The Citroën sputtered to a halt in front of an Austrian wizarding inn called the Hoof of the Black Goat.
Nestled at the foot of the Alps, it was a gathering place for smugglers, down-on-their-luck wizards, and occultists.
Harry’s stomach rumbled, loud enough to sound like a protest speech.
He patted his pockets.
The three Sickles and five Knuts in his palm felt incredibly pathetic.
“This is probably only enough to buy two moldy steaks,” Harry sighed, looking at the warm yellow light glowing from the inn.
He felt like the Little Match Girl.
“Fleur, how about I go to the back and see if I can wash some dishes in exchange for a meal?” “Chop wood?” Fleur was adjusting her silver hair in the rearview mirror—hair that still shone brilliantly even while they were on the run.
Hearing this, she turned her head and glared at Harry as if he had just insulted her very existence.
“Harry Evans, remember this.
We are aristocratic siblings on a gap year.
We may be temporarily down on our luck, but we are absolutely not beggars.” Fleur applied a light coat of lipstick, instantly restoring an aura of command to her somewhat pale face.
“Only beggars exchange labor for charity.
Smart people rely on ‘financing’.” “Financing?” Harry didn’t understand how this Muggle financial term applied to the wizarding world.
“Watch and learn, little brother.” Fleur pushed open the car door, her haughty aura as a Beauxbatons champion and a Veela flaring to life.
No longer the terrified girl who had shivered before Gellert Grindelwald, she now held her chin high, swaggering as if her pockets were stuffed with the keys to the entire vaults of Gringotts rather than empty air.
“Observe.
This is called—presence.” Harry followed her into the inn.
Fumos drifted through the inn.
In a corner, several Goblins were gambling, and a few cloaked wizards sat at the bar.
Fleur didn’t head for the bar.
She scanned the room before locking her gaze on an old man sitting by the window.
The old man wore a sophisticated but slightly worn deep red velvet robe.
He had two massive ruby rings on his fingers and was slowly cutting a piece of veal on his plate.
In front of him stood a bottle of what looked like very aged red wine.
Fleur walked straight toward him.
Harry followed nervously, his palms slick with sweat.
What was she doing?
Robbery?
Fleur reached the old man’s table.
She didn’t say hello, nor did she politely ask if the seat was taken.
Instead, she pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down like a queen.
The old man stopped his knife, raising his eyelids.
His cloudy but sharp eyes sized up this sudden intruder.
“Miss,” the old man spoke, his voice carrying an old-fashioned arrogance.
“I don’t believe I invited you to share my table.” “That is your loss, sir.” Fleur crossed her hands on the table and leaned forward slightly.
She didn’t use her Veela charm; she relied purely on a raw, unreasonably powerful confidence to pressure him.
“Listen, sir,” Fleur began, her tone so arrogant she might as well have been his biggest creditor.
“I’ve run into a bit of a spot of trouble.
To be precise, I don’t have a single Knut left on me.” Beside her, Harry nearly buried his face in his hands.
What kind of financing was this?
This was outright mugging or begging!
The old man laughed in amusement.
He lowered his knife and fork, looking at Fleur with great interest.
“So?
You’re here to beg?
You certainly don’t look the part.” “Begging?” Fleur let out a disdainful snort, as if she had just heard a joke.
“I’m here to give you an opportunity.
The most lucrative investment opportunity of your life.” She extended a slender finger and tapped it gently on the table.
“Lend me ten Gold Galleons.
Just ten.” “Ten Gold Galleons?” The old man raised an eyebrow.
“Enough to buy a very nice veal dinner.
But why should I give them to you?” “Because right now, I lack those Galleons,” Fleur said, completely matter-of-fact.
Then, her eyes became sharp and fanatical, looking exactly like an ambitious upstart before making it big.
“But I assure you, this is only temporary.
I am Fleur Evans.
I have talent, I have beauty, I have magic, and most importantly, I have ambition.” She stared into the old man’s eyes and said, emphasizing every word: “Lend me ten Galleons to fill my stomach tonight.
Ten years.
Give me ten years.” Fleur leaned back abruptly, assuming a posture as if she already owned the world: “In ten years, I will be incredibly rich.
Rich enough to buy this entire mountain range.
When that time comes, I will return with ten thousand Gold Galleons to repay you.” Harry stood by her side, utterly dumbfounded.
A thousand-fold return?
Even the Weasley twins wouldn’t dare boast like this in business!
Wasn’t this just drawing a pie in the sky?
And the pie she drew was bigger than a Hogwarts full moon!
The old man stared at Fleur for a long time.
The surrounding noise seemed to fade.
Harry even braced himself for the old man to call the owner to kick them out, his hand already drifting toward his wand.
Suddenly, the old man burst into laughter.
“Ha ha ha ha!” He laughed so hard his beard trembled, drawing stares from the surrounding patrons.
“Ten thousand…
ten years…
fascinating.
Truly fascinating.” He stopped laughing, looking at Fleur with appreciation and even a hint of nostalgia.
“It has been a very long time since I have seen a young person as arrogant and reckless as you.” The old man reached into his robes and pulled out ten heavy gold coins.
The golden gleam looked exceptionally enticing in the dim inn.
“Most people come to me begging for a few Knuts, or weaving some tragic sob story.” The old man pressed the coins onto the table and slid them toward Fleur.
“But you…
you treat yourself as an unlisted stock with high potential.” “I am a high-potential stock,” Fleur said without a shred of modesty, placing her hand over the Gold Galleons.
Her fingertips felt the cold, mesmerizing touch of the gold.
“A blue-chip stock, in fact.” “Very well.” The old man raised his wine glass toward Fleur.
“An entertaining French girl.
These ten gold coins are yours.” “No need for an IOU?” Fleur raised an eyebrow.
“No need.” The old man took a sip of his red wine, his eyes deep.
“If you really become what you say in ten years, you will naturally return to throw the money in my face just to show off your success.
If you fail and die in some gutter…” The old man shrugged.
“I’ve only lost the cost of a dinner, but I bought myself a wonderful laugh.
It’s not a bad trade.” Fleur stood up, clutching the gold coins tightly in her hand.
She performed a standard, exquisitely elegant French curtsy to the old man, as if she were addressing a king.
“You have excellent vision, sir,” Fleur said with a smile.
“Keep yourself alive, and wait for my money.” With that, she turned, grabbed the still-dazed Harry, and marched toward the bar.
“Innkeeper!” Fleur slammed five Gold Galleons heavily onto the counter.
The ringing sound made it seem like she was slamming down a mountain of gold.
“Two extra-large portions of roast beef, double mashed potatoes, and two of your best hot Butterbeers!
Hurry, we’re starving!” As they sat at a corner table waiting for their food, Harry looked at Fleur, feeling like he was meeting her for the first time.
“You…” Harry swallowed.
“You made all of that up, didn’t you?
Ten thousand Galleons?” “Who said I made it up?” Fleur was elegantly wiping her fork, which wasn’t actually dirty, with a napkin.
“Harry, in this world, if you don’t believe you are worth that price, no one else will.” She looked at Harry, teaching him seriously: “Remember this lesson, Harry.
When you have nothing, your confidence, your thick skin, and your ambition are your only currency.
As long as you dare to name a price, there will always be a madman in this world willing to pay it.” Harry nodded thoughtfully.
“But,” Harry asked in a whisper, “what if we don’t have the money to pay him back in ten years?” Fleur took the steaming roast beef from the innkeeper.
Inhaling its rich aroma, she flashed a sly smile.
“Then we find another old man, draw him a pie worth twenty thousand Galleons, and use that to pay off this debt.
It’s called ‘financial leverage’, understand?” Harry cut into the juicy beef and took a huge bite.
Though he didn’t quite understand, he felt that this beef was bloody delicious.