Cyrus Greengrass POV
'Another party, another bloody batch of fools trying to talk to me about more foolish regulations,' Cyrus grumbled to himself. He kept a polite and amiable mask on his face as he listened to some Ministry flunky attempt to convince him to back his latest tariff increase.
Leaving aside the fact this particular peon was one of Malfoy's disposable catspaws, the proposed economic change would raise prices for potion ingredients and reagents coming in from certain places outside the British Isles by two percent. That might not seem much, but it would hurt many potioneers' bottom lines and force them to choose cheaper and less effective local ingredients. And there were many ingredients that Magical Britain didn't produce and had to import.
House Greengrass owned many farms and produced a large amount of the country's potion ingredients, around sixty percent to be precise, but the real money they made came from trade. They bought ingredients from the rest of Europe and then sold them to potioneers in Diagon Alley and beyond. Raising the tariff would force the Greengrasses to pay more to import them, which would hurt their own bottom line as he had to raise prices at home to make a profit.
This was a thinly veiled attempt to try and hurt the finances of House Greengrass, and Cyrus knew it. He also knew that this was but one string to Malfoy's bow. If he refused to support the tariff, Malfoy would go after him another way.
Worse, Cyrus knew that this tariff would benefit not just the Malfoy's, who had their own competing trade firms in countries that wouldn't be affected by said tariff, but also the Longbottoms, who controlled the remaining forty percent of the local potion ingredient farming in Magical Britain.
This law was yet another dangerous and unsubtle dagger to try and force the Greengrasses to side with one side or another. And he hated it.
When the flunky finally left, Cyrus fought back a sigh. At his side, his wife squeezed his arm, somehow able to sense his exasperation.
'What did I do to get a woman like her?' he thought to himself as he flashed Cynthia a smile. Sure, their marriage had been arranged, like most in upper society, but she was his rock, and they'd had a chance to get to know each other in Hogwarts before their nuptials, creating a bond that lasted to this day.
"Ah, Cyrus," a slimy voice called out.
"Lucius. Narcissa. A pleasure," Cyrus lied, turning to the couple. "How are you doing today?"
"Quite well, quite well," Lucius said while the wives exchanged pleasantries and thinly veiled barbs as they 'complimented' each others' outfits.
"Wonderful! Although, I heard your House Elf passed away over the summer. Terrible when that happens," Cyrus noted.
"Yes, it seems the poor thing worked itself to death," Lucius replied, and Cyrus could see the man's jaw tighten at the reminder.
"A common occurrence from what I understand. I've never had that happen myself, though I have more than a single House Elf serving me," Cyrus said, rubbing that fact in.
"I saw that the Senior Vice-Director for the Department of International Relations was speaking with you," Lucius said, switching the topic with the grace of a floundering fish. "Did he perhaps have anything interesting to say?"
"I'm afraid not. The poor man who was trying to convince me about the change in tariff laws was clearly uneducated in the nuances of global economics, otherwise he'd never have tried to promote such a short-sighted taxation policy, especially one that would interfere with any trade in France and Spain," Cyrus replied smoothly, while mentally scoffing at the blatant attempt to find out what his opinion was towards the proposal.
"Hmm. Well, I'm sure you'll do what is best," Lucius Malfoy said, delivering a rather unsubtle threat. Cyrus resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the silver-blond man and his wife departed.
"For a man who styles himself a noble, you'd think he'd have better comebacks," Cynthia said in a low voice, and Cyrus snorted.
"It's because Lucius is used to dealing with simpletons who wouldn't know a metaphor from an innuendo," he replied, and his wife giggled.
It was true, too! Lucius Malfoy had been playing in the political equivalent of the kiddie pool for too long and had forgotten what it was like to cross wits with somebody who wasn't a brown-nosing sycophant or a buffoon. Or both, like Fudge.
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