Just as he was about to leave, Lucius caught sight of a neatly and tastefully dressed house-elf out of the corner of his eye and immediately curled his lips in disgust. However, as soon as Dobby spoke, Malfoy's eyes widened in shock:
— Dobby?..
Dobby, who had been chatting with the staff, turned around. Noticing Lucius, he instinctively shuddered with fear and, out of habit, nearly bent into a deep bow. But, remembering in time that he was no longer that terrified servant, but an absolutely free elf, Dobby instantly pulled himself together and proudly squared his shoulders:
— Hello, Mr. Malfoy.
Lucius frowned heavily. He strongly disliked the independent demeanor of his former servant:
— Hmpf... And what is that you're wearing? What kind of idiot would even think to dress up such a wretched creature as you?
The shopgirls and security guards instantly scowled upon hearing the insults directed at the house-elf. The senior guard had already stepped forward, intending to intervene. Over this time, Dobby had become a true mascot for the "Hydra" stores. And even though the staff knew perfectly well that the elf was responsible not just for cleanliness, but also for opening and closing the establishments—Dobby was actually keeping an eye on them, making sure no one slacked off or stole. Dobby had accidentally let that slip himself, since, as mentioned, he was completely incapable of lying. Nevertheless, the employees were understanding about it: Victor hired just about anyone, so why on earth should he trust total strangers right away?
However, before the guard could say a word, a mocking, calm voice echoed through the shop:
— I'm that very "idiot" who dressed him up. Got a problem with that?
Everyone present turned around to see Victor strolling in unhurriedly, with Abigail walking gracefully at his side.
Lucius looked at him with an icy, contemptuous glare:
— So you're the new master of this wretched creature?
Victor merely chuckled:
— First of all, he isn't a wretched creature; he's a house-elf named Dobby. And secondly, I'm not his master, I'm his employer.
— What do you mean, "employer"? — Lucius spat out in disgust.
— Exactly what it means: I'm the wizard who gave Dobby a job. And for what purpose has Mr. Malfoy decided to desecrate this fine establishment with his presence today?
Lucius replied coldly:
— That is none of your business, boy.
Victor silently shifted his gaze to the staff. The saleswoman who had been talking to Lucius immediately answered:
— Mr. Malfoy expressed a desire to meet with Miss Greengrass in person.
Lucius knitted his brows again, puzzled as to why the employee reported to this teenager without hesitation.
— And why would you need to meet my Daphney? — Victor inquired softly.
— As I already said, that does not concern you.
Victor calmly shook his head:
— Oh, you're dead wrong about that! You came into my shop, insulted my staff, and are looking for my girlfriend for some reason. I reckon all of that concerns me quite a bit.
Lucius Malfoy froze for a moment. He cast a quick glance over the shop's employees and noticed that not a single one of them so much as blinked when Victor referred to the shop as his own.
In that exact instant, the puzzle pieces clicked together in Lucius's mind. He recalled the incident with Fenrir Greyback, when Alastor Moody mentioned in his report that Victor and Adele were the adopted grandchildren of Perenelle Flamel herself. There were also explicit rumors circulating in pure-blood circles about a romantic relationship between Victor and Daphne Greengrass...
The realization of who was truly standing behind the rapidly empowering Hydra company hit Malfoy hard. Lucius's mood and tone shifted abruptly:
— Ahem... Well, I suppose we got off on the wrong foot. If you don't mind, I would like to...
But Victor casually waved his hand, cutting him off before he could finish:
— Bla-bla-bla... Please, don't. Just don't start kissing my ass now! I couldn't care less about what you want: my Hydra will never have any dealings with your family.
Lucius stood frozen, his face turning to stone with rage. His fingers gripped the silver pommel of his cane with all his strength. Pursing his lips, he gave Victor a scathing look, scoffed, and headed for the exit, intending to leave the shop with dignity.
However, as Malfoy passed him, Victor suddenly reached out and clamped his wrist in a vice-like grip—the very hand Lucius was using to hold his cane.
Lucius winced in pain, astonished by the boy's incredible, almost superhuman strength. But it was Victor's next softly spoken words that made Lord Malfoy turn completely pale:
— By the way... Tell Tom to stop sending his lackeys my way. When he fully recovers, I'll come for him myself. But I'll definitely pay him back for that incident with the werewolves.
Maintaining an easygoing smile, Victor unclamped his fingers and released his arm.
Lucius stared at him in utter shock for a few seconds, then frantically looked around at the people in the shop. Judging by their calm faces, no one had understood the true meaning of the name he had uttered.
Without another word, Lucius Malfoy switched his cane to his other hand and left the shop in swift, almost running strides.
When Lucius Malfoy left the shop, all the customers and staff remained standing with wide eyes. First, the shoppers were stunned that the true owner of the rapidly growing Hydra chain turned out to be such a young guy. And second, absolutely everyone was shocked by the sheer audacity with which he spoke to one of the most influential aristocrats in England.
Victor turned his calm gaze to the security guards:
— Do not let him into my stores anymore. And pass that along to all other branches.
— But, boss... That's Lucius Malfoy! — the senior guard muttered uncertainly.
Victor tilted his head slightly to the side and stared at him:
— So what? Even if he were the Pope himself, I wouldn't care.
The guards looked at each other in confusion and nodded in unison.
Noticing that the people in the hall were still staring blankly at him, Victor clapped his hands loudly:
— What are we standing around for?! Arbeiten, schneller, schneller!
— Huh? Oh, right! — as if waking from a trance, everyone instantly sprang into motion.
— Sir, what are you even doing behind the counter? — the saleswoman asked one of the wizards.
The wizard, who had nervously scurried behind the staff counter due to Victor's sudden mental push, flushed deeply with embarrassment:
— Ah... Whoops! Why am I fidgeting?! I don't even work here, I'm a customer!
Meanwhile, Victor cast a thoughtful glance over the shelves, then scowled:
— Abigail... Why did I come here in the first place?
— You came because of Malfoy. You saw him walking into the shop and followed him, — Abigail explained calmly.
Victor nodded, remembering:
— Right! But what was I supposed to do originally?
Abigail chuckled softly:
— Visit Hermione. She picked an assistant for herself and is waiting for you.
Abigail was genuinely amused by this trait of his. You could wake Victor up in the middle of the night and ask him some impossibly complex, high-level magical question—and he would answer it with ease, even quoting the page and chapter of the book. But in ordinary, everyday matters, he would instantly get distracted and forget everything in the world. Daphne had grumbled once that it was terribly annoying, but Abigail found this quirk endearing. It was precisely because of this absent-mindedness that he needed assistants like Abigail and Daphne—so they could constantly remind him of important matters on time.
— Well, what are we standing around for then?! Let's head to the workshop! — Victor turned around energetically and marched toward the exit. — Dobby, why is there dust on the shelves?!
— What?! Dust?! Where?! — A rag materialized instantly in Dobby's hands, and he began inspecting the shelves with panic in his eyes. — Mr. Moss, where is the dust?!
But when he looked back, Victor and Abigail were already gone.
— Calm down, Dobby, he was just joking, — the saleswoman said with a smile.
— Ah-h-h, I see... Well then, Dobby will go clean the next shop! — And with a loud snap of his fingers, the elf vanished on the spot.
When Victor and Abigail appeared in Hermione's office, a little girl immediately ran up to the youth and eagerly grabbed his hand:
— Victor, hi! Are you going to teach me some spells today?
Victor stroked the girl's head with a genuine smile:
— Not today, Astrid. And isn't Hermione teaching you?
Astrid was the daughter of Maeve and Cassian. Despite her husband's clear displeasure, Maeve had gotten the job anyway and was now brewing potions under Hermione's guidance. What's more, when the long-awaited letter from Hogwarts arrived, Cassian hadn't been home, so Maeve lost no time in explaining everything clearly to her daughter. Upon his return, Cassian was furious at his wife's self-willed actions, but seeing how happy and eager his little princess was, he couldn't bring himself to utter a single word against it.
Astrid was burning with impatience. Learning that her mother was now working in the wizarding world, she begged for permission to tag along, promising faithfully to behave quietly and not bother anyone. Maeve had asked Hermione for permission first. Hermione gladly agreed, and Astrid instantly became the common favorite and darling of the entire workshop.
They had bonded particularly closely with Victor during those first few days. Realizing that many of the hired mages had severely lost their former skills, Victor spent a whole week with them: he corrected their hand gestures, retaught them, and reminded them of forgotten fundamentals. During that period, he quickly hit it off with Astrid.
Even though the little girl was only two years younger than him, Victor's tall stature made the age gap seem much larger. She followed him around like a shadow and even had the nerve to stand beside Victor with an important air, joining him in casting judgmental looks at the adult wizards making foolish mistakes. Victor had even started teaching her the very first, basic steps of spellcasting.
When that intensive week passed and Victor began dropping by less often, Astrid was usually left under Hermione's wing. Nevertheless, having secured the unofficial "backing" of the workshop's owner himself, the girl felt completely at ease and played throughout the building, though she never crossed the line and tried her best not to distract the workers.
— Hermione is a bad teacher! — Astrid sulked. — She just crams a bunch of books down my throat!
— Those books are very useful! I studied from them myself, just so you know! — Hermione looked at her strictly, pulling her eyes away from her paperwork.
— Hmph! Why do I need to read all that if Victor can explain everything easily and clearly? — The girl obstinately crossed her arms over her chest, standing side-by-side with the youth.
Unlike Victor, Hermione fully looked her young age. For this reason, even though Astrid genuinely admired Hermione, she couldn't yet view her as an unquestionable authority figure—after all, Hermione was only slightly taller than her.
— Alright, alright, I'm glad you two get along so well, — Victor smiled.
Walking over to the desk, he nudged Hermione aside slightly and settled into the wide armchair beside her, gently wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning back comfortably. The chair was spacious enough for the two of them to fit quite comfortably.
— So, who did you choose as your replacement?
Hermione smiled softly:
— Abigail, could you please call Maeve in here? — Hermione requested, resting comfortably against Victor's chest.
Abigail merely nodded and gracefully stepped out of the office.
— Maeve?.. Sounds really familiar, — Victor mused. It felt as though he had heard that name somewhere before.
— S-i-g-h, of course it's familiar! That's Astrid's mother! — Hermione shook her head. — Right now, she's the best potion-maker in our entire workshop.
— Victor! How could you forget my mum?! — Astrid pouted and glared at him indignantly.
— Ha-ha-ha! Sorry, sorry, I have a terrible memory for names, — Victor answered with a laugh.
At that moment, the door opened and a woman stepped into the office:
— Hermione, did you call for me?.. Oh! Hello, Mr. Moss.
All workshop employees addressed Daphne and Victor strictly formally. Daphne considered this standard decorum, having been raised in the traditions of a pure-blood aristocratic family. As for Victor... well, he was just Victor. He wouldn't have been offended in the slightest if they called him by his first name, but none of the workers dared to take such liberties, and he saw no point in stopping them from showing respect.
Hermione, on the other hand, having grown up in a regular Muggle family and being much younger than the hired masters, felt awkward with such formal address. That was why, from day one, she insistently asked everyone to call her simply by her first name.
Upon seeing the woman enter, Victor recalled her instantly. He casually extended his hand, palm up.
Abigail, who entered the office right behind Maeve, caught his gesture, nodded in understanding, and walked over to the youth. Golden runes flared across her wrist, followed by a bright glow from the precious ring on her finger. Out of thin air, a thin black folder materialized in her palm. The girl neatly placed it into Victor's hand and, with her customary grace and calm, took her place behind him.
Maeve's heart skipped a beat in her chest as Victor opened the folder and folded it back for convenience. The woman's eyes immediately fell on the first page—she could clearly make out her own name and an attached wizarding photograph.