The air in the room was heavy, so much so that even Jigger looked uneasy. He cast a glance at Leonard, seated beside Midgard, hoping for some kind of cue. But Leonard didn't so much as glance back.
Behave yourself. This is business, not a place to send looks.
Leonard curled his lip, eyes hidden beneath his hood as he openly studied Damocles Belby.
Once, Belby had been a rising star among potion makers, the favored pupil of Professor Slughorn during his Hogwarts years. But he had poured the bulk of his life into the Wolfsbane Potion—a potion with little promise of fame or fortune. Between developing it and trying to push it into wider use, decades had slipped away.
That time had dulled his brilliance. Failure after failure in promoting the potion had ground down his pride, each rejection stabbing at his genius like a needle. The result was a man far less confident than he once was, easily swayed by outside pressure.
That was why Leonard's plan was solid. As long as they didn't touch Belby's raw nerves and trigger defiance, the Wolfsbane acquisition would come at a bargain.
"Name your price. If it's acceptable, I'll buy," Midgard said, rapping her knuckles against the table to prompt him.
She cut through the pleasantries, going straight for the heart of it. Coupled with her forceful presence, it left Belby little room to hesitate, stripping away his time to think.
"The… price?" Belby stammered.
"Out with it. I don't have time to waste," Midgard said, her face cold.
For someone who rarely dealt with outsiders and lived buried in research, her pressure was overwhelming. Sweat formed on Belby's forehead as he cast a desperate look at Jigger, who only returned a helpless shrug.
Belby clenched his teeth, chopping thirty percent off the figure he had in mind. "Seven hundred Galleons."
The words had barely left his mouth before he hurried to justify himself, clearly afraid Midgard would dismiss it as too steep. "It's a fair price. I spent decades creating this potion. The materials alone cost that much."
"But people only care about results, not process. The process is the experience you gained, not someone else's expense," Midgard replied icily, keeping up her harsh-leader act. "We haven't even seen proof that Wolfsbane works. To be blunt, we'd be taking on a huge risk."
"The Wolfsbane Potion works, I swear it!" Belby said quickly, voice tense. "This is the lowest price. I can't go any lower."
He was growing agitated. Leonard noticed immediately, and tugged lightly at Midgard's sleeve, signaling her to ease off.
Midgard caught on, and gave the faintest of nods without breaking her composure.
"Don't be nervous, Mr. Belby. I'm not saying the price is unreasonable," Midgard said. "Seven hundred Galleons is fine, but we'll also need the patent for the Wolfsbane Potion."
"Patent? What for? Restricting it will only keep the price of Wolfsbane sky-high. That won't benefit you," Damocles asked in confusion.
"Leaving it unrestricted won't help us either. From what I know, Wolfsbane costs a fortune to make and isn't easy to brew. Honestly, if it weren't for keeping my wolves under control, I wouldn't even bother paying for it."
After downplaying the potion's value again, Midgard continued, "Nine hundred Galleons. The formula and patent belong to us, and you'll keep silent about it. From now on, Wolfsbane has nothing to do with you."
Damocles opened his mouth, then gave a bitter smile.
"Fine. I've already sold it off—what right do I have to claim it anymore? Deal. Nine hundred Galleons. I'll have Jigger bring the patent documents later."
"Good. And make sure to write out the Wolfsbane recipe in detail. I want every step, every trick clearly recorded," Midgard said as she rose to her full height, her massive frame radiating an oppressive weight.
"Pleasure doing business, Mr. Belby." She extended her hand.
"Pleasure… doing business." Damocles forced a smile as he shook her hand, his body swaying helplessly under her powerful grip.
At just five-foot-seven, he looked as fragile as a doll beside her.
The negotiation was over. Jigger cast a quick glance at Leonard before leading Damocles away. Once the two had gone, Leonard pulled back his hood.
"Nicely done," Leonard said with a grin. "You almost had a touch of Fenrir in you."
Only then did Midgard exhale, all her earlier edge gone. "Stop it. Just saying those things made me sick."
"Maybe, but it worked. Smiles are for your own people. To outsiders, you need fangs," Leonard said.
"That's not right. It only makes people misunderstand werewolves even more. Mr. Belby's a decent man—at least he truly cares about our kind," Midgard said uneasily. "Scheming against him like that feels excessive."
"Excessive? Think about your pack. Werewolf wizards barely make a living off others. Tell me—how much do you have left right now?" Leonard asked.
Midgard shook her head helplessly. "Hardly anything. Most of Fenrir's bounty and savings went into supporting oppressed werewolves. Without work or relief, they'd be forced to steal or rob. That nine hundred Galleons nearly emptied our vault."
Leonard raised his brows. "I thought Fenrir's bounty alone was two or three thousand, not counting savings."
"It's never enough. Werewolf wizards can hardly earn an honest income. Most of our Galleons go toward healing potions to recover from full moon injuries." Midgard sighed, exhaustion plain on her face.
"That bad? Then I'll stop charging you for Essence of Dittany," Leonard said.
"No. With expenses already outpacing income, that would only drag you down," Midgard refused with a shake of her head. "Sometimes I feel like storming Gringotts myself."
Rob Gringotts?
In that instant, inspiration struck Leonard like a bolt of lightning.