[158] An Unseen Chain

"Hall, you've finally arrived," Zabini greeted with a smile as they entered the manor. He raised his glass. "If you hadn't come, I couldn't bear seeing the young master waiting so long at the gate. Anyone would think he was a lovestruck Romeo."

"Blaise Zabini!" Draco's face flushed.

Blaise shrugged and sipped his drink.

"Is that wine?" Hall glanced at his glass.

"It's grape juice. Quite delicious, and it looks like wine." Blaise swirled it with a connoisseur's assessment.

Hall nodded. Using stemmed glasses and wine-coloured juice. It fit some of his stereotypes about pure-blood wizards.

The young master of Malfoy, the Zabini heir, Pansy and Daphne approaching, plus the red-haired Weasley — quite a few people at the banquet were paying attention. Adults were hypocritical like that. Even if curious, they had to maintain composure, glancing sidelong before casually asking Lucius or Narcissa.

"You and the Weasleys..."

"No, the child happened to get into Slytherin." Lucius wore a flawless, insincere smile. "While the Weasleys are a bit... well, they're pure-bloods, and the child is quite capable. They're just classmates — not uncommon for two children to play together."

That was the brilliance of Lucius Malfoy. He seemed to say everything, yet said nothing at all.

Hall didn't care about the stares. He was used to it. He tried the grape juice — sweet, with a hint of grape. Not his favourite, but not bad.

Draco kept muttering in Hall's ear. "...Too much. I can't be bothered. And that Russell Rosier — they've always been in France. I don't know why he's suddenly in England this year."

Hall perked up. France. Rosier.

"What's the deal with Rosier?" Hall asked.

Seeing Hall finally interested, Draco perked up too. "The Rosiers are a pure-blood family with English and French branches. Hogwarts has Rosiers — fifth-year Slytherins. You hadn't noticed before, had you?"

Hall gave him a sweet smile. Why would he care about that? He had no connection to them.

Draco rolled his eyes. "So you didn't know my maternal grandmother's maiden name was also Rosier?"

Hall paused. "Wait... let me sort this out." Grandmother was Mum's mother... which meant... "Druella Rosier?"

Draco nodded. "She married my maternal grandfather, Cygnus Black, and had several children."

Hall instantly thought of the Black children. Like the Weasleys — very individualistic. But Black was different. Mum accepted that her children had their own ideas, wanted to pursue dreams, marry who they liked. As long as they were doing well, everything was fine. In Hall's words, a typical Gryffindor family — love and dreams were enough.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to NovelPhoenix for the genuine story.

But Black? Some left their families. Some died. Some went mad. The only Black nominally alive was Sirius Black. And Regulus, in a Schrödinger's cat state of death. Hall was trying his best.

"The Rosiers in England have fairly close ties with pure-blood families," Draco continued. "It's different in France — they might not even come to Hogwarts. Beauxbatons is in France. Their ties aren't exactly close..."

Hall thought for a moment. "Because of Voldemort?"

Draco shuddered. Hall just said that name like it was dinner conversation. But he recovered quickly. "Probably. Anyway, the French Rosiers don't think much of the English Rosiers. I think it's because of that... um."

He still couldn't bring himself to say it.

The meaning was clear. The French Rosiers looked at the English Rosiers the way you'd look at someone who chose poorly.

The message was clear without being said aloud.

The French Rosiers looked down on the English Rosiers. And the English Rosiers weren't about to grovel. As if everyone wasn't a Rosier.

Hall nodded. Not surprising. Even within the Weasley family, Arthur's relationship with the other branches wasn't bad, but it wasn't warm either. Exchange greetings when they met, that was about it.

"So," Draco's face scrunched in confusion, "I don't know what's wrong with the French Rosiers this time, coming all the way to England. Looks like they're planning to stay permanently."

"You've met them?"

"At my house, twice." Draco turned to Hall with an expectant gaze. "Hall, you must know, right!"

Hall hesitated. "Uh..."

He actually wanted to ask Draco what kind of image he had in his head. Did Draco think he was some all-knowing bastard who had a finger in every pie?

And the worst part was — he sort of did know what was going on with the Rosiers.

"Hmm..."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Hall! Is there something you know that you haven't told me?!"

"It's complicated. I think it's better if you don't know." Hall shrugged.

Draco stared at him.

Then kept staring.

Hall felt his skin crawl under that gaze. He was considering whether to let a small detail about Grindelwald slip when Draco finally looked away.

"You and Dad are both like that. Always treating me like a kid. Always keeping things from me." His voice dropped so low Hall barely caught it. "But... it's kind of for my sake, isn't it? Fine. I won't ask. Humph!"

Draco's understanding was fleeting — a flash in the pan. He snorted, lifted his pointed chin, and put on his defiant face. "When I'm stronger, both you and Dad will have to tell me everything you've been hiding!"

Hall chuckled.

"Hall! What do you mean by that?! You don't think I'll get stronger?!" Draco looked ready to jump at him.

"I didn't say that."

Draco calmed down slightly.

Then Hall continued. "I'll tell you more when the time comes. But your father?" He grinned. "I'm not your dad, young master. Can't promise that."

Draco's eyes went wide. "You... you dared to take advantage of me?! Trying to be my father?!"

Hall bared his teeth in a grin. Wasn't intentional. But Draco had handed him the opening — Hall would've felt guilty not taking it.

Draco was practically fuming. Hall was used to it. Don't let that peacock demeanor fool you — Draco was petty and easily provoked.

Zabini, sipping his grape juice nearby, chuckled. He was used to it too. Watching those two go at it was always entertaining.

"This banquet's too boring. Want to play Quidditch?" Draco changed the subject abruptly.

He didn't want to continue that conversation. Wouldn't admit it, but in his heart he knew — Hall was a jerk, a proper bastard. Even his dad trusted Hall so much. What could Draco do? No point arguing. Might as well do something he actually enjoyed.

"My dad bought me a Nimbus 2001!" Draco said, a hint of dissatisfaction creeping in.

He was a second-year now. Logically, he should be able to join the Slytherin Quidditch team regularly. But the Triwizard Tournament had been moved up, Quidditch was suspended, the team had no training, and his tryout was postponed.

He'd bought the Nimbus 2001 back in August. Still hadn't found a proper chance to show it off. "If I don't bring it out soon, the year'll be over!"

"Fine." Hall nodded. He'd trained plenty with the Slytherin team. He liked Quidditch well enough, but he wasn't obsessed like Draco, Harry, or Ron. If Draco wanted to play, Hall didn't mind.

"Blaise, you're coming too," Draco said flatly.

Zabini raised his hands. "Alright, alright." Who told him to come and watch the fun? Consider it his admission fee.