novelraw Chapter 40: A Business Venture
Chapter 40: A Business Venture
Chapter Forty: A Business Venture
Saturday was Hogsmeade's open day for Hogwarts students, and a hooded figure appeared at Honeydukes.
Like a drop of ink falling into an inkwell, his clothes were unremarkable, completely unlike the ostentatious demeanor he usually displayed in Slytherin.
Today was not a particularly auspicious day.
He remained silent, following the Weasley twins away from the main road and into a dilapidated house covered in flyers, right next to the Gladrags Wizardwear shop.
The house wasn't big. It was just a two-story house with an attic and a cellar. The thick, dirty curtains sagged, one corner of which had been abandoned by the curtain rod and dangled by the window, looking like it was about to fall off.
In the sliver of sunlight seeping through the window cracks, dust motes danced unnaturally on the first-floor shelves, causing Draco, hidden under his hood, to cough frequently.
"I didn't expect the people who came to see the house to be so young..." Mrs. Mason, the homeowner, was somewhat surprised.
She was a withered, silver-haired witch wearing a strangely shaped hat. After glancing at the three boys in front of her—clearly still students—a dismissive expression appeared on her face.
But since things had come to this point, although she was somewhat perfunctory, she still led the three of them upstairs to the sitting room with a "nothing to lose" attitude.
"So, who should I talk to about the rent?" she asked directly, not wanting to waste any more time.
The carpet in this sitting room was a veritable den of grime. Every time Draco stepped on it, a small cloud of pungent dust would rise up, making the usually fastidious Draco feel extremely uncomfortable.
"Me." Because of the dust, Draco decided to abandon the pretense.
Mrs. Mason was slightly surprised. She hadn't expected that the one who spoke up to negotiate with her would be the youngest of the three.
From the moment she'd met them, her gaze was fixed on the twins, trying to assess them. She could see a certain cheerful nature and a mischievous streak in them. She could see that their eyes, though cunning, weren't truly shrewd. They lacked social experience. If given a little something to sweeten the deal and gain their approval, they'd hand over all their money.
There was nothing to fear! She'd be confident answering any of their questions.
To her surprise, the person in charge was the little boy behind them? She hadn't even had a chance to look at him properly!
"I heard that Mrs. Mason wants to move overseas. Are you interested in selling your property in England?" The boy in front of her ignored her disdain for his age and her indifference toward him, and asked the question directly.
This question caught Mrs. Mason completely off guard. She'd only intended to try and rent out the house, and had prepared a whole host of landlord's usual sales pitches to try and secure higher rental income. The boy across from her suddenly bringing up the sale of the house surprised and delighted her.
For her, the house was a bad asset, and she'd long since given up hope of selling it.
Who would be mad enough to buy this kind of house?
Unexpectedly, she'd actually run into this mad person today!
Mrs. Mason was secretly pleased. Her cloudy eyes flashed, and she said in an affected tone, "If the price is right, it's not something I can't consider."
"What's your price range for this house?" Draco sat on the dusty sofa, looking directly into Mrs. Mason's eyes across from him.
"Oh, my dear, at market price, it would cost at least ten thousand Galleons..." Mrs. Mason glanced at Draco's plain clothes and his tightly covered hood, and muttered to herself.
Could this little boy afford it? She hadn't planned on dealing with a child like that.
When she'd received the letter inviting her to view the house, she'd assumed the sender was an adult wizard. The wording was sophisticated, and the parchment was of high quality—she'd thought it belonged to the head of a well-established wizarding family.
Upon seeing the child today, she was greatly disappointed. The child looked utterly unremarkable. Mrs. Mason was growing impatient. She quoted an inflated price, hoping to scare the child away with that amount and hastily end this ridiculous and doomed meeting.
However, she didn't find the frightened expression she expected on the boy's face. It seemed he could really produce such a large sum of Galleons with ease.
"The price is reasonable," the boy said, glancing at her discreetly, his words sharp, "if you don't take into account the house's unfavorable location and the suspicion that it's haunted."
"What makes you say that?" Although Mrs. Mason knew perfectly well what was going on, she still feigned surprise and tried to evade the question.
Maybe the boy is just bluffing.
"The house's location is obviously unfavorable. It's not on the main street of Hogsmeade, which would limit our customer flow if we wanted to do business," Draco said casually. "Besides, it's not far from the Shrieking Shack. As everyone knows, the Shrieking Shack is not a symbol of good luck, nor does it have the ability to bring prosperity."
Mrs. Mason's face darkened. The boy in front of her was quite difficult, and he'd actually managed to articulate her house's disadvantages in great detail.
This wasn't the level of a normal little boy. She took another look at his plain clothes and suddenly caught a glimpse of his leather shoes through the gap in the wooden coffee table.
In an instant, a flash of inspiration struck her. She'd seen that style on Savile Row in London. Her niece's fiancé—a nouveau riche from America—had once ordered a similar pair of shoes there during a visit to her, and they'd cost a fortune.
Mrs. Mason knew she'd met a connoisseur. She dared not try to fool him again. He was probably a young master from a wealthy wizarding family, disguised and acquiring his own property, rather than the troublesome scoundrel she'd imagined.
"You see, the ghost story is just a rumor..." she chuckled dryly, trying to downplay the issue.
She suddenly decided to give it a try and see if she could close the deal. A rich, willful young master with a sudden whim probably wasn't as shrewd as an adult wizard.
Otherwise, why would he be interested in this dilapidated house?
"...Besides, the price isn't high—it's much more affordable than similar houses in the area." The lady smiled earnestly—which caused her thick makeup to flake off. She was trying her best to project an image of "my price is very reasonable."
But how could Malfoy, who'd been instilled with business acumen by his parents at the dinner table since childhood, miss the cunning glint in her eyes?
"Rumors aren't always baseless. After all, your house has been abandoned for a long time, and I'm curious why no one rents here anymore..." Draco said with a fake smile, mercilessly revealing her secrets.
Mrs. Mason's smile vanished instantly. He'd pointed out the fatal flaw—due to its terrible location and the eerie rumors surrounding the Shrieking Shack, the house had been vacant for years, and she couldn't even rent it out, let alone sell it.
"As far as I know, this house has been listed on the secondhand market for a long time," the boy asked. "Putting everything else aside, how many people have inquired about the price in the past year?"
"One," Mrs. Mason thought, her face turning ashen. "He's been the only buyer to show interest in this place in the past year."
She realized she couldn't underestimate this boy at all. "What's your price range?"
Very well, she's losing her composure. Draco thought, giving her a confident smile—Mrs. Mason suddenly shivered.
After heated debate and haggling, Draco bought the house for freehold ownership for five thousand Galleons.
This price was nothing to Draco, a young master who had no shortage of Galleons. Even if he'd bought it at the original price given by Mason, he could still afford it.
Having money didn't mean you had to squander it or waste it, nor did it mean you had to be taken advantage of.
Wealthy people tended to be more meticulous and calculating when it came to their assets.
A Malfoy never did a losing business.
Draco was determined to get the house. One of the small perks of his second life was that he could clearly see economic trends over the past few years and certain assets' appreciation levels.
Just as he knew that stocks in the Muggle world would rise steadily at certain points in time—such as the beginning of 1995—he also knew that in the coming years, real estate would be a means of preserving and increasing assets in any world.
Even if the house was left unused, by the time he was in seventh year, its value would have increased by fifty percent compared to the market price.
Both people at the coffee table were satisfied with the deal. They skillfully cast a series of confidentiality magical contracts on the agreement, and both parties readily signed their names.
At this point, Mrs. Mason finally realized what kind of wizard she was dealing with. Just minutes before, she'd been resentful about the price she'd been offered—who would turn down Galleons? Now, she was only grateful she'd sold the unfortunate house for a price far exceeding her expectations. After all, the boy had given her a good price—considerably higher than the original purchase price.
No wonder this kid knows it so well! The Malfoys are naturally very familiar with land and property pricing, she thought. It's a pity he has so little experience in choosing houses, and his eye for value needs more practice, allowing me to snag a bargain.
"Mrs. Mason, I hope this deal is a secret," Draco said. "There's no need for anyone to know."
"Of course, of course—just what I wanted." Secretly relieved, Mrs. Mason smiled broadly, nodding in agreement.
She didn't have the nerve to let the head of the Malfoy family know she'd tricked this young master by selling him such a bad asset! Fortunately, she'd be leaving England in a few days, and then they'd be far apart and have no further connection.
Draco pulled out a cheque and casually placed it on the dark coffee table in front of Mrs. Mason.
"A cheque? That's quite rare," Mrs. Mason said.
"Am I supposed to carry around so many Galleons?" Draco chuckled. "You should have heard that Gringotts provides these kinds of cheques to some large clients."
"Yes, that's right." Mrs. Mason picked up the cheque, examined it against the dusty, dirty air, and finally carefully put it into her dark red handbag. "There shouldn't be any problem."
"You can register at the Ministry of Magic and the Hogsmeade administration office at any time." She took out the property deed and other relevant documents for the house and handed them to Draco one by one. "These are all proof of magical validity."
"The money and goods are settled—you can leave now." Draco carefully checked the documents and nodded toward the stairwell. He'd seen many such transactions and procedures with his parents in his previous life, and had even been taught by them. He was quite adept at it.
He wasn't worried that Mrs. Mason would reveal the "new homeowner" arrangement. The confidentiality magic in the contract wasn't to be underestimated.
According to Dobby's background check, the widow, now living alone, was about to leave England to stay with her niece in the United States—one of the reasons Mrs. Mason was eager to sell the property—and there was no more discreet buyer than a seller far from England.
To wizards, registering property ownership was a joke. For the Hogsmeade administration, as long as the annual public management fees were paid in full, no one cared whose name the property was registered under. As for Ministry of Magic officials, they never really knew the details of wizards' residences and houses—few wizards would bother to register and make things difficult for themselves.
The magical contracts and documents in Draco's possession were the most important. They were key to protecting wizard homeowners' rights. This was slightly different from the Muggle world.
Ever since Draco had uttered the words "buy the house," the Weasley twins' mouths had been agape. They hadn't expected to witness such a shrewd house sale on such an ordinary Saturday. It wasn't until they saw Mrs. Mason out the door that the brothers came to their senses.
They exchanged glances, seeing the same shock in each other's eyes: a rich heir!
"Buying a house outright, going all in?" Fred strode up from the first floor to the second floor, grinning at Draco. "I even bet George that you were just messing around."
"A Malfoy would never play games with money," Draco said calmly, slowly tidying up the documents.
"Are you sure you're not just acting on impulse?" George followed behind his brother, his eyes darting around as if he were seeing not a dusty, dirty room, but some pristine, ideal world.
"Of course not," Draco said.
"Give me the money, Fred," George shouted to the other end of the room.
Fred tossed a Galleon to George, snorted, but looked quite pleased.
"Aren't you afraid of losing money on this house?" George asked with a grin, clutching the Galleon. "I see Mrs. Mason is eager to get rid of it, treating it like a hot potato. Aren't you afraid of suffering a huge loss?"
"For Mrs. Mason, this property, which can't even be rented out, is just something that keeps depreciating, so of course she's eager to get rid of it," Draco said. "Did you notice all those notices on the door? Most of them are urging her to repair the house. I bet lots of people in Hogsmeade don't like how dilapidated the house is, especially the manager of Gladrags Wizardwear next door."
"Oh, I guess so. They really are impatient with this house, and the people at the tea shop next door often say its appearance 'lowers the whole street's standards.'" George mimicked the disdainful expressions of the people at the clothing shop and tea shop perfectly.
"The homeowners are responsible for maintaining the property, so their complaints are understandable. Maintaining and repairing a house is a significant expense. They could have used a portion of their rental income for this—unfortunately, the house isn't rented out, and if Mrs. Mason wants to maintain and repair it, she'll have to pay out of pocket year after year. Don't you think that's depreciation or even a loss for her?" Draco said. "But for me, it's not like that. I originally planned to use the house to open a shop and make a profit. Renovating the house is to attract customers, making it a win-win situation, so why not?"
"No problem," Fred asked excitedly. "But are you really that confident our shop will be a huge success? Aren't you worried we won't be able to pay your rent?"
"I have faith in you." Draco glanced disdainfully at the moth-eaten carpet, finally deciding to put his feet on the table in front of him—at least it wasn't very dusty. "I think I won't charge rent until the shop is profitable. That way, the pressure of running the shop will be much less, right?"
Draco's generosity was thanks to his grandfather, who'd secretly added a large amount of gold to his grandson's vault before he died.
"That being said—" A hint of hesitation appeared on George's face.
Could two fifteen-year-old boys and a twelve-year-old boy really open this shop smoothly? In the process of researching how to open a shop, George had gradually discovered that things weren't so simple.
"There are risks involved. Purchasing raw materials, product development, selling products, after-sales service, and so on—each step requires exploration, and any bottleneck in any step will affect the progress of the next step," George pondered.
"Tell me more?" Draco's interest was piqued—his languid demeanor vanished, replaced by gleaming curiosity in his eyes.
"For example, quality control and price fluctuations when purchasing raw materials are already old news... You need to constantly compare prices among suppliers, instead of relying on just one, otherwise they'll raise prices arbitrarily..." George said with annoyance. "In the past, we were just doing small-scale operations and didn't pay much attention to these things, but now that we're going to scale up production and operations, we have to be extra careful."
Draco nodded slightly. At this moment, his inner agreement with George was definitely greater than what he showed.
George's words were very pragmatic. Hearing this, Draco felt even more confident about the shop's future. They weren't the kind of arrogant people who relied on their limited intelligence to be oblivious to their own limitations. Instead, they were actively identifying problems and considering how to solve them.
This was a good start.
Draco looked at George Weasley and suddenly realized that, without noticing it, he could clearly distinguish him from his brother.
In terms of appearance, although they looked very similar, Draco could basically distinguish them by subtle differences when they laughed—George's nose pointed downward more and his mouth also pointed downward when he laughed. His brother Fred's mouth pointed upward, making his face appear a bit fuller.
In terms of personality, George was calmer, more perceptive, more stable, and more meticulous, as could be seen from his thinking about running the shop. While Fred was bolder and more outgoing, and his personality was more lively and interesting. He'd started many jokes and was the first to suggest many products. He was more humorous and more creative.
"In terms of product development, we plan to purchase a batch of interesting finished products. At the same time, we also want to create some more interesting products ourselves, or innovate on the basis of existing products and create several lines... We have to try them one by one..." At this moment, Fred began talking about some of his novel ideas, while showing Draco a mischievous smile. "The biggest problem is: the lack of testers."
"I refuse," Draco said coldly. He knew they had ill intentions.
George and Fred both looked disappointed. This young master of the Malfoy family was completely unyielding and very wary of their pranks.
"We can't be careless when it comes to selling the products either. Like you said, we need to renovate and clean the house, make it look presentable. It's a big project," George said, looking around and shrugging.
"How do you plan to organize the functional areas of this house?" Draco asked with interest.
Fred had already thoroughly inspected the shop from top to bottom. He and George exchanged a glance. "The floor near the entrance is for selling products. Upstairs is a workshop for developing new products, and we'll also have staff dormitories. The cellar will be for storage. We haven't decided on the attic yet—"
"Leave the attic to me," Draco said quickly. "I have a use for it."
"Of course." The Weasley twins had no objection.
"I'll send a house-elf over to help." Draco snapped his fingers, summoning his long-neglected house-elf. "Dobby, stay here, watch the shop, and keep it clean. Assist these two Weasleys with the shop renovations."
"Yes, young master!" Dobby, dressed in bright colors, said in a high-pitched voice, his large eyes filled with excitement.
Draco noticed that its style of dress was rapidly heading in the direction of "flamboyant": a Christmas-themed tea towel, a Santa hat that was obviously too big, and a few candy canes stuck in the hat—a Christmas gift that Draco had casually given it.
"A house-elf!" Fred said with interest, watching Dobby nimbly scrub the floor. "If Mum knew, she'd be so envious of us. She's always wanted a house-elf."
"Of course we'll keep it a secret." George noticed Draco's frown and quickly got back to the point. "The renovations will take time, but we won't abandon the mail-order service, at least not before the shop opens. So many Hogwarts students are counting on our Skiving Snackboxes!"
"Even if we open, we don't have to give it up. After all, students can only come once a month, but the mail-order service is available anytime, anywhere." Draco stood up and stood in the open space in front of the small window that Dobby had just cleaned.
His patience with the rug under the sofa had worn thin—dust always seemed to rise from there.
"Filch definitely won't like our decision," Fred said with a grin.
"He won't notice. We can just pretend it's cough potion," Draco told them, in high spirits.
In his past life, he'd overheard Hermione mention in the library—well, he admitted he eavesdropped on her—that Filch was a Squib and couldn't identify potion ingredients.
She's really clever, he couldn't help but smile slightly.
"By the way, did you know that Filch is a Squib?" Draco suddenly realized that the two people in front of him seemed to be frequent visitors to Mr. Filch's office. Considering their mischievous personalities and their habit of rummaging through things—that's how they'd got the Marauder's Map—discovering Filch's little secret was just a matter of course.
"We already knew!" George said dismissively. "We knew last year."
"That letter about the Kwikspell correspondence course was actually sent to him by us," Fred said to Draco with a sly smile. "We wanted to see if he'd fall for it."
"That's right! Lesson one, take your wand..." George chimed in enthusiastically. "We were planning to compile some more teaching materials and send them to him next time... but unfortunately we've been too busy lately and haven't had time to compile 'Quick Spell Recitation Lesson Two.'"
I doubt Mr. Filch is in the mood for this course. He's busy agonizing over his Petrified cat and his now-publicly known Squib identity.
Draco tried hard to suppress his laughter, but failed.
Dobby sighed and decided to clean the curtains first—the carpet was probably beyond saving. The little elf stood up, and as soon as it touched the thick, filthy fabric, a fully grown Doxy flew out from the folds of the curtains.
The fairy-like creature's shiny wings fluttered with a buzzing sound, its tiny, needle-like teeth were exposed, its small, compact body was covered with thick black fur, and its four little fists were clenched tightly in anger, as if it wanted to attack someone to vent its rage.
"Watch out, young master!" Dobby cried.
"...Take your time. The most important thing right now is to clean up this house properly. I'm looking forward to the day it opens." Draco was speaking to the two brothers when he heard the elf's cry. He waved his wand and casually sent the fierce Doxy flying.
The Doxy, unwilling to give up, squeezed between Draco and George, only to be violently slammed against the wall. The impact knocked it unconscious, and it slumped limply into a hole in the carpet in the corner.
George gave Draco an approving look. He noticed that although the boy was young, his reactions were quick and agile. He hadn't even looked directly at the Doxy, yet he'd struck it precisely.
Not everyone can have this skill, George thought, scratching his chin.
"Wait, don't be so rough! This is an ingredient in Fainting Fancies!" Fred rushed over, threw it into a large, dark bag, and said to Dobby in a warm tone, "Check again—are there any more behind the curtains?"
"There's plenty more!" Dobby shrieked. "Master, we need Doxycide! Dobby can go find some right away!"
"Buy lots—I reckon there's a nest here." Draco pinched his nose, glancing at the slightly trembling curtains from afar. "Replace the carpets, curtains, and furniture! I can't take it anymore..."
He tossed the elf a bag of money, which it caught, nodded happily, and then vanished with a crack.
"Want to catch them with us?" Fred asked, examining the unconscious Doxy in the bag with a mischievous grin.
"No, I have to go." Draco didn't want to stay a moment longer—he wanted to turn around and leave this dusty, pest-infested place immediately. However, as he reached the top of the stairs, he paused, suddenly remembering something.
"By the way, when you were using the Marauder's Map, did you notice any names next to Ron?" Draco was still concerned about Peter Pettigrew's name appearing on the Marauder's Map, and in his confusion, he could only ask the previous owners of the Marauder's Map.
"Peter Pettigrew?" Fred said nonchalantly. "I've seen him a few times. I know him. He's long dead, isn't he?"
"We haven't told Ron yet. We think he might be haunted by a ghost," George chuckled. "Although so far, he doesn't seem to have any ghost-related troubles."
"This is unbelievable," Draco said, his lips twitching.
Even if it were a ghost, these two brothers let it haunt their younger brother without saying a word, which really showed how carefree they were.
"That might be disrespectful to Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, but the Marauder's Map might not be working very well anymore. It's quite an old map, after all," Fred said seriously. "We were startled when we first saw the name—he was in bed with Ron in the middle of the night."
"In fact, we sneaked into his dormitory in the middle of the night to check, and there was no one else there." George raised his eyebrows dramatically. "On that bed, there was only our stupid little brother snoring and talking in his sleep."