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Harry Potter Squib Tale Chapter 22
🕑 Added 2023-10-31 17:00:06 +0000 UTCChapter 22: Business Deals
It had been over a week since Harry had gone off to Hogwarts, and I was feeling a bit lonely. Sam was great company, of course, but I’d grown attached to the little guy, and all his questions about magic.
I’d received an owl from him on Sunday, telling me all about his classes and classmates. He seemed to really be enjoying his time there, minus Snape’s potion class and Astronomy. The former for obvious reasons, and the latter because he wasn’t fond of staying up late.
I’d chuckled a bit as I read about him complain about Ron’s snoring, and written back to him about looking up Silencing charms, and also suggested he befriend Hagrid for stories about his parents. The Groundskeeper had been a good and loyal friend in the books, and I felt that the two of them deserved to have that friendship continued in this life.
However, I had gotten a very interesting letter in the mail on Monday. It was an invitation to have lunch at Overton Downs Sports Club, which was an extremely fancy and exclusive country club that had golf, polo, tennis, an Olympic sized pool, and all the other trappings of society’s elite.
It was signed by the Finch-Fletchleys, and I recalled grinning like a loon when I saw that. Somehow, my luck – and business card – seemed to be paying off.
Though I did have to get a proper outfit. I needed something to wear that wouldn’t stand out too much there. Thankfully, I had Inky and a house full of old stuff to go through, and I found an old Acromantula silk suit and tie. The style was a bit out of date, from the 1920’s if I wasn’t mistaken, but it would do, and the quality of the materials wouldn’t loose out to anything worn there by the club goers.
‘I wonder what they want to see me about?’ I wondered as I prepared to leave to meet them that Saturday. I adjusted the cufflinks – rune studded with a Shield charm to block a single low powered spell – and tie – also woven with runes to be stain resistant.
“What do you think, Inky?” I asked, looking over at my loyal House Elf as I finished my preparations by putting some samples of my cosmetics into a pocket on my suit – pre-expanded with a storage charm by my ancestors.
“Young Master Eddy looks like gallant, proper young master,” Inky said, wiping a tear from his eyes. “Inky never thought he would get to see you looking like proper noble that you are.”
“I’m not a noble,” I muttered under my breath.
“To Inky, you are,” the House Elf claimed.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that, so I choose not to say anything.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said instead, and Inky snapped his fingers, poofing us both away.
We’d scouted out Overton Downs a couple days before I was supposed to meet there in order to get a scope of the place, and find a location I have Inky pop me into. You don’t ride a bus or taxi to get to a place like Overton Downs. I’d have been laughed out the door if I’d tried. With no other choice, I relied on magic.
The place we popped in at was a section of the country club’s parking lot that was away from any cameras, and behind a few decorative bushes so no prying eyes could notice us.
“Wish me luck, Inky,” I requested, and he nodded, snapping a salute.
I walked out, straightening my clothes superficially, and walked with confidence I didn’t quite feel up to the entrance.
I flashed my invitation to the man at the doors, who nodded and had someone escort me into the building, since I was a guest and not a member of the club.
‘Jeez, how much money do these people have?’ I couldn’t help but wonder as I walked past opulence and finery that boggled the mind. It was all tastefully downplayed, so nothing looked gaudy, but I could tell that everything was made of the highest quality materials.
As I tried not to gawk, I was led into the dining room, where the Finch-Fletchleys were waiting for me to join them for lunch.
“Good afternoon,” I said in greeting, giving a polite nod to the duo. “And Mrs., may I say you look lovelier than when I first met you.”
“Charmer,” she said with a demure smile. She was wearing a dress that was probably worth more than my entire apartment complex, to say nothing of the string of sapphires around her neck.
As I sat down, I glanced at Mr. Finch-Fletchley. He wasn’t a big man, but he was surprisingly muscular, his bulk straining against his clothing. Racking my mind, I recalled some of the info I’d looked up the family as part of my preparations for this meeting, namely that he’d been in the military. Retired SAS officer, to be precise.
I also noticed he was closely observing me too as I took my place at the table facing them.
“Thank you for extending an invitation to me,” I said, drawing upon all the of the – admitted limited – etiquette lessons I’d gone through as a child. Before it was confirmed I was a squib.
“No, it’s our pleasure,” Mrs. Finch-Fletchley replied. “We invited you here because we were curious about the new world our beloved Justin has found himself in, and I recalled that you were quite knowledgeable during our tour.”
‘Translation, they want the deets on the magical world, and didn’t know how to contact anyone else who had connections to it,’ I thought calmly. I’d expected this, and wasn’t unprepared.
“I’d be happy to answer any of your questions,” I promised. “What did you want to start with?”
“Hogwarts, as well as the quality of education our son will be getting,” Mrs. Finch-Fletchley declared. “We heard it was the premiere magical school in Britain, but after seeing Diagon Alley, I have to wonder if it’s the case.”
“Hogwarts is indeed the premiere magical school in Britain by dint of being the only one,” I said. “There is a daycare and pre-school for magical children, but that is completely separate. However, despite the decline in recent years, Hogwarts is one of the better schools, being considered one of the Big Three of European education. Its rivals are Beauxbatons in France and Durmstrang of Germany. Technically. The latter school is hidden somewhere in the Balkans or further north. I personally suspect Russia. But the language they speak is German, and they have strong ties to the Germanic speaking countries. There are ‘lesser’ schools in Greece, Italy, Spain, Switzerland, Sweden, Turkey, and Poland, but they are rather small and cater to old blooded families or to their own nationalities.”
“Interesting,” Mr. Finch-Fletchley said slowly. “So the quality is good?”
“Yes,” I admitted. Despite everything, Hogwarts was still rather exceptional, with award-winning teachers in most of the posts. Except for Magical History, Muggle Studies, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, which were piss poor by any stretch, the rest of the classes were quite educational. Even Potions, for all that it was taught by a child-hating greaseball, was seen as being of extremely high quality due to Slughorn and Snape, the latter of which was one of the youngest people in the magical world to be labeled a genuine Potions Master.
“However, I would suggest hiring tutors for Justin’s education,” I suggested. “His mundane education, I mean. They don’t really teach any of the standard schooling at Hogwarts.”
“Do you think that’s for the best?” Mrs. Finch-Fletchley asked.
“I do, Mrs.,” I nodded. “It will help him keep up with the mundane side of things, and it’s just common sense. After all, he’s still registered as a citizen here in the mundane world, so having a seven-year gap in his education would be suspicious at best.”
“That makes sense,” the father admitted with a slow nod.
“I’d be happy to throw my hat into the ring for that job, if you’re interested,” I said, offering my services as a tutor. “I am the top of my class, and have been for years. It’d be no problem to help Justin.”
“Thank you, we’ll take that under consideration,” Mr. Finch-Fletchley said.
“Now, what about his job prospects?” his mother inquired.
“I don’t see why he couldn’t get a job working with either government,” I replied. “In fact, if you played your cards right, Justin would probably be a shoo-in for a lot of high-ranking positions on the mundane side.”
“Really?” Justin’s mother asked, and I got the feeling she was now more intrigued.
“The Prime Minister knows about magic,” I explained after casting a surreptitious look around for eavesdroppers. “And so do a lot of other people in the government. Can’t keep a secret as big as the wizarding world hidden without some interaction between the two. Plus, even magical folk are still citizens under Her Majesty.”
Which was true. Technically speaking. By law, the Minister of Magic was just another Minister in the British government. He was technically subordinate to the Prime Minister and had to swear his vows to the Queen. But as far as I was aware, those protocols hadn’t been invoked in decades. To all intents and purposes, Magical Britain was its own independent nation!
I didn’t doubt there were elements in the British government who knew something about the magical side, and kept an eye on things. They’d be fools not to have some contingencies in place. But the Statue of Secrecy had caused most magical governments to all but secede from their mundane counterparts. And in some places in Europe where the borders and regimes had changed for the muggle nations, and the magicals had stayed in more or less the same places, that was indeed the case.
“That’s very interesting,” Justin’s father commented, rubbing his chin as he did so.
“It is,” I agreed, giving them a winning smile.
“Tell us more about the society of the magical side,” Mrs. Finch-Fletchley requested. “I got the feeling the professor was sugar coating things during the tour.”
“Ah, I see you caught on to that,” I said with a nod. “Let me enlighten you.”
As I explained to them the nuances of the magical world and the shadows Professor Sprout had tried to keep hidden, I watched as their faces went through a variety of expressions.
Bemusement at first. A very ‘How quaint’ sort of look when I mentioned how it was closer to the Victorian era in terms of society, which shifted into disbelief as I explained the pseudo-nobility and blood system, then anger at said nobility and blood system, disgust at the backwards notions and attitudes the magicals had towards the non-magical, including Squibs like myself, and finally carefully composed neutrality as I went over some recent history as well as the finer points of their laws which limited Justin’s success if he only focused on the magical world.
“How do they get away with this?” Mr. Finch-Fletchley demanded through gritted teeth.
“Magic,” I said simply. “But times are changing. Within half a century they won’t be able to hide anymore. Not without major changes to their own societies. Cameras and electronics are vastly superior to what they used to be, after all. And they'll only get better.”
Electronics didn’t work at Hogwarts and other old magical sites due to Anti-Lightning Wards, not because of any sort of interference between science and magic, thankfully. I didn’t know if EMP hardened equipment could bypass this, but it was something to research.
“You’ve been very helpful,” Mrs. Finch-Fletchley said. “Is there any way we could thank you?”
“There’s two things,” I admitted. “I’d like help with getting a letter of recommendation to Oxford. Second, I’d like to offer you a chance to invest in my business.”
I placed my samples onto the table so they could examine them, and sat back to watch and wait.
“Having a tutor whose attending Oxford would be good for Justin,” Mrs. Finch-Fletchley mused as she examined the creams I’d provided, my hopes rising somewhat.
“And this doesn’t fall under those magical bans you told us about?” Justin’s father inquired as he also tested the samples.
“Nope. Oh, I’m sure they’d try and stop me if they knew, but there’s nothing on the books about it,” I replied smugly.
“While we are intrigued by this business idea of yours, we really can’t make such a big decision so soon,” Mrs. Finch-Fletchley claimed, her husband nodding along with her statement.
“Perhaps once I’ve gotten started with it you’ll change your mind,” I said with a nod, completely understanding their hesitance to invest or get involved in this magical medical cream business. There was the threat of Obliviation atop financial loses to look out for, after all.
I leaned in. “Still, I hope we can continue to have a good relationship with each other going forward.”
“I believe that is more than possible,” Justin’s mother said, her husband smiling at her side. I gave them a demure and polite smile, while inside I was celebrating wildly.
My first steps towards getting my business up and running were going well, and I’d made a connection with the upper crust through the Finch-Fletchleys. All I had to do now was capitalize on it.
