Hassen Morti snapped his fingers elegantly when he saw Brook seated securely.
The carriage began to move slowly.
There was not the slightest sensation of jolting during the ride. It was as steady as if it were flying through the air.
The route remained a perfectly straight line.
Whether houses or mountain peaks stood in its way,
it was as though an invisible hole had been opened straight through them, allowing the carriage to pass directly through.
It felt like traveling through another dimension.
As time passed, the carriage slowly came to a stop.
The moment Brook stepped out of the carriage, he saw
Millison Bersted, with her jet-black hair and tall, sturdy frame,
pushing Hassen Bersted, whose hair was entirely silver. Though elderly, he remained vigorous and sharp-eyed in his wheelchair.
Oliver stood ramrod straight nearby.
The instant Millison saw Brook, jealousy and resentment flashed in her eyes, nearly overflowing from their sockets.
The carriage Brook had ridden in belonged exclusively to the head of the Bersted family and the heir.
When Hassen decided to use this carriage to pick Brook up, it meant Millison's rights as heir had been revoked.
The family fortune that had once seemed within arm's reach had now vanished like a bubble.
How could she not be driven mad with jealousy?
Yet she did not dare reveal even the slightest trace of it before Hassen.
What Millison did not know was
that even if Brook had never appeared, the family fortune might not have fallen into her hands.
From the moment her parents died, Hassen had begun trying to restore his physical abilities.
Over the years, he had worked at it in secret, but with little success.
Last year, he had already begun contacting the Weasley family.
He wanted a woman from the Weasley family, hoping to find a way to continue the Bersted family bloodline.
Hassen swept his peripheral vision over Morti, who gave an extremely subtle shake of his head.
He smiled. "Welcome home, Brook."
Brook replied politely, "Mr. Bersted, it's a pleasure to be here."
Hassen's expression did not change, and his gentle smile remained. "You must be hungry. Let's eat first."
"Of course. I'll follow the host's arrangements."
Hassen raised a hand, and Millison immediately pushed him forward.
"Slower," Hassen said softly.
But Millison's entire body trembled slightly. She instantly slowed down until she was level with Brook.
Brook took all of this in.
It seemed Mr. Weasley's intelligence had not been entirely accurate!
The letter had described Hassen as a kind and amiable man.
But judging from Millison's reaction just now, Mr. Hassen did not seem as simple as he appeared.
Seeing that they made no further moves, Brook began admiring the estate.
The estate gates were made of heavy oak.
A broad gravel path wound ahead.
Neatly trimmed hedges lined both sides of the road.
The main building of the estate was a Gothic castle, its towering spires piercing the sky.
Vines covered the walls.
The sharp thorns on those vines gleamed coldly beneath the sunlight, clearly more than mere decoration.
As for the inside of the castle, it was even more luxurious to the extreme.
Everything Brook saw along the way was either gold or silver.
Even the frames of the portraits hanging on the walls were made of pure gold.
Not to mention the crystal chandelier nearly ten meters in diameter.
Morti was already waiting in the dining room.
A long table large enough to seat thirty people stood in the dining room, already covered with lavish dishes.
Brook glanced over them and found that they were all French cuisine, with no potato dishes in sight.
Beef Bourguignon, Duck Confit, foie gras, French Steak, Pan-Seared Duck Breast, Lobster Thermidor, Ratatouille, French Seafood Platter, and bouillabaisse.
Everyone took their seats in turn, and Hassen specifically invited Brook to sit on his left.
Brook did not refuse.
He lightly touched the dinner plate with his hand.
Pure gold.
Not the gold-colored dinner plates from Hogwarts.
Hassen and Millison both strictly observed dining etiquette, each movement elegant and precise.
Oliver, meanwhile, moved stiffly. He used every piece of cutlery in rigid fashion, carefully picking up and cutting different foods.
"Mr. Bersted, do you have chopsticks?" Brook asked.
"Morti," Hassen called simply.
Morti immediately took out a pair of flawless white chopsticks inlaid with blue gemstones at the tips, along with a chopstick rest, from a nearby cabinet.
He swiftly placed them beside Brook's plate.
Brook picked up the chopsticks and gently ran his fingers over them.
The material felt strange. It was neither wood nor ceramic.
Seeing this, Millison's eyes flashed with disdain. "Ivory chopsticks from the Mughal Dynasty, more than four hundred years—"
Hassen gave a light cough, and Millison immediately fell silent.
Brook did not care about any of that and started digging in.
Eating was eating. Enjoying the food was what mattered most.
Who was there to impress?
As a proper French meal,
dessert and ice cream naturally could not be absent afterward.
Macarons, Éclairs, Mont Blanc, Soufflé, and ice cream in all kinds of flavors
were placed on the table by Morti.
Brook was not particularly interested in dessert.
A cup of tea was far more satisfying.
So he did not touch any of it.
"Finished already? Not having any dessert?" Hassen asked with a smile.
"The dishes were delicious. I'm full, and there's really no room left," Brook replied politely.
Hassen nodded slightly and gestured with his palm toward Morti.
"Then how about keeping this old man company in the study for a few words?"
"Sure."
Hassen skillfully turned his wheelchair himself and slowly left the dining table.
Brook rose and followed him.
Morti snapped his fingers.
The food on the table vanished instantly.
Only Millison's hand, which had just touched a soufflé, remained awkwardly frozen in midair.
Hassen led Brook to the study.
An old, rich scent of books washed over him.
Enormous bookshelves stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling, packed with all kinds of books.
The two sat facing each other across an antique desk.
Hassen personally picked up the tea set beside him and began making tea.
Before long, he handed Brook a cup.
"What do you think of this estate?"
"Extravagant."
"Not a bad assessment. The Bersted family has always possessed a special fondness for gold. All of this is the accumulation of dozens of generations."
Hassen narrowed his eyes slightly. "And you like gold too, don't you?"
"I don't think anyone in this world dislikes gold," Brook replied.
"I mean the gold you took from Lloyds Bank."
"It was you." Brook's heart jolted.
Could it be...
He frowned slightly.
But why?
"You guessed it? That's right. The Bersted family owns shares in Lloyds Bank, and I was the one who asked Dumbledore to come. I was also the one who told him your location. Otherwise, even if he could track you down, he could not have found you so quickly."
Hassen leaned back in his wheelchair, his expression calm. "So? Do you hate me?"
Many esteemed readers had questions about Dumbledore's appearance in Chapter 2. Was this answer satisfactory? (ღˇ◡ˇღ)
Before you continue