged me to take an apprentice, or he himself will slip someone. This someone, just for a joke, as he loves, could turn out to be Potter. I decided that I need to take matters into my own hands. Thinking of taking Greengrass and Granger as apprentices."
Everyone shifted their gaze to the silent Smethwyck. Silent, and smiling somehow venomously.
"You know something," Narcissa rebuked him, shaking her finger. "Know, and are silent."
"Know. And am silent," he answered with a smile, finishing the last orange slice.
"Is he not Muggle-born?"
"By no means, the most Muggle-born there is. Like his sister."
"And you don't mind your goddaughter's affair with him?" Narcissa was surprised.
"I have my own views on blood purity," Smethwyck shrugged. "Strictly medical. And age allows me to say a simple thing—so what."
"Meaning?" both Benjamin and Aida turned into ears.
"Well if something works out for them—good," Smethwyck shrugged. "If not—useful experience for both. And regarding apprenticeship with you, Severus, neither I nor the parents have anything against it. They have long known about Daphne's desire to learn potion-making, and actively stimulated her to achieve this on her own. Seems it worked out."
"This is all very cute," Lucius nodded, filling the empty glass with wine. "Only you do not take into account one important factor. He is returning."
"The contract for training is not with Severus Snape," the Potions Master shrugged. "But with a Hogwarts Professor, a Master of Potions and Dark Arts. You know the difference yourself."
"By the way, Lucius," Smethwyck became very serious, and such a thing knocked those present out of the rut a little. "I recommend giving the guy patronage without obligations."
"Oh how!" Malfoy chuckled. "Although... You know something. What are the pros?"
"Just get a benevolently inclined wizard. Can say a successful wizard, even if obstacles are put in his way."
"You know," Lucius shook his head sadly. "After Hogwarts it is almost impossible for Muggle-borns to go further along the path of magic. Such is the way our world works."
"Believe me, he will get the knowledge himself," Smethwyck did not give up. "But then you won't get a benefit. Not for me to tell you how to spin intrigues out of thin air. Only with one condition—without obligations."
"That's strange..."
Everyone listened attentively, waiting for some decision. Even if Lucius wasn't a leader, he was the most dodgy in terms of profit, managing to return the respect of wizards and well-being, having only five Galleons in his pocket after the fall of the Dark Lord. Literally. And having lost nothing of the heritage.
"Hmm..." Lucius drawled thoughtfully again, looking at the glass in his hand. "Understood. Propose to give patronage to a one hundred percent successful wizard, but without obligations, to get a comrade, not a debtor. To give patronage publicly, so that ordinary people think how much I overate lemon drops, imbued with equality and fraternity, and others—wracked their brains what is so pureblood in a Muggle-born. Some will think that we are all so white and fluffy, and others—that we know something."
"Well, about that," Smethwyck nodded. "But in connection with His imminent return, it is better not to offer obvious help. Look, through Severus, since he decided to take the guy as an apprentice. In public just communicate, don't turn up your nose out of habit..."
"And his nose doesn't turn up from him anyway," Narcissa smiled. "Nothing to complain about."
"Just like yours," Lucius parried. "Which is extremely unusual."
"Well," Benjamin. "Then I will also ask Pansy to support your game. She helps Daphne in every possible way with her cunning plans anyway. Let them think that we know something collectively. Hogwarts—is quite a place. This whole thing will instantly become overgrown with inconceivable rumors. The main thing—to be mysteriously silent and smile."
"Right," Aida nodded. "And the boy, by the way, is cute. Even too much... I saw in the Pensieve. Not surprising that the girlish heart of young Daphne beat faster..."
"Girlish heart..." Smethwyck chuckled. "You say too."
"Disagree," Snape added denying intonations to his voice. "They moved for a year and a half to start calling each other by name. Believe me, as a teacher who saw them almost every day—appearance played far from the first violin in this symphony of sympathy and feelings."
"How do you do it?" Narcissa looked at her friend with a smile. "With a couple of phrases kill all girlish romance, immediately resurrecting it in another guise, like a Phoenix from the ashes?"
"Firewhisky—no other way," Snape nodded. "You remember that Babbling Beverage, Wit-Sharpening Potion, Veritaserum, and Firewhisky contain the same wood ingredient in their composition..."
"So, that's it, it started..." Benjamin raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Now we will learn a lot about our mediocrity in potions..."
Finally, those present moved from the topic "Granger" to other important events of the last days at Hogwarts, and one well-known Muggle-born student of the best school of witchcraft and wizardry could not fall asleep—overcome by hiccups, then the desire to sneeze.
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