Chapter 316 : The price of Bloodlines
Several vampires restrained two wizards and three younger vampires. The bartender himself held a figure, followed by a well-dressed, middle-aged wizard and a young man about Phineas's age.
"Master Black, I have fulfilled your request. I've brought Miss Hope back."
The bartender approached Phineas and handed Hope to him.
Phineas took her, frowning deeply. Hope's clothes were in disarray, and her body was covered in cuts and bruises. It was clear she had been through an ordeal.
He raised his eyes and looked toward the man who had come with the bartender.
"These two wizards," the bartender explained, "attacked your house-elf, Master Black. The younger vampires are misguided juniors from the clan. They were hired by this family to carry out some underhanded tasks."
Phineas's expression was unreadable. He glanced from the older wizard to the younger one beside him.
Before the bartender could speak again, the elder man stepped forward.
"Greetings, Master Black. I am Thorn Bryant, head of the French Bryant family, a cadet branch under House Lestrange. I believe this is all a misunderstanding. My son... he had inappropriate intentions toward Miss Mikaelson, but he didn't succeed. She only suffered superficial wounds. Look, I'll have him apologize. Perhaps we can settle this peacefully?"
Phineas ignored Thorn and looked down at Hope in his arms.
She winced, her expression contorted in pain.
He gently placed a hand on her forehead. A soft hum resonated as a healing charm Perenelle had taught him took effect.
Hope groaned slightly and slowly opened her eyes. At the sight of Phineas, she relaxed.
"How do you feel?" he asked softly.
She didn't speak but shook her head faintly. Although her wounds were visible, they didn't appear life-threatening.
Phineas then turned to Thorn, his tone dry and disdainful.
"You tried to pressure me by invoking House Lestrange? Very well. Call them now. I want to see how this ends for your family."
Thorn raised his hands in haste. "Of course not, Master Black. I would never dream of using the Lestranges to pressure you. I was merely stating our affiliation."
Phineas tilted his head and gave Thorn a contemptuous glance.
"Your reasons don't matter. Hope was taken. Her injuries are clear."
Thorn nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. Master Black may request any compensation."
Phineas said coolly, "Very simple. You said you're from the Bryant family, correct? I won't ask for much. First, let your daughter spend a night with me—I'll return her tomorrow. Then your son pays the price."
Thorn's expression changed instantly. "Master Black, isn't that... going too far?"
"Why?" Phineas snapped. "Wasn't Hope kidnapped by your son and held overnight?"
Thorn faltered, his mouth opening and closing. Finally, he ground out,
"Master Black, are you truly prepared to declare war on the Bryant family for this mudblood? Are you willing to disgrace the Lestrange name in France?"
Phineas sneered. "You think Lestrange would go to war for you? Don't make me laugh. No one harms the Black family and walks away intact. Puff!"
With a pop, Puff appeared at Phineas's side. "Master!"
Phineas handed Hope to him and looked to the bartender.
"Your clan is implicated. I'll deal with these two," he gestured at the Bryants. "As for you—go to the Bryants' estate. You know the result I expect."
The bartender hesitated, his expression darkening. He understood the unspoken demand—he was to lead the vampires in destroying the Bryant family to regain favor with the Black family.
Phineas had publicly declared Hope a Black. That was no longer a matter of favor—it was blood.
At last, the bartender bowed deeply. "Understood, Master Black. Await our report."
He turned away, ignoring Thorn's visible fury.
Thorn could guess the conversation the bartender had overheard. He realized his son had made a grave mistake. He had assumed Hope was merely a mudblood with Phineas's temporary favor. He now understood the danger of his miscalculation.
At that moment, the tavern door opened.
A new figure entered. "Master Black, the Bryants are part of the Lestrange family. Isn't this disrespectful to our name in France?"
Phineas looked up idly.
The man resembled Corvus Lestrange, suggesting he was a direct Lestrange descendant. A witch beside him bore an even stronger resemblance—her identity was obvious.
Phineas chuckled. "A Lestrange, are you? Send Corvus to speak with me. You're not qualified."
Just then, Corvus Lestrange walked in.
"Phineas, please. For my sake, let this matter go."
Phineas raised an eyebrow, grinning.
"Fine. Then let Draco spend a night with your cousin. How about that?"
Corvus's expression soured instantly. "Phineas! She's a direct Lestrange. That's an insult!"
Phineas slammed the bar counter.
"And wasn't your cousin insulting the Black name? Hope is Sirius's daughter—a direct Black! Our numbers are few, and our lineage sacred. You want war? Fine! Puff, return to England. Mobilize our forces. Today, either France's magical world falls, or Britain's does!"
Everyone in the tavern fell silent.
The Bryants, bolstered moments earlier by Lestrange's arrival, were now trembling.
Corvus drew a deep breath and turned to his relative.
"Mobilize the family."
His cousin stammered, "Brother? Are you declaring war on the Blacks?"
Corvus closed his eyes. "No. We're erasing the Bryants. Leave no one alive."
Gasps echoed.
Phineas remained composed. If Corvus hadn't come, this could have escalated. But with Hope's identity revealed, the outcome was inevitable. Corvus had no choice.
If Lestrange didn't act decisively, the Council of Elders would back Black. Other families would expect the same justice if their heirs were harmed.
Phineas nodded slightly. "It seems you made the right decision."
With that, he took Hope from Puff and left the tavern.
He didn't return to her home. Instead, he went to Nicolas Flamel's estate, where Leah remained. It would be more appropriate for her to examine Hope's injuries. He hoped things weren't as bad as they looked.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Phineas's worry had been justified.
Hope recounted her abduction by the Bryants the previous night. She had been locked in a dungeon, where one of her classmates was also imprisoned.
Thanks to that classmate, she had escaped. Thorn's son had chosen her classmate first—his tastes were disturbing and violent. That's why Hope bore so many scars, most inflicted by whips.
Just as he was about to assault her, the bartender's men arrived. Upon learning she was wanted by Phineas, Thorn intervened.
Hope had been lucky. Her classmate was found dead by the Lestranges a day later—killed during torture.
Phineas's expression darkened as he listened.
He handed her a cup of black tea and said,
"Hope, after this incident, you can no longer deny your identity. Originally, I planned for you to finish your final year in France and return to Britain after graduation. But your identity as a Black is now public. You must return with me."
"If you still want to study, I'll contact Beauxbatons for a transfer or temporary placement."
"But the seventh year is mostly for NEWTs. As a Black, you'll have any job you want regardless. That's the benefit of blood. But there are obligations too. First, your future husband must be pure-blooded. His family may be small or obscure, but he must be of pure blood."
"Sirius and I would never force a political marriage, but we cannot compromise on bloodline. Second, you'll manage part of the Black estate. If you want to work in the Ministry or open a shop, that's fine—but you'll also oversee family business."
Phineas winked. "Of course, you can delegate the work. Sirius and I do the same. What you manage will be yours."
"Finally—and most importantly—we are the oldest magical family in Britain. We are also a leading family in the Council of Elders. That means you must uphold our honor. Never allow the Black name to be tarnished. Be ever watchful—our enemies are patient."
"I once had a trusted assistant. She died when Sirius was attacked. I avenged her, but she's still gone. You must be ready for these things."
Hope nodded solemnly. Being taken by the Bryants had opened her eyes. The magical world wasn't a fairy tale—it was political, brutal, and dark. Bloodline meant everything.
She no longer feared meeting Sirius.
Phineas smiled, gently patting her head.
"For now, focus on healing and rest. This manor once belonged to Nicolas Flamel and his wife. They left it to me. It holds all of Nicolas's alchemical creations, notes, and laboratories. I think you'll find it fascinating."
Three days earlier, Hope had said she wanted to open a magical items shop—one specializing in alchemy.
This place was a dream come true.