Chapter 887 - Martial Alliance Ⅱ (2/2)
”Indeed, it is a distant possibility, but the Prince's may have a daughter, and that debt can always still be called upon to be fulfilled,” Henry sternly warned.
Fleamont laughed off his father's words at that time but secretly was chagrined by them. That may very well be the reason, why he disliked the Slytherin 1st year Reginald Prince the instant he saw him at Hogwarts in Fleamont's 7th year. It certainly did not help matters at that point that an infant daughter had been shortly soon after been born into the Prince lineage named Georgine Prince.
A trace of embarrassment flashes across Fleamont's face as he recalls his irritation at the younger first year even resulting in him dueling the younger boy, who gave as he got, and which admittedly Reginald's even then was a rather terrifying foe. He lets out a rueful sigh at his past behavior, before breathing deeply in and out. He needed to protect his son, and this was the only way possible. He only hoped that someday James would forgive him and understand that he did this out of necessity to protect him.
Recalling that Prince Manor would only accept guests via floo, Fleamont returns home to change out of his damp clothing. The instant he arrives homes, Nimmy wails and throws herself at his feet. Oddly reminiscent of her younger brother, Dobby, Nimmy brutally bangs her head on the floor. ”Bad Nimmy, BAD! Nimmy should be punished for not stopping mistress! Bad Nimmy!”
”Nimmy, STOP!” Fleamont ordered causing the house elf to let out a loud sniff.
Nimmy raises her badly bruised face. ”Is Master going to give, Nimmy, clothes?” The house elf whispered in a trembling voice. If Nimmy was set free, where would Nimmy go? What master would ever want a free house elf?!
”No, Nimmy,” Fleamont wearily sighed, ”but I could use some warm tea with a dash of brandy.”
”Nimmy obeys!” The house elf eagerly squeaked before vanishing with a loud pop.
Fleamont retreated to his chambers and flinched at seeing his wife's cloak and bed robe hanging on her side of the room. He hastily changed trying not to let out the stifled cry in his ċhėst. He hurries out and is besieged by Nimmy, before downing the cup of piping hot tea in one gulp, before flooing to Prince Manor.
The grandfather clock rings exactly five times as Fleamont emerges from the floo. Taking care to remove the ash from his clothes with a swish of his wand, Fleamont carefully strides down the hallway before a faint pop causes him to whirl around. The Prince's house elf stands there in his pajamas and his spectacles hanging precariously at the tip of his nose.
”Mr. Potter, we were not expecting you until a more decent hour,” Tadbey chided the elderly wizard. ”Whatever might I do for you, Mr. Potter.”
”I wish to privately speak to your master, Reginald Prince,” Fleamont firmly replied.
Tadbey pointedly arches his brow and frowns. ”I have no master, Mr. Potter, you would do well to remember that,” he sharply replied. ”However, you are in luck, Mr. Potter, my employer has yet to retire for the evening. Step lively, Mr. Potter.”
Fleamont hurries after the house elf trying to decipher what the house elf meant by his words. It wasn't until Fleamont nearly reached the study of Reginald Prince that he recalled, his son, James mentioning that one of the Prince house elves was free and in fact actively employed and paid. He and Euphemia had laughed it off at that time as that seemed far too progressive for Reginald Prince.. And yet if Prince was capable of such a feat, perchance, there was still hope.