The magical instant camera craze that began in Diagon Alley quickly swept across Europe, then crossed the Atlantic with astonishing speed. Wizarding families from all over began contacting the Travis family, hoping to secure partnerships, sales rights, or some kind of early advantage before Shadow Golem House became too powerful to approach easily.
Jessica personally handled the business negotiations. Aside from some hesitation from potential partners in the Americas, the deals in other regions progressed smoothly, and everything seemed to be moving back onto a proper path. The only problem left was the damned rebuilding plan for the family estate.
"So expensive? Go to hell," Roger muttered.
He exhaled a hot breath and crumpled the parchment into a ball. The wizarding architecture firm he had contacted had seen the words pure-blood family project and immediately decided he was a sheep ready to be skinned alive.
The design fee alone was one hundred thousand Galleons. Materials were another two hundred thousand, construction was three hundred thousand, the security system and magical facilities added another two hundred thousand, and the library alone somehow cost a staggering five hundred thousand. Even after cutting all entertainment facilities, the lowest estimate still came to a ridiculous one and a half million Galleons.
That was supposedly the most basic version. Their ultimate luxury manor plan cost tens of millions, and that did not even include the land.
"No wonder Malfoy's ancestors seized Muggle land back then," Roger grumbled. "Building a proper wizarding manor is far too expensive."
He looked over the proposed blueprints again and became even more annoyed. Aside from moving staircases and expanded interior space, what exactly was so valuable about designs copied from hundreds of years ago? After a moment of thought, he decided to have Andrew open tenders in the Muggle world instead.
A Muggle design studio could produce excellent basic plans with a budget of only a few million pounds. Building materials could also be purchased from Muggles, where the prices were at least connected to reality instead of pure-blood vanity.
"I refuse to believe that adding spells requires every brick to be made from magical materials," Roger said. "And if ordinary reinforcement really does not work, I will buy goblin metal directly from the goblins. I refuse to believe it is truly worth that much."
The only thing that absolutely required wizard help was construction. If he relied on a normal British Muggle construction team, the Ministry of Magic would never approve the work, and their efficiency would not finish the project even by the next century.
Roger wrote his requirements onto another sheet of parchment and quickly calculated the costs. With wizard labour and magical facilities included, a two-hundred-acre estate should cost at most five hundred thousand Galleons if handled efficiently. As for ornamental renovations and pure-blood vanity displays, those things could go hold a conversation with Death.
"But it is still too much," Roger sighed.
He slumped over the table, feeling that Jessica probably disliked the manor mainly because of the portraits. She had only approved three hundred thousand Galleons, and the rest had to be solved by him. In her words, with the current exchange rate, that was already more than enough to buy a beautiful manor near London.
"What should I do?" Roger lay across the table and pulled out every valuable magical item he had.
The Shadow Clone formula was a golden goose and absolutely could not be sold. The troll remains were worth at most fifty Galleons, and as for Rasputin's treasure map, Roger had no expectations at all. After considering everything, the only object he could sell for a serious price was the one hundred and first Golden Snitch.
"Even if it cannot sell for a million Galleons, five or six hundred thousand should be possible," he murmured.
He played with the collector's edition Golden Snitch, unwilling to let Bowman Wright's hidden secret slip out of his hands. Roger had already attempted a brute-force method to open it, but the Snitch had remained stubbornly sealed, refusing to yield to direct magic.
"Sirius, Sagittarius… and this is Cerberus." Roger adjusted his monocle and carefully identified the tiny constellations etched into the surface. "How did I forget to bring an astronomy book?"
He collapsed back onto the sofa, too tired to keep examining the intricate pattern. Every dot represented a star, and when connected together, they formed a complex star chart. The problem was that Bowman Wright had lived around the thirteenth century, and the sky at that time was very different from the sky now.
"One, two, three… eight…" Roger shook his head and gave up counting.
The chart was far too complicated to solve by eyesight alone. He needed reference books, time, and patience, none of which he had enough of at the moment.
"Roger, I finally found you!" Hermione appeared beside the sofa and looked as if she wanted nothing more than to throw her luggage at him. Her face was flushed from searching, and irritation flashed in her eyes.
"Hermione, Merry Christmas," Roger said, sitting up. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "Do you not know that underage wizards are not allowed to use magic outside school?"
Her gaze shifted to the scarf beside him, and despite her anger, a small smile appeared at the corner of her lips. She then pulled Roger's Christmas present from her pocket: a piece of parchment with a protective spell written on it.
"Huh?" Roger blinked, then realised he had completely forgotten about the restriction.
He had used magic throughout the Christmas holidays, and the Ministry of Magic had not troubled him once. To Hermione, however, the new spell had been like an oasis placed behind glass, tempting her all holiday while remaining impossible to use.
"The spell you gave me was only for looking at, not practising," Hermione said in frustration. "I endured it for the entire holiday. It was maddening."
She looked at Roger's blank expression and became even more confused. "Do you really not know that we cannot use magic outside school before graduation?"
"I really forgot," Roger said awkwardly. "But the Ministry has not given me any trouble."
"Really?" Hermione's expression sharpened immediately.
She had only demonstrated Transfiguration to her parents once before Ministry employees came to their door and issued a warning. Determined to prove her point, she brought over a thick law book and flipped straight to the relevant passage.
"Article fourteen, section A, clause one point two of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery states that a Trace is applied to the wand of an underage wizard and automatically removed upon adulthood," Hermione read. She turned the page and pointed again. "Section A, clause two states that underage wizards are prohibited from using magic outside magical schools."
"Hm?" Roger took out his wand and examined it closely.
A gleaming silver thread was set into the sandalwood grain. He stared at it for a while and wondered aloud, "Is my Trace broken?"
"Roger, I almost tore apart my house looking for loopholes. Why would I lie to you?" Hermione said, exasperated.
Ever since retrieving his Qilin wand, Roger had left his old wand in the dormitory. If the Trace was connected to that wand rather than his person, then perhaps the Ministry had been watching the wrong stick of wood all holiday.
"Then there is only one possibility left," Hermione said, pouting as she flipped to the next page. "Section B, clause one states that minors are not prosecuted for using magic in appropriate circumstances, such as registered magical sites, wizarding villages, or emergencies."
She looked up sharply. "Do you live in a wizarding village? No, your London address is definitely number thirteen in Richmond."
"I rarely used magic in London," Roger said, nodding as he roughly understood the reason. "But I used quite a lot when I returned to the ancestral estate."
Travis Manor was a registered magical site, so the Ministry of Magic naturally would not interfere. As for Moscow, Britain had no jurisdiction there, and the local Ministry had been far too busy dealing with its own chaos to care about one underage foreign wizard.
"Is your ancestral home in a wizarding village?" Hermione asked at once. "Are there many wizards there? Are there magical creatures nearby?"
She fired off one question after another, leaving Roger slightly overwhelmed. Her disappointment with being unable to use magic all holiday was quickly replaced by curiosity about a place she had never visited.
"It is very remote, almost wilderness," Roger said. "I am not very familiar with the surrounding area either."
"Oh," Hermione said, sighing in disappointment.
She had not been to a wizarding village yet, and the thought clearly fascinated her. To someone from a Muggle family, even an abandoned pure-blood estate sounded like a door into another world.
"Hermione," Roger said after a pause.
"Hm?" She looked at him, still holding the law book.
"How are you doing in Gryffindor?"
"Me?" Hermione was suddenly speechless.
She looked away, and after a brief hesitation, she said softly, "It's all right."
"The professors all like me, and you and Daphne are at school," she added, forcing a smile. "Harry and Ron are friends too."
The smile did not reach her eyes. Bitterness stirred faintly beneath her words, because being liked by professors was not the same as belonging among classmates, and being friends with Harry and Ron did not mean those friendships were always easy.
"I have always thought you were better suited to Ravenclaw," Roger said.
There was real regret in his voice, though nothing could be changed now. He strongly suspected the old bumblebee had tried to assemble a team for Harry based on the four founders. Perhaps, in Dumbledore's eyes, Roger himself looked something like Salazar Slytherin.
"That is not necessarily true," Hermione said, lifting her chin. "My courage is no less than any other lion's."
She waved her fist to demonstrate her courage and strength, though the gesture looked more adorable than intimidating. Roger smiled, but he did not tease her.
"Roger, everyone talks about Slytherin," Hermione said quietly. "What if you had gone to another house?"
Roger smiled knowingly and finished the part she had left unsaid. "Are all Slytherins dark wizards and Death Eaters?"
Hermione pressed her lips together and did not answer.
After the Quidditch fight, she had specifically looked up the meaning of Mudblood and finally understood how vicious the word was. She also understood why Roger had beaten Lee Jordan, because there was no essential difference between saying filthy Slytherins and using that slur against Muggle-borns.
"Hermione, although you come from a Muggle family, your background is much cleaner than mine," Roger said.
"Huh?" Hermione looked at him in surprise.
She had not expected a pure-blood wizard to say such a thing. In her mind, pure-blood families stood at the top of wizarding society, while Muggle-borns had to fight for recognition from the moment they entered the magical world.
"My parents followed Voldemort," Roger said, smiling faintly. Out of consideration for Hermione, he avoided using the Dark Lord's name directly. "My first glimpse of this world was darkness."
Hermione's expression softened at once. She suddenly realised that blood status and family history were not simple shields; sometimes they were chains.
"Family is the first label we receive," Roger continued. "Some people spend their entire lives trying to cut themselves free from it, but how many truly succeed? Even when they do, others can still look at them through prejudice."
He leaned back slightly and looked at Hermione with a calm, almost amused expression. "Imagine what would happen if a wizard as outstanding as me joined Gryffindor?"
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