If pressuring Alan could be effective, that would be for the best; perhaps there was still a chance to save Torquil. If that truly wouldn't work, then subtly probing Alan for information about what Torquil had confessed would be the next best thing—anything was better than being completely in the dark.
However, the messages she had received from Umbridge about Alan changed all her judgments. This brat knew far more than she had imagined.
Upon entering the room, Yulia maintained a proper aristocratic demeanor despite her desperation. A charming, practiced smile sat on her face, though her eyes constantly appraised the young man who had brought such explosive news to her doorstep. She did not speak immediately, moving with elegant steps to the sofa opposite Alan. They sat in silence for a moment, observing each other like predators, both waiting for the other to blink first.
Although Yulia did her best to project composure, Alan detected the discord in her. That brand of nervous, flustered emotion is not easily concealed from someone watching for it. Consequently, Alan appeared entirely relaxed; he held the initiative, and time was on his side.
Watching the young man sip his drink and brazenly appraise her, Yulia finally reached her limit.
"Mr. Wilson, I heard you wanted to see me. Now you have your wish. Don't you have anything to say?" Yulia's voice was clear and pleasant, a melody of forced calm.
Alan set down his glass, fixing his gaze on her. "First, it's not that I wanted to see you, but that you needed to see me. Second, regarding you, I have nothing to say. On the contrary, I imagine you're bursting with things to tell me. After all, besides me, no one else can solve your troubles now."
*Troublesome fellow,* Yulia thought. She tried to pivot. When facing someone whose depth she couldn't gauge, the priority was to ascertain the truth. "Oh, you speak with quite the confidence. 'Solving our troubles'? I'm not aware of any troubles we have. Could you clarify my confusion?"
She was no rookie; she knew that speaking too much would lead to mistakes. She deflected, waiting for him to reveal his hand.
*Standard politician's face,* Alan thought. *A lot of words, but none of them mean anything.* He was too bored to argue.
"It's simple: the Wizengamot seat and the survival of the Travers family. I wonder if those count as troubles?" Alan swirled the ice in his glass, the clinking sound sharp in the quiet room.
"Why are your words so profound? I don't understand them at all."
"Then you really should see a Healer. If you can't understand simple prose, you must at least understand the word 'key,' right?"
"Key? Are you referring to a Portkey? Or a key for a door?" Yulia felt a flicker of panic, but she kept her mask steady.
"Truly, you won't shed tears until you see the coffin. It's this key." Alan pulled the brass key from his pocket, holding it up. "A vault key!"
Yulia's composure fractured. Upon seeing the metal, her body leaned forward instinctively. Her pupils constricted, and her right hand gripped the armrest so tightly her nails dug into the leather.
*How did it end up in his hands? Was Torquil foolish enough to carry it?* Her hand drifted toward her left hip, where her wand was concealed. Should she just snatch it? She looked up and saw Alan quickly retract the key, a mocking expression on his face.
*No, the risk is too great. He's waiting for me to move. Damn it! I can't fall for it. Even if he has the key, he might not know what it opens. I can't show him a weakness.*
"Heh heh," Yulia adjusted her emotions, forcing a chuckle. "Oh, that key. How did it end up with you? I remember it—a birthday gift I gave to Torquil. It opens an empty vault. You must have searched it off him after the fight. While you won the duel, it's quite poor form to rob your opponents."
"Oh?" Alan looked puzzled. "An empty vault? That's strange. What I saw in Torquil's memory—the one sealed by a Slytherin mental protection spell—seems to suggest otherwise. And who told you I found this on Torquil? By the way, the quality of your family's safe is impressive. It took me quite a while to get it open."
Yulia sprang from her seat as if electrocuted. She stared at him, her chest heaving.
*He knows. He knows about the protection spell. He knows about the safe. He knows about the safe house.*
"What do you want?" Yulia dropped the act. Since he knew everything, continuing to probe only made her look like a clown. Moreover, the fact that Alan hadn't turned the key over to Moody meant he had a price.
"I really wonder if your hearing is failing you," Alan stood up, refusing to look up at her. "Didn't I inform your secretary? One hundred thousand Galleons."
"That's impossible!" Yulia snapped.
One hundred thousand? Did he think they owned Gringotts? If the Travers family had that kind of liquid capital, they would have bribed their way into the Ministry's highest offices years ago instead of following the Dark Lord.
Alan knew she couldn't produce that much, but in any negotiation, one must start with an outrageous demand.