Late at night, in a house at the edge of Knockturn Alley where it met Diagon Alley, Leonard and Midgard sat at a long table, both wearing robes with hoods pulled low.
"You really are cautious," Midgard said curiously, glancing at Leonard. "You wear that hood everywhere. Aren't you hot in this weather?"
"Better safe than sorry. Diagon Alley hasn't been the safest place lately. With the hood up, I draw less attention. Even if someone notices me, it won't matter," Leonard answered in a low voice.
Tonight was the day he was scheduled to negotiate with Damocles Belby over the Wolfsbane Potion patent. To show how seriously he took it, he and Midgard had come early to wait here.
The robe, however, served another purpose—to cover the Ancient Sprout that had bonded with him. But it seemed he had been overly cautious. No one noticed the silver plant clinging to him, as if it didn't exist at all.
"True. Even if someone saw a figure barely five feet tall in a rough-spun robe walking into Knockturn Alley, they'd just assume it was a dwarf wizard, not an eleven-year-old kid," Midgard teased with a smile.
She gave Leonard a once-over, then asked, "Have you gotten taller recently?"
"Isn't that normal for my age?" Leonard replied evenly.
He had grown taller. Since forming the symbiosis with the Ancient Sprout, his body had grown stronger, his development quickening as his bones matured faster. Height was only a natural result.
"Still, not this much. It's only been a few days since we last met," Midgard muttered. Suddenly, she lifted her head toward the doorway.
From outside came the voices of Marcus and Jigger. It seemed their guest for the night had finally arrived.
Leonard noticed the shift in Midgard's demeanor. Her fingers tapped nervously on the table, her legs bouncing restlessly under it. She was clearly on edge.
That wouldn't do. As the leader of a werewolf coven, she couldn't show such weakness. Even if the other side had something she badly needed, letting them see her like this was practically begging them to exploit her.
Leonard sighed, amusement flickering in his eyes at her anxious expression. Then, reaching out, he ruffled her brown hair, catching her off guard.
"Calm down," Leonard said. "As long as we stick to what we agreed on, there won't be any problems."
Her hair was coarse, not smooth at all to the touch.
Leonard silently grumbled to himself.
Still, he had actually touched a werewolf. The texture might not have been pleasant, but it was oddly satisfying all the same.
The gesture, however, felt more like an elder comforting a younger one, leaving Midgard momentarily frozen, her face showing clear surprise.
"You little…" Midgard muttered, half amused and half exasperated. She was about to reach out and ruffle his hair in return when the door pushed open.
Jigger entered, dressed in black robes, leading in a figure bundled head to toe in heavy clothing.
This had to be Damocles Belby, the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion.
With the guest here, fooling around any further would have been out of place. Midgard forced down the urge to retaliate against Leonard and turned her attention to the newcomer.
Thanks to Leonard's playful bit of reassurance, her mood had already steadied considerably.
"Welcome. Please, sit," Midgard said in a low voice, adopting the presence of a true werewolf leader.
That commanding air immediately put Jigger and Damocles Belby on edge. Both sat down at once, backs straight and stiff.
"You must be Mr. Belby? A pleasure to meet you. I am Midgard Greyback, leader of the werewolf wizards," she said, her deep tone drawing attention effortlessly.
In general, the higher a person's status, the softer their voice—drawing others in to listen more closely. But that only worked if they had the authority to back it up; otherwise, it just earned them a slap and a sneer of, "Did you leave your vocal cords at home?"
Midgard didn't have to worry about that. As leader of the werewolf wizards, the danger she represented alone was enough to stop anyone from acting rashly. Combined with the authoritative tone she had deliberately trained, no one would be foolish enough to provoke her.
And if anyone was, it certainly wouldn't be this unkempt potioneer sitting before her.
"It's an honor, Madam Greyback," Damocles Belby said carefully as he removed his hood. "I hear you're interested in purchasing the patent for my Wolfsbane Potion."
"That's right. It would be useful to me. My wolf cubs lose their minds one day each month and leave a mess of everything. It disrupts my rule," Midgard replied coldly.
Leonard discreetly gave her a thumbs-up, silently praising her.
This was exactly the approach they had agreed on beforehand.
The world was strange—people always demanded more of the good, yet constantly yielded before the wicked.
That meant, in these negotiations, Damocles Belby must never get the impression that the werewolf across from him was some kind of "good person." That would only plant ideas.
The right strategy was Fenrir's way: use fear to steadily drag down the other party's expectations.
No matter how well Midgard treated her pack, right now she had to show indifference and harshness. Only then would the price be easier to press down.
It was working. Damocles Belby's expression was already beginning to show unease.
...
[Upto 50 chapters ahead for now]
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