The sun's rays beat mercilessly through the tall stained-glass windows of the Manor's dining room, tinting the polished surface of the oak table in bloody ruby hues. I mechanically rearranged my roast beef, feeling an unpleasant knot tighten in the pit of my stomach. The elevated mood I'd maintained since returning from Hogwarts was beginning to evaporate. Last night, as soon as I'd crossed the threshold, I was told that in the morning I'd learn how my summer would go and that a conversation awaited me. I disliked that immediately.
"Arcturus," Father's voice sounded even, with its usual poisonous undertones. I didn't know if he was born with it or if it became a habit, but one got used to that tone over time. "Your achievements this year have not gone unnoticed. Initiative, development… of certain skills… and strengthening of positions. That is commendable. Severus, in his letter, noted your high results in all subjects, but particularly emphasized your training outside of lessons and clubs. He spoke quite favorably of your talents and diligence: 'Natural giftedness, reinforced by diligence,' to quote verbatim. And he is exceedingly stingy with praise."
"Snape also wrote that in partnership with Amanda, your potions consistently receive 'Outstanding,' dear," Mother added softly. "Although, of course, he expressed it in his… unique manner."
Here it comes, flashed through my mind. The flattery first, and then…
Narcissa smiled gently, her fingers elegantly encircling the porcelain cup.
"'The only pair not managing to turn their cauldron into a weapon of mass destruction,'" Lucius quoted dryly, and a nearly imperceptible smirk twitched at the corners of his lips. "For second years — more than respectable. As are your… extracurricular activities."
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, and I understood: Snape had figured it out. Snape understood it wasn't just Wingardium Leviosa, otherwise he wouldn't have praised it so. Snape, who grades our perfectly brewed potions as "Acceptable" or, at best, "Not Bad"! Not to mention how he speaks of the work of those who don't merit an "Outstanding." Overall, of course, nothing terrible, as it doesn't promise me anything. But he had figured it out, yes.
"I endeavored to be impeccable in all subjects, though it didn't pose particular difficulty," I replied, carefully choosing my words. "Without false modesty, I believe I could skip a year or even two. Father, I wanted to ask to hire another dueling tutor this year, since Mr. Krieger refused, or someone in a related discipline. Practical magic comes easily to me, especially its combative aspects, which is why I'd like to develop them. I would also like to delve deeper into ritualistics, Transfiguration, and perhaps the basics of alchemy."
"I recall your tutor last year spoke quite favorably of your progress and was confident that with due diligence, you could succeed as a duelist," Lucius noted. "But you must understand that wand-waving is not an activity the heir should seriously pursue."
"I understand, Father. But a strong and influential wizard can achieve far more than merely an influential one."
"In any case, I will not be hiring anyone this year," he countered, and his words hung in the air like a verdict. "Because you will spend most of the summer in France. The magical world is not limited to Britain. I believe it is time to broaden your horizons."
"We both believe this is a necessary step, Arcturus," Mother said softly but firmly. Her gaze met Lucius's, and a momentary understanding passed between them. Yes, this was their joint, calculated decision. 'Women from the Black family always have their own opinion, and the main thing is that it coincides with yours,' I recalled Father's words, uttered once in my distant childhood, with respect.
"I have arranged with the head of the family and my longtime partner, a friend of your grandfather, Alain de Millefeuille," Lucius continued, "that you will spend a month and a half at their estate in France. I'm sure you know that the Millefeuille line once split from our branch, and now, despite past friction, for a whole century they have been our key allies on the continent."
"Alain de Millefeuille," Narcissa explained, "is an intelligent man, of the old school, and he is already old. His family, over the centuries, has firmly taken root in France and is considered one of the noble magical lineages. Though their roots trace back to Britain, they move in the highest circles, possess extensive connections and influence. At the same time, a substantial portion of their income comes through our family. All our exports to France and beyond go through their channels, so our interdependence is obvious."
"Moreover, our family also derives enormous benefit from this alliance," Lucius added. "Together, we control a significant share of the import and export of magical raw materials and goods between our countries."
"That is why their favor… is important, son," Mother concluded.
"And this trip, a demonstration of the highest trust," Father's voice again acquired metallic notes. "We are sending them our most valuable asset — the heir. For you, it is a chance to see a different way of life, forge connections that will outlive us all, and…" he made a meaningful pause and added with even more poison, "receive that very 'choice' you so fervently argued for."
I felt my jaw involuntarily clench. Choice. What irony. But the momentarily flaring anger was immediately replaced by cold, almost mechanical analysis. Father, as infuriating as it was to admit, was right.
"You will stay there until approximately mid-August," a slight, carefully concealed sadness sounded in Mother's voice. "This is not merely a courtesy visit, Arcturus. You will represent not only yourself but our entire house."
"What do they do?" Draco suddenly chimed in, having been silently poking at his food with a fork until then.
"Many things, dear," Mother answered him gently. "From magical and non-magical perfumery to owning one of the largest plantations of magical plants in Provence. But now we are speaking of your brother's future." She turned to me again. "Alain's granddaughter, Mademoiselle Céline, is said to be a charming girl of incredible talents in Herbology and Alchemy."
Her words contained a more than transparent hint, which was already obvious.
"The trip is in a week," Lucius drew the line. "Use this time wisely. Ensure you haven't forgotten your French, that your manners are impeccable, and your knowledge of our partners is exhaustive."
"I understand, Father, Mother," my voice sounded surprisingly even and calm. "Thank you for the trust placed in me and the opportunity. I liked the idea of visiting France."
They were opening a door to the wider world for me, and I was determined to squeeze the maximum out of this situation. Perhaps this Céline would turn out to be an interesting personality and captivate me at first sight, and then… maybe I would reconsider my initial plans. Or perhaps not. But in any case, a summer in France promised to be far more eventful than languishing within the Manor walls, even if my nerves were in for a rough ride. Visiting the so-called "unofficial capital of magical Europe" — a title France, I recall, disputed perhaps only with Romania — was a cherished dream.
"A reasonable answer," Lucius nodded, and something resembling approval flickered in his eyes. "I hope you are aware of the full measure of responsibility. The Millefeuilles are not people before whom one can afford liberties."
"I have never suffered from such a weakness, Father," I countered, calmly meeting his gaze.
"All the better."
"Precisely," Mother rejoined the conversation. "But remember, dear, in France you will have to demonstrate not so much strength as diplomacy. The ability to listen and observe is sometimes more valuable than the ability to strike."
I understood perfectly well what she meant. Centuries of wars between the British and French had left a deep mark on the collective consciousness, and this mutual animosity would make itself felt for a long time. As a true Briton, I should, in theory, harbor intense antipathy towards France and its inhabitants. But in my past world, I had a soft spot for romanticizing France, and in this one — I was raised without this prejudice. However, that didn't guarantee the trip would be free of nerve-wracking moments. Although… in the magical world, the concept of "homeland" is often blurred by clan interests, and racism here is of a different nature — it's built on blood purity, not nationality. In the magical world, the problem of "purebloods" and "Muggle-borns" was far sharper than any international strife.
"I understand, Mother."
"Remember this especially when speaking with old Millefeuille," Lucius added dryly. "He cannot stand being interrupted. And he adores lengthy stories about his youth."
"I will prepare thoroughly," I assured. "I will study the Millefeuille genealogy and the key milestones of their…"
"Don't overload yourself with dry facts, son," Narcissa unexpectedly stopped me gently. "Sometimes it's far more important to remember what type of tea your interlocutor prefers than the founding year of their family business. Try to get to know the granddaughter of Lord Millefeuille better. Perhaps she adores bergamot and can't stand sugar in her tea, or the opposite. Such little things…" She tilted her head slightly, and a warm, understanding smile flickered in her eyes. "They create a genuine impression, endear far more than memorized numbers."
Lucius gave a short snort but, to my surprise, did not argue.
"Your mother is right. One must know when to apply brute force and when to show subtlety. I hope you have learned this lesson."
"I am always learning, Father," I replied, and this time, genuine sincerity sounded in my voice. My parents were surprisingly joyful and cheerful today, which couldn't help but please me as well.
"That is all," Lucius pushed back his chair. "In a week, you will depart. Until then, I will tell you in detail about our partners and the hopes we place in you."
New opportunities, new challenges hung in the air, and I was determined to take my fill of them. If someone else were in my place, they might have started to worry, but something within me remained calm that day, and the next, and even a week later when the time came.
I spent that last week as efficiently as possible. The wardrobe update alone — Mother insisted, and it cost a pretty penny. If anyone knew how much my new formal robe cost… Not that my other dress robes were cheap, but this one was downright… excessive.
It wasn't just a robe — it was a statement, a masterpiece of magical tailoring. The base was the rarest Shadow Silk Spinneret, harvested from colossal, extremely old Acromantulas in the depths of the forests of Borneo-Novana — a giant hidden island near Australia. The giant, truly adult specimens of this dark Acromantula variant are lulled to sleep with a special melody known only to a handful of shamans.
This silk possesses a deep, liquid black color that seems to absorb the light around it, creating an impression of frightening depth. They say these spiders have multiplied so much over the centuries that in half a century to a century, they'll have nothing left to eat on the island, which is the size of Belgium. Yes, yes, many lands are hidden from Muggles in this way — all to preserve the Statute of Secrecy.
But the true wonder of my robe lay in the embroidery. It wasn't simple silver thread. The intricate patterns, winding across the chest, along the sleeves, and the hem, were woven from Moonlit Yarn — a specially enchanted thread that looks as if it's moonlight spun into fiber. Beyond the visual effect, this silver thread was enchanted for the full operation of the entire charm complex on the robe.
The lining was made of the softest, warmest fur of magical Russian sables, with each piece of fur separately enchanted to maintain a perfect, comfortable temperature regardless of the weather outside.
The entire charm complex prevented the robe from getting dirty or torn, and in case of damage — it self-repaired. Not to mention light protection against jinxes and, thanks to the silk of old Acromantulas, the ability to weaken magical and even physical impacts. I think it could even stop a pistol bullet, but at the point of impact… well, I'd break a rib, but that's a small price for life, isn't it?
The cost? Just over a thousand Galleons. This was, by all definitions, an heirloom, a vanity artifact of power, designed to silently proclaim wealth and influence bordering on indecency. And, fastening the clasp, feeling under my fingers the cool pulse of the Moonlit Yarn against the magnificent silk, I had to admit — I like being rich!
Also, over the week, I managed to refresh my French, which I hadn't practiced since I was eleven. Of course, I'd sometimes read something in French, as I had been taught the language thoroughly from childhood. Apparently, not just because of the saying: "As many languages you know, as many times you are a person."
Moreover, I, of course, once again lamented that I would soon be separated from our magnificent library for a long time. I suppose the Millefeuilles would also have their own family library, but I wasn't sure I'd be admitted to the ancestral one, not the external one with a couple of cabinets filled with ordinary books from stores. In any case, before departure, I insisted on funds and purchased, by feel, so many books that it would suffice to open my own, albeit small, bookstore.
I bought without looking at price tags, and everything permissible — and what couldn't be sold to children, I acquired through the house-elf. Now, my satchel always contained my own mini-library: both already-read works and those awaiting their turn. I read constantly, as taking books from the family collection wasn't allowed. So I read my books lying down, sitting, in any spare minute. Overall, I loved reading and, fortunately, not just fiction, although I devoured that with pleasure too. It turned out many famous writers I knew from that other world were, in some cases, wizards or Squibs, so I had plenty of alternative versions of world classics.
And what wasn't sold in the magical world could be bought in London — fortunately, there were no restrictions on converting Galleons to pounds, unlike the reverse exchange.
I didn't forget about training, and I thoroughly studied everything I could find about the family where I was to spend the next month and a half. Additionally, I had to start mastering the basics of alchemy, which, unlike at Beauxbatons, was taught at Hogwarts only as an optional subject and only after the fifth year.
Father made it clear that the fourteen-year-old daughter of the Millefeuille family — that very almost-ideal match for me — and I should decide how suitable she was as a potential partner. The girl's name was Céline, and since she was strong in alchemy, I deemed it necessary to familiarize myself with the discipline at least superficially.
Though, honestly, it's one of those sciences I'd like to delve into deeper, but somehow it never works out — either I'm too busy, or I'm being sent to France… Perhaps it's there that I'll manage to immerse myself in it, especially since I will definitely get acquainted with a certain young lady who, undoubtedly, has also received instructions from her family to establish contact with me by any means.