Rain drummed against the window of the comfortable suburban London sitting room no less insistently than it had against the roofs of Hogwarts, yet here, amid soft armchairs, pastel wallpaper and the fragrance of freshly brewed Earl Grey, the weather seemed merely a backdrop for quiet conversation.
Mr Granger, a tall man with a neat haircut and kind eyes, set aside a glossy catalogue of dental equipment.
‘Still, Eleanor, these new German units… the price is steep,’ he remarked, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘Though I must admit, their panoramic X-ray is simply fantastic. Our patients will be delighted. Well, as delighted as one can be at the dentist.’
The woman seated opposite gave a melodic laugh. Eleanor Morgan was strikingly beautiful in that cold, aristocratic way that sharpens rather than fades with age. Her thick black hair was arranged in an elaborate style, and dark eyes reflected the firelight. She held her teacup with such elegance one might have thought it a glass of vintage wine.
‘Oh, Wendell, don’t be such a conservative,’ she said gently. ‘We’ve been partners for more than ten years now. I’ve always said: investment in quality pays dividends many times over. Monica, darling, you agree with me, don’t you?’
Mrs Granger, pouring more tea for their guest, smiled.
‘Eleanor’s right, dear. The practice has to keep up with the times. And thanks to the Morgan family’s investment, we can afford to.’
Eleanor inclined her head gratefully, accepting the refilled cup. A comfortable silence settled over the room, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock.
‘By the way,’ Mrs Morgan said casually, studying the pattern on the porcelain, ‘how is our dear Hermione? I seem to recall she was one of the very best in Gryffindor.’
Mr Granger’s face clouded slightly. He leant back in his chair, fingers laced together.
‘Oh, Hermione… Still studying, of course. Top of the class as always. But honestly, Eleanor, that world of theirs worries me. Letters come rarely, and the news… rather unsettling. Some tournament or other, disturbances. And their government — the Ministry, I think it’s called — strikes me as utterly incompetent when it comes to safety. Sometimes I wish we hadn’t let her go so far away.’
‘I understand,’ Eleanor’s voice became velvet-soft, full of sympathy. ‘The wizarding world… forgive me, our world is indeed full of surprises. For a young girl, especially from a family without… connections in that community, it can be rather difficult.’
‘And how is Kieran?’ Mrs Granger interjected, trying to lighten the mood. ‘We haven’t seen him in such a long time. Still in Japan?’
Eleanor’s lips curved in a faint smile, and for an instant something predatory flickered in it before giving way to maternal pride.
‘Oh no. Kieran has returned to Britain. What’s more, he has transferred to Hogwarts.’
‘To Hogwarts?’ Mrs Granger exclaimed in surprise. ‘What a coincidence!’
‘Precisely,’ Eleanor nodded. ‘He wrote to me the other day. You’ll never guess — he met Hermione on the train. He was so pleased. He said she had grown into a real beauty and quite brilliant. They’re on the same House now. Hermione is in fourth year, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, exactly!’ Mrs Granger beamed. ‘How marvellous! I remember Kieran as quite a little boy. So polite, quiet, curious. I can still see them sitting right here on this carpet, reading encyclopaedias. He was the only one who could listen to her lectures for hours without running off to play football.’
‘Kieran has always appreciated intelligence,’ Eleanor agreed, smoothly adjusting the cuff of her expensive jacket. ‘And he is very loyal to those he considers… close. You know, Monica, Wendell… Looking at how things are turning out, I think it must be fate. Hermione is a brilliant girl with a great future ahead of her. But as Wendell said, these are unsettled times.’
She paused, looking directly into the parents’ eyes.
‘The Morgan family is very old and very influential. We have resources, protection, a standing that even the most… radical elements of that world respect. It would be simply splendid if our children kept close company. An alliance with a family such as ours could give Hermione the security and position she deserves. She would be under the wing of the family.’
Mr Granger froze for a second, digesting the words, then laughed and shook his head.
‘Eleanor, for heaven’s sake! You sound as though we’re in the Middle Ages discussing a dynastic marriage! They’re only fourteen. What wedding? What alliance? Let them finish school first, and we’ll see. Thank goodness it’s the twenty-first century — children choose their own friends.’
Eleanor gave another melodic laugh, quite unperturbed.
‘Oh of course, Wendell! You’re absolutely right. I must be getting old and sentimental. It just slipped out. We’ve been in business together so many years, you’re like family to me… Naturally, let them be friends. Just friends.’
She smiled again, warm and open, raising her teacup. But deep in those dark eyes lay a cold, calculating satisfaction. The seed had been planted in fertile soil of parental anxiety, and Eleanor Morgan knew how to wait for it to take root.
‘All the same,’ she added lightly, ‘let us return to that German unit. I think we should take two.’