[159] The Hollow of Victory

"You guys going to play Quidditch?"

A slightly odd voice — carrying a hint of tenderness — rang in their ears. Hall turned.

A young man, maybe sixteen or seventeen, tall and slender, in a royal blue suit. The accessories and tie made him look exceptionally vibrant.

Hall recognised him immediately. Russell Rosier. The Frenchman he and Draco had been discussing.

Russell caught Hall's gaze, smiled, placed a hand on his chest, and bowed deeply — a formal salute.

Immediately, Draco and Zabini looked between Hall and Russell with knowing eyes.

Hall blinked. What? He didn't know this guy. Well, that wasn't strictly true. But they weren't familiar!

Draco scrutinised Russell with a critical sideways glance. "Russell Rosier?"

Russell smiled at the younger boy. His deep-set face, even in a simple smile, carried that French romantic charm. "Mr Malfoy."

Something's wrong, Draco thought.

Seeing Draco about to find more fault, Hall sighed. "Draco, that's enough. He hasn't done anything."

He really hadn't. Just came up and said hello.

But Hall's intervention only made things worse. Draco's gaze snapped to him. "You're taking his side?!"

Hall opened his mouth, then closed it. Where did Draco get that idea?

Before Hall could explain, Russell spoke. "Mr Malfoy, I've just arrived in England. Don't have many relatives or friends here. It's wonderful to meet Mr Malfoy and his friends — we feel an instant connection. If possible, I'd like to get to know you all better. I hope I haven't disturbed you..."

He lowered his eyes, exuding a melancholic aura.

Draco was stunned. He'd never seen such a smooth, masterful attack. Why did Russell sound so guilty and ashamed after saying that?

Hall couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Are you coming or not?"

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Russell, who'd been about to continue, shut his mouth and gave Hall a sincere smile. Hall pretended not to see it.

"Let's go!" Draco waved his hand.

Draco led them to the lawn at the back. "The guests Dad invited are all in the front garden. We can play here!" He tilted his head back like a peacock.

Hall said nothing. Not playing in front of Lucius was already giving the man face. Even if Lucius and Narcissa found out, they wouldn't do more than give Draco a mild reprimand. The Malfoys spoiled him.

Draco waved his hand extravagantly, pulling out four Nimbus 2001s.

Zabini's eyes widened. "Draco, why'd you buy so many?"

These were Nimbus 2001s — second only to the Firebolt. And four of them. Zabini still used a Nimbus 2000. Not that he couldn't afford an upgrade; it just wasn't necessary. A new Nimbus ran about a thousand Galleons. A Firebolt was ten times that. The Nimbus Company released new models every year or two. Unless you were a professional player, it was wasted money.

Of all the pure-blood wizarding families, the Weasleys might be the poorest. But that didn't mean the rest were rich. Most of them were just keeping up appearances — maintaining a lifestyle they couldn't really afford. Many were barely scraping by. That's why they needed new income streams. But the wizarding market was only so big. Without competitive products, how easy was it to grow?

Hall couldn't help but admire Mr Malfoy again. Targeting the Muggle world for profit — not everyone would think of that. And not everyone had the nerve.

"I've got seven total," Draco said. "Was planning to donate new equipment when I joined the team this year." But the tournament had been cancelled.

"Ah, that's a shame." Zabini stroked the broom in his hand, clearly taken with it.

"You're not even on the team," Draco noted.

"I like Quidditch. Doesn't mean I have to play it."

Draco considered that, then nodded. "Since you like it, it's yours."

Zabini's eyes lit up. "Draco, you're truly my best friend!" He opened his arms for a hug.

Draco rolled his eyes, squeezed his legs, and flew off on his broom.

Zabini laughed, hopped on the Nimbus 2001, and chased after him. "I know, I know! Your best friend is Hall!"

"Shut up, Zabini!"

Hall hadn't brought his broom, so he took one of Draco's spares. He flew slowly through the air. To an outsider, he looked like a novice. But a closer look showed how effortlessly he moved — slow and steady was far harder than speed.

Russell Rosier gripped his Nimbus 2001 tightly and laboured over to Hall's side. "Hall, aren't you going to join your friends?"

His tone sounded friendly, but Hall caught something underneath. Something in the tea.

He gave Russell a pointed look.

Russell held his composure at first. Then his expression crumbled.

"Whatever your purpose is in coming to England," Hall said slowly, "trying to sow discord between me and Draco is a stupid move."

Russell paused, a strange look creeping into his eyes.

Hall ignored it. He'd learned to disregard other people's problems. Whatever these people were thinking, it wasn't his business. As long as they didn't confront him directly.

"Your friendship is truly..." Russell hesitated.

Hall raised a palm. "It's not all friendship." There were also Galleons involved. Draco was his friend, yes — and also his moneybags, his client, his source of income. No conflict there.

What Hall didn't notice was the even stranger look that crossed Russell's face.