“Mister Malfoy,” Curtis said, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t need fairy tales. Do you actually have product for me right now?”
“I have five kilos ready from a test run. Once the route is fully sorted, I’ll be moving much larger quantities. Ten thousand a kilo.”
Curtis exhaled slowly.
Five kilos would buy him two months of breathing room, and the price was surprisingly reasonable.
The man was too flamboyant to be a cop.
Either he was the real deal… or a very confident conman.
“Fine,” Curtis said.
He reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a chunky mobile phone, and tossed it across the desk.
“I’ll call you in the next few days with the when and where. For your sake, you’d better deliver.”
Malfoy nodded respectfully and left the office without another word.
≤○≥
Deep inside his makeshift, accidentally dragon-guarded vault, Harry collapsed into a conjured armchair and allowed himself a moment to reflect on his progress.
Lawless’s men had been visibly shocked when he simply stepped out from behind a tree in the middle of nowhere—they had clearly been expecting a vehicle.
But the deal had gone smoothly.
He now carried a small bag containing fifty thousand pounds in crisp fifty-pound notes.
His eyes drifted to the mobile phone resting on a nearby table.
He had been forced to spend two days in a Muggle hotel waiting for the call—the phone received no signal inside the Fidelius Charm or other high-magic areas.
Convincing the men that they wouldn’t be able to contact him directly in the future had been difficult, but he had placated them by promising he was developing a more secure communication method.
It was now mid-October.
Time was growing short.
He was operating on a tight schedule, and the first major deadline was approaching: the winter solstice.
If he didn’t have a proxy in place, he would be legally required to appear in person during a full assembly.
Unfortunately, the winter solstice was one of those.
Harry sat up straighter, drew his wand, and began transfiguring his appearance once more.
It was time for his first careful step back into the British magical world.
He needed a proper trunk—expensive, spacious, multi-compartment, and shrinkable.
And he absolutely could not afford to look like a Potter… or a Malfoy.
After that, if he moved quickly, he could make a swift trip to Afghanistan—Turkey’s new regulations had made bulk supply too risky—fill his new trunk with product at farm-gate prices, shrink it, and return to Britain by early to mid-November.
That haul should bring in between four and six hundred thousand pounds—roughly eight to twelve thousand galleons.
More than enough for what he had planned next.
Lord Slytherin was still an unknown factor.
If he wanted to attract the right allies, he needed to make a serious impression.
Lord Jacob Greengrass, of the Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass, browsed the shelves of Flourish and Blotts in search of the latest edition of Who’s Who in Magical Britain.
“Good day, Lord Greengrass,” a familiar voice said behind him.
Jacob turned and found himself face to face with Lord James Potter.
His expression cooled instantly.
“Good day, Lord Potter,” he replied, his tone making it clear the day had just become less pleasant.
“I was wondering if you’ve given any more thought to supporting the upcoming bill on restricting dangerous artefacts?” James Potter flashed that smug smile Jacob had long wanted to hex off his face.
“You know it’s something that must be done.”
“I know nothing of the sort. I might be more inclined to support it if the definition of ‘dangerous artefact’ wasn’t written so broadly that it could include everything from quills to trunks.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. The Ministry needs some flexibility to interpret the law as situations arise.” Lord Potter gestured toward Lord Sirius Black, who was chatting animatedly with Lady Greengrass across the shop.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re asking us to pass a bill that would give him,” Jacob nodded toward Black, “the power to confiscate virtually anything at his own discretion.”
“Nonsense. There will be safeguards.”
Jacob barely suppressed a snort.
“To be decided later, I suppose? Perhaps when Merlin returns from beyond the Veil? No— I’m sorry, Lord Potter. The Neutrals will not support this bill. Not until it includes clear wording, proper safeguards, and a specific list of prohibited items.”
Lord Potter’s eyes narrowed.
“We’re going to win this, you know.”
“I know you’ll try.”
“You think we aren’t aware how much of the Greengrass fortune comes from items of… dubious legality?”
“We trade in nothing illegal.”
“Only because of loopholes in the law.” Potter’s voice dropped.
“Loopholes you’re trying to prevent us from closing.”
Jacob sighed, exasperated.
“Those so-called loopholes are exemptions written into the law for very good reasons. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must find this book and be on my way.”
Lord Potter straightened, though he couldn’t quite hide his sneer.
“Of course, Lord Greengrass.”
Jacob watched the man walk away and begin fussing over his son, John Potter—the widely worshipped Boy-Who-Lived.
A small red-headed girl clung to the boy’s arm.
“How was your conversation with Lord Potter, dear?”
Jacob turned to the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Still a sanctimonious git,” he muttered.
“I have a very bad feeling about this bill.”