Chapter 98: An Unfriendly Conversation

"Sean, are you sure you don't need us to go with you?" Martha asked, pulling on her coat.

"No need, Mom. You two go and enjoy your movie," Sean replied, giving her a small smile. "Aldrich will be with me."

"Alright then. Thank you for accompanying him, Aldrich."

"It is my duty, Madam."

Standing at the doorway, Sean waved goodbye to his parents as they drove off for a rare date night. He then turned to his butler. "Alright, let's go to Diagon Alley. This year's booklist is long. Best to get it over with quickly."

The majority of the required texts were, predictably, authored by Gilderoy Lockhart. Sean suspected the man's recent appointment to Hogwarts was less about a passion for teaching and more about boosting flagging book sales. Personally, Sean welcomed the new professor. A man who likely possessed a max-level Memory Charm but was otherwise a complete fraud was, in his estimation, an excellent target for... skill acquisition. The how, of course, would require careful planning.

They arrived in Diagon Alley early in the afternoon, and the street was surprisingly quiet. The usual throngs of students and parents had not yet descended, allowing them to move through their errands with brisk efficiency. In less than two hours, they had been fitted for new robes at Madam Malkin's, purchased the mountain of Lockhart's books at Flourish and Blotts, had Sean's wand serviced at Ollivanders, and picked up a supply of food for Kulkan at the Magical Menagerie.

"There are surprisingly few people," Sean commented as they stepped back out onto the cobbled street.

"We came early, Young Master," Aldrich replied, the enchanted bag containing all their purchases resting lightly in his hand.

"Good. Let's head back. Another week or so at home, then it's back to Hogwarts."

They were heading for the exit to the Leaky Cauldron when a young woman, dressed in robes as impeccably tailored as Aldrich's, suddenly blocked their path. In an instant, Aldrich had moved, placing himself between the woman and Sean, his right hand resting casually but deliberately on the handle of his concealed wand.

"Daysha," Aldrich said, his voice level, betraying no surprise. "Why are you here?"

"I am here," the woman replied, her own voice a polite, professional monotone, "to invite Mr. Bulstrode to a meeting with my master."

Master? The form of address was unmistakable. This woman, like Aldrich, was a personal butler. And it wasn't difficult to guess whose.

"Sorry," Sean said flatly. "I don't have time. I need to get home and study."

He turned to leave, but Daysha moved with fluid speed, once again blocking his path. "My master is at the Leaky Cauldron, just nearby. You need not worry for your safety."

Sean frowned, his gaze sweeping over the few curious onlookers their confrontation was beginning to attract. He had no desire to make a scene. Besides, a sliver of curiosity had lodged in his mind. What could Borell possibly want?

He changed his mind. "Fine," he said, his voice clipped. "Let's see what my dear uncle is playing at."

A flicker of displeasure crossed Daysha's face at the casual use of her master's name, but she said nothing. With a graceful gesture of invitation, she turned and led them into the Leaky Cauldron. Ignoring the stares of the pub's patrons, she guided them to a shadowy corner where Borell Bulstrode sat, slowly sipping a drink.

"Master," Daysha announced. "Mr. Bulstrode has arrived."

Borell waved a dismissive hand, and she stepped back, taking up a silent guard position beside him.

Sean sat opposite his uncle, the air crackling with unspoken animosity. Borell finished his drink before speaking, his eyes fixed not on Sean, but on Aldrich. A look of genuine regret crossed his face.

"Aldrich," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Is this the boy you chose after refusing my own offer? Or did my father force your hand?"

"Mr. Borell," Aldrich replied, his tone perfectly respectful, "the Master was clear that the choice was mine alone. Following Young Master Sean was a decision I made after careful consideration. There was no coercion."

"A true pity," Borell murmured. He finally turned his gaze to Sean.

Sean gave a delicate yawn. "If you have something to say, say it quickly. My feelings toward you are, I suspect, much the same as yours toward me. Looking at you for a second longer makes me feel physically ill."

Borell, who had been raising his glass for another drink, froze. He slowly lowered the glass to the table, his knuckles white. "It seems my brother never taught you manners."

"And it seems our grandfather never taught you morality or shame," Sean shot back without missing a beat.

Borell's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. A long, tense moment passed before his lips curled into a sneer. "Such a sharp tongue."

"Let's dispense with the pleasantries, Borell. You and I both know what you tried to do. We both know where we stand. You came to find me for a reason, so say it. I have no desire to sit at this table any longer than necessary. I'm afraid I might follow my father's example and pin you to the ground for a thorough beating, and that would be so... undignified."

The mention of the incident—the public, humiliating thrashing Yad had given him—made Borell's mask of aristocratic composure crack. A dark, ugly flush crept up his neck. For a long time, the story had been a running joke in pure-blood circles. To have it thrown in his face by this boy...

"Are you provoking me, you little bastard!" he hissed, his voice trembling with rage.

"Ah, there we go," Sean said, a cold smile touching his lips. "That's the right attitude. We are not friends. We are not uncle and nephew. We are enemies. You want me dead, and I would delight in seeing you ruined. So stop wasting my time and say what you came to say."

Borell stared at him, his chest heaving. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to regain control. "I will give you one last chance," he said, his voice once again a low, dangerous purr. "A chance to live. I will give you two shops in Diagon Alley and a controlling share in one of the family's Muggle companies. In exchange, you will disappear. Go to South Africa or America. I will handle the transfer, the papers, everything. As long as you agree, it is all yours, and I will never bother you again. I will even sign a magical contract to bind the terms. How about it?"

Sean looked at his uncle, a soft, almost pitying chuckle escaping his lips. "Are you finished?"

"What?" Borell asked, confused by the response.

Sean stood up. "It seems you are. Since you've said what you needed to say, I'll be leaving." He turned, pausing at the edge of the booth.

"Goodbye, my dear uncle."

Borell watched him walk away, his face darkening into a mask of pure fury. "You don't know what you've just refused!" he snarled at Sean's back. "You have no idea what fate you've chosen!"

Sean didn't turn around. He didn't reply. He simply raised his right hand, extended his middle finger in a clear, universal gesture of contempt, and pushed open the door of the Leaky Cauldron, disappearing into the bustling street beyond.

(End of Chapter)

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