Chapter 9: The Wedding and the Merger

The Archimedes Principle

Chapter 9: The Wedding and the Merger

January, 1882

The wedding of Cassian Lestrange and Isadora Greengrass was not a celebration of love; it was a declaration of intent. It was a carefully orchestrated event designed to project an image of overwhelming power, a fusion of the Lestranges' ancient, formidable name and the Greengrasses' quiet, pervasive wealth. In the cold, clear light of a January morning, the elite of pure-blood society gathered at a private, heavily warded chapel on the Greengrass estate—a structure of pale Welsh stone that predated Hogwarts itself.

Cassian stood at the altar, impassive and regal in robes of black acromantula silk, the Lestrange raven crest embroidered in silver thread over his heart. He watched the procession with the detached interest of a general reviewing his troops. The Malfoys, the Notts, the Rosiers, the Blacks—they were all here, their faces masks of polite congratulations that barely concealed their calculations and envy. They were not guests; they were competitors and potential acquisitions, and Prometheus was silently cataloging every whispered conversation, every meaningful glance.

Then Isadora appeared at the end of the aisle on her father's arm. The assembled guests murmured in appreciation. She was a vision of strategic perfection. Following the fashion set by Queen Victoria decades earlier, her dress was white, but it was not the frivolous lace and silk of a Muggle bride. It was woven from the silk of a Moon-Moth, a rare magical creature, and it shimmered with a faint, internal luminescence. It was a dress that spoke not of virginal purity, but of immense, untouchable wealth.

The ceremony itself was a blend of ancient magical rite and the cold language of a contract. There were no sentimental readings or tearful vows. Instead, the officiant, a wizened wizard from the Department of Magical Law, spoke of the sanctity of bloodlines and the duty of great houses to unite for the preservation of their world. The climax was not the exchange of simple rings, but the casting of a Binding Vow.

Cassian and Isadora faced each other, their hands clasped. A ribbon of pure golden magic, summoned by the officiant, snaked around their joined hands.

"Do you, Cassian of the House of Lestrange, take Isadora of the House of Greengrass as your bonded wife?" the officiant intoned. "Do you swear to protect her line, to merge your vaults, and to combine your power for the ascendancy of your united House?"

"I do," Cassian said, his voice resonating with cold finality.

"And do you, Isadora of the House of Greengrass, take Cassian of the House of Lestrange as your bonded husband? Do you swear to honor his line, to merge your assets, and to combine your wisdom for the ascendancy of your united House?"

"I do," Isadora replied, her voice as firm and clear as his.

The golden ribbon flared, searing a faint, glowing mark onto their skin before fading from sight. The contract was sealed. The merger was complete.

The reception, or "wedding breakfast" as tradition dictated for a morning ceremony, was held in the grand ballroom of Greengrass Manor. While the guests feasted and gossiped, Cassian and Isadora moved among them, a perfect picture of a powerful young couple. But their smiles were weapons, and their conversations were data-mining operations.

"A brilliant match, Lestrange," Abraxas Malfoy said, raising a glass. "A consolidation of strength in these uncertain times."

ANALYSIS: MALFOY'S CONGRATULATIONS ARE A PROBE. HE IS ASSESSING THE NATURE OF OUR ALLIANCE. HE PERCEIVES IT AS A DEFENSIVE MANEUVER. LET HIM.

"One must secure one's foundations, Malfoy," Cassian replied smoothly. "A strong house is a safe house."

Later, Isadora engaged Lord Nott, whose family was now deeply indebted to Lestrange Capital. "Lord Nott, I trust the new cultivation methods we suggested for your moon-dew fungus are proving profitable?" she asked, her tone one of polite inquiry.

It was a masterful move. She was reminding him of his subordinate status while framing it as benevolent assistance. Nott, flustered, could only stammer his thanks. She was a natural.

An hour into the reception, under the guise of the bride needing to rest, they excused themselves. They did not go to her chambers. They went to Lord Greengrass's private study, a room that smelled of old parchment and money. The door was sealed with a ward of Isadora's own design. The performance was over. The board meeting had begun.

"Phase one is complete," Cassian said, shedding the persona of the happy groom as easily as a snake sheds its skin. He gestured to a large table where a magical ledger lay open. "The assets are legally merged under the charter of the Lestrange-Greengrass Holding Company."

The term was one he had borrowed from the burgeoning Muggle industrial world, a concept utterly alien to wizarding finance. Instead of simply combining their Gringotts vaults, he had created a corporate entity, a holding company that owned all their assets: the lands, the businesses, the vaults, even the loyalty contracts he held over other families. It was a structure designed for growth and acquisition, not static wealth.

Isadora ran a finger over the glowing script of the ledger. "The Greengrass trade routes into continental Europe and the Americas are now at your disposal. Our network of suppliers for rare potion ingredients can be fully integrated into Aethelred Provisions within the month. It will cut your production costs by forty percent and give us a monopoly on the market for N.E.W.T.-level potions."

"Excellent," Cassian said. "And Lestrange Capital?"

"My father has already agreed to provide the initial liquidity from the Greengrass family's private reserves," Isadora replied. "He sees the wisdom in your model. Offering loans to the old families, secured by their ancestral properties and, more importantly, their Wizengamot seats, is a faster path to political control than centuries of marriages and favors." 

She looked at him, her eyes sharp and analytical. "The Sentinel Stone was a brilliant opening move. A product. I've already had three inquiries from families present today, including the Shacklebolts, about commissioning similar defensive systems for their own manors. We can create a new subsidiary: Lestrange-Greengrass Arcane Security. We sell them peace of mind, and in return, we gain access to their homes, their wards, their secrets."

Cassian felt a rare flicker of genuine admiration. He had chosen well. She did not just understand his vision; she was already expanding it, refining it, making it more profitable.

"A new subsidiary it is," he agreed. "You will oversee its operations. Your expertise in ward-craft and your social acumen make you the ideal choice for CEO."

They spent the next hour outlining the first year of their joint operations, their conversation a rapid-fire exchange of strategy and logistics. It was more intimate, more exhilarating, than any physical act could ever be. They were two perfectly matched minds, building an empire from the ashes of a dying world.

When they finally returned to the reception, the sun was beginning to set. The guests were preparing to depart. As they bid farewell to the last of them, Cassian and Isadora stood on the steps of the manor, the picture of pure-blood nobility.

Later that night, in the master suite of Lestrange Manor, the final clause of their contract was fulfilled. There was no pretense of passion, no illusion of romance. It was a silent, efficient act of consummation, a biological necessity to produce the heir that would inherit their empire. It was the final seal on the merger, the physical manifestation of their combined dynasties.

As Isadora slept beside him, her breathing even and calm, Cassian lay awake, staring into the darkness. Prometheus was running simulations, projecting profit margins and political influence trajectories for the coming decades. The pieces were in place. The Greengrass gambit had paid off beyond his most optimistic projections. He now had a partner, a queen who was as ruthless and intelligent as he was.

The wizarding world slept, ignorant of the new power that had just been born. It was no longer just the House of Lestrange. It was a corporation, an empire in its infancy. And it was hungry.