Chapter 118: Negotiation (Part3)
When Flint heard this, his face darkened. He had hoped to negotiate a better deal, to lose less, but instead, he'd not only failed to protect his family's assets—he'd made things worse.
Still, he wasn't ready to give up. What was at stake now were the last remnants of the Flint family's fortune. Under the initial terms, they would have kept two vaults. They might have lacked Galleons, but they still contained items with resale value—enough to help them weather the storm.
The second offer had been ideal—retaining a shop would allow them to generate income. Though they'd never regain their former standing, they could live more comfortably than most wizards. But Flint had pushed too far and squandered that opportunity.
Now, under the third and final terms, they would be left with only an island—valuable as a retreat, perhaps, but useless for survival. Their remaining assets might last a short while, but without steady income, they could become the first pure-blood family in history to starve.
Even in poverty, pure-blood families typically had connections—relatives or in-laws willing to extend a hand. That solidarity had kept the magical community alive for centuries. Thousands of years ago, when wizards were persecuted by Muggles, they lived in hiding, enduring poverty and the constant threat of death. Yet no wizard starved. Mutual aid was foundational, and over time, those grassroots alliances evolved into the modern Council of Elders and the Pure-Blood Council.
When legendary witches and wizards emerged, the Council began guiding and shielding the wizarding world. Around the same time, in the Scottish Highlands, four young visionaries established Hogwarts. From that point on, the tide had turned. The idea of starving wizards had been relegated to the past.
And yet, now Flint feared he might become the exception to a thousand years of magical history.
Still, he refused to yield. Years ago, his father had been stripped of inheritance rights for marrying a half-blood. Now, with the elder members of the family—including his brother—dead, Flint stood alone as the head of a crumbling house. Yet within him still burned a desperate hope to restore the family's name.
"I don't agree!" he bellowed at the minister and Phineas. "These conditions are a death sentence!"
Phineas only shrugged. "So what? If the Council of Elders hadn't intervened, your family would already be wiped out. I've never claimed to be a good man. Your grandson started this. He pushed me, provoked me—and I responded. Let it be known across the wizarding world that I, Phineas Black, Head of the House of Black, am not to be trifled with. Think carefully before crossing me. Ask yourselves whether your family can survive the consequences."
Flint's pale face turned sickly green. He clenched his fists. "You think the Flint family is some sacrificial chicken to scare the monkeys?"
Phineas regarded him coolly, lips curling in a faint, mocking smile. "Isn't it? That's precisely what you are. And don't forget—it was you who provoked me. I don't care whether others were behind it. I only respond to results. Your grandson insulted me, and now I have what I wanted—grounds for war. I won, and now I claim my spoils. What becomes of the Flint family next has nothing to do with me."
He turned to the minister beside him.
"Tell me, Minister of the Wizarding Lineage Affairs Office, do any of my demands violate regulations?"
The minister shook his head slowly. "No. There is precedent for such terms. Although... I must admit, the previous defeated family fared far better than the Flints."
Phineas smirked and looked Flint straight in the eye.
"Very well. Hear me now, Flint. My terms will not change. If you accept, the war ends. If not, we fight on."
The minister frowned and stepped forward. "Mr. Black, your demands may be difficult to enforce. The Council of Elders has issued—"
Phineas raised a hand to silence him.
"The Council didn't issue that order to me. And you know very well, Minister, the Council doesn't actually care how this ends. Their goal is to appear neutral and responsible in the eyes of the Rich family. They just want to be able to say they stepped in."
He paused, letting the tension simmer before continuing.
"And remember, Minister, I am the Head of House Black—a Consular Family. Unless more than two consular houses are involved, the Council does not interfere. In this matter, we are your superiors."
The implication was clear: Phineas wasn't just making things difficult—he was asserting dominance. The Council was merely posturing. And if the minister knew what was good for him, he'd remember who held real authority here.
The minister understood. There was no point in defending the Flints. They were a lesser house with no future. The Blacks were in a different league entirely. If not for unfortunate timing, the Flints would have been serving the Blacks at Hogwarts, not challenging them.
After a brief silence, the minister turned to Flint.
"The matter is clear. Either you accept Lord Black's terms, the war ends, and your family survives. Or, negotiations fail, the war continues, and the Flint family vanishes from wizarding history."
Flint stared at both of them, his eyes burning with hatred. Phineas narrowed his gaze, wondering if perhaps he hadn't punished the Flint family enough after all.