One second—that was exactly how long it took me to completely revise the dialogue options I had constructed on the way to this living room. After all, I expected Lady Malfoy to introduce me to wizards, not witches. But, on the other hand, is the difference that great? I don't think so.
"Come in, Mr. Granger," said Mrs. Malfoy, standing nearby and closing the door behind us. "Don't be shy."
Smiling politely at the gathering, I nodded, walked into the living room, and sat in the vacant armchair—the only actual armchair among the sofas occupied by the motley, yet uniformly young-looking ladies. Appearances are deceptive, and one shouldn't judge by them—Lady Malfoy alone is proof of that, and I know her age for a fact.
"We won't keep you long," Lady Malfoy continued, approaching a vacant spot on the sofa.
Two ladies were already seated on that sofa. The one on the left was dressed in a manner completely "inappropriate" for local realities. A long black dress, the neckline of which made the power and quality of her "ar-r-rguments" clear, and a slit almost from the very as... a high slit, revealed slender long legs—the lady had just crossed one leg over the other, dangling a shoe from her toe. She is beautiful, she knows it, and she definitely knows how to use it to throw wizards and witches with poor self-control off balance. But one only has to look at her gaze, rather than her expressions, smile, movements, or pose... In short, in the gaze of those green eyes, there was only total control. I would even say Control with a capital 'C'.
On the other side of the sofa sat almost the opposite of this lady, though also a brunette. Her features betrayed something French, as did her posture—legs together, knee to knee. She wore an absolutely modest yet elegant dark blue dress, over which lay a rather long pelerine of the same color, with her black hair in a bun at the back of her head. Add glasses, and you'd get a strict teacher who, at this specific moment, decided to relax a little, leaning slightly against the high armrest of the sofa and enjoying a glass of wine.
Mrs. Malfoy sat between these ladies, completing the picture—from right to left: "Debauchery," "Balance," "Strictness." But no less interesting was another guest, who preferred a long, modest dress with a wide skirt, over which she wore a fitted robe, currently unbuttoned. But it wasn't the clothes that attracted attention; it was the opaque black blindfold over her eyes, edged with tiny runic embroidery. Her long, wavy red hair was styled in a strange way, clearly accommodating the blindfold. This lady sat in the middle of the second sofa, and behind her back stood a girl, silent as a statue, in a strict long sundress, her robe looking more like a cloak.
"To begin with," Lady Malfoy took the floor. "I will introduce you to each other. Ladies, before you is Hector Granger. A promising young wizard who has moved up to the fifth year at Hogwarts."
"And in what way is he so promising that you decided to introduce him to us?" the Lady-Debauchery smirked, continuing to dangle her shoe, all while watching me closely, analyzing and waiting for various reactions to her appearance and fine motor skills.
Oh, were I truly just a fourteen-year-old—soon to be fifteen—boy, I would have felt a persistent awkwardness in such a situation.
"This lady," Mrs. Malfoy gestured to 'Debauchery,' "whose style and image usually cast persistent doubts on the 'heaviness' of her behavior—Silvia Segura Suarez."
"To your health, young man," Silvia took a glass of red wine from the side table and took a sip. It was so demonstrative and alluring that I would give her five stars out of five for those practiced, precise, and most importantly, conscious movements.
"Pleased to meet you," I nodded easily, maintaining a polite smile and keeping only the lady's head in my focus.
We were sitting in a rather tight circle, so to speak, so if I had shifted my gaze from her eyes even to her nose or mouth, it would have been noticeable. Not to mention that I still hadn't run my eyes over the figure that was practically begging for it.
"Hmm... good self-control," Miss, or perhaps Mrs., Segura noticed that I wasn't struggling to keep my eyes from wandering, that I was looking straight at her. "Didn't even assess the goods."
"I have good peripheral vision," I smiled a little wider.
"Hmm... Pass," she smiled slightly, but it was purely a formality—her gaze remained the same.
"To my right," Lady Malfoy pointed to 'Strictness,' "Callida Rosier."
This lady gave a curt nod, acknowledging the introduction, and issued a purely formal:
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Granger."
"Last in line," Lady Malfoy smiled, "but not least in importance in our women's interest club—Amber. Just Amber."
The red-haired lady with the blindfold gave a curt nod. Judging by appearances, she oriented herself perfectly in space without sight—it felt as if she were looking right at me. No, she isn't just looking—she is scanning like an X-ray, seeing every little thing in me, from body to magic and soul—I am certain.
"Do you have any questions, Mr. Granger?" Lady Malfoy addressed me with a slight, polite smile.
"There are always questions," I nodded. "But, frankly, I expected to be introduced to wizards. Somehow, the image of a wizard—specifically a male one, or some gray-haired, grumpy old man—formed in my head when the conversation turned to competent wizards, rather than just people with the gift of magic."
"Do you think," Miss Segura spoke again, her image as a femme fatale now bolstered by a damn pleasant voice that could send shivers down one's spine, "that ladies cannot be truly knowledgeable in magic?"
"That is a common stereotype of our society," out of the corner of my eye I noticed a glass of wine that had appeared on the table to the right of my armchair. "And while I believe that everything depends on individual aspirations, I also take into account what society can present."
Taking the glass in my hand, I checked the contents with magic—there was something there. Concentrating, I created invisible magical threads from the fingers of my left hand and passed them over the glass, simultaneously creating a clear mental image of filtering the wine of magical additives and potions. In a moment, a transparent sphere floated out of the red liquid beneath my palm—one and a half to two milliliters, no more. With a volitional impulse, I transfigured a crystal shot glass, placed the liquid into it, and set the shot glass on the table. Only then did I take a sip of the potion-free wine—tasty.
"That is why I expected to see men, and not beautiful young ladies."
"Flatterer," 'Strictness' from the Rosier family stated neutrally.
"A girl is as old as she looks," I shrugged. "So that is merely a statement of fact."
"Alright," Miss Segura leaned back against the sofa, but did so, again, demonstratively. In her movements there was, I would say, ninety-nine percent naturalness, and only one percent planning. But her gaze... Her gaze said that this was all the result of long practice, and that absolutely every part of her body, every muscle, and it seemed, even every hair, was under her control. "Not bad. But still, my question remains open—what is it about you that made them introduce you to us? Besides appearance—there are no questions there, of course. Potions?"
"Meaning?"
"Did you shape your body with potions?"
"No," Amber answered for me, having been silent until now. "I see complete natural origin, although there were potions, but others... Yes."
Her voice was smooth and fluid, like water.
"To answer your question, Mr. Granger," Lady Malfoy began, "each of those present here, for one reason or another, devotes most of her time and life to self-improvement, to the honing of knowledge and skills regarding magic, sorcery, and their application. The reasons..."
"Are unimportant," Rosier interrupted Lady Malfoy. "Everyone has their own. This is far from everyone, just those who could come."
"Well, personally, mine is no secret," Lady Malfoy smiled. "I simply had too much free time back in the day. In short, Mr. Granger, you may address various questions regarding magic to these ladies, and specifically to me. As I understand it, you plan to become a Healer?"
"That is the main goal and idea, Lady Malfoy," I nodded, taking a sip of wine. "But that doesn't mean I brush aside other directions. As it turns out, for a loner to survive and prosper in this undoubtedly hospitable world, one needs to possess extremely wide knowledge in a vast array of fields."
"And how, if I may ask," Amber smiled sparingly, "do you relate to Dark Magic?"
"Two ways. On the one hand, I consider it a sort of crutch. But the further I immerse myself in the knowledge of sorcery, the more I understand that these crutches have evolved over time into a unique and inimitable branch of magic. Art—it bears that name for a reason."
"But are you capable..."
A wave of absurdly concentrated dark magic emanated from Amber, but judging by the faces of the others, I wouldn't say this was anything unusual for her.
"...of withstanding its pressure?"
"I don't know," I answered honestly. "There are, of course, certain thoughts and theories about how to protect one's mind from its harmful effects, but for now, they are only theories."
Silence fell.
"That is already significant. Narcissa," Amber turned her head toward Lady Malfoy, "you handled our desire to share knowledge quite cleverly."
A slight bewilderment must have shown on my face at that phrase, and Amber decided to clarify the situation.
"No matter how it looks from the outside," she began in a calm, insinuating voice somewhat reminiscent of Snape, "we all grew up and were raised in old, ancient wizarding families, and some postulates are inviolable to us. For example, restrictions on transferring knowledge to other families. An amazing psychological move—to entrust them to a Muggle-born who has no wizarding family as such."
"Indeed," Miss Segura nodded. "We will maintain a constructive dialogue through letters."
"Agreed," Rosier answered briefly, and Amber gave only a curt nod.
But as soon as she nodded, the girl standing behind her stepped out from behind the sofa and handed me a simple business card. Hmm, I see; Amber is not her real name, so writing to it wouldn't work. But here is a specific recipient—this girl, something like Amber's secretary.
"We dare not detain you any longer, Mr. Granger," Amber said, just as softly.
"I will escort you back to the hall, Mr. Granger," Narcissa rose from the sofa, and I followed her example.
"Have a good evening, ladies."
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