Assembly of Potentates
In one of many concealed alleyways within Diagon Alley, there is a bright red door to a secretive establishment. The secretive enterprise is called, "Madam Zenarie's, Emporium of Fine Delicacies, Treats, and the Exotic." The discreet, elegant establishment is only known to those who frequented such establishments primarily the upper crust of the wizarding world or those in possession of great wealth. A single night's rest with the cheapest of Madam Zenarie's flowers and herbs cost at least worth one hundred galleons. The more expensive and popular the flower or exotic the flower cost a small fortune.
Madam Zenarie treated her flowers and herbs rather well as she had been one of the most popular flowers of Diagon Alley in her youth. She had aged rather well possessing sufficient beauty to turn many a wizard's heads. Now a madam, she had the privilege of taking a wizard to be for her personal pleasure rather than for coin.
The elegant establishment is filled with the voices of beautiful flowers, glorious young women in captivating silk gowns easily attracting the attention of patrons. The herbs mingle in elegant robes and suits. The youthful men come in a variety from feminine, to rugged, muscular, and exotic. An ample variety of delectable flowers and herbs to select from, a flavor for every type of patron to be found.
Typically, the patrons would be permitted to lounge in chaises to chat. Yet today, they are all being led either to private bedrooms upstairs to be serviced by the favorite flower or herb of the day or led away to a chandelier-lit dining hall to enjoy fine food accompanied by a night of entertainment of acrobats, dancers, musicians, and even a ball.
Quite a few of the patrons-only patronized Madam Zenarie's Emporium solely for the cuisine. There were sufficient patrons of cuisine that Madam Zenarie held some of the best cooks that the wizarding world had to offer. There were squibs, former flowers, and herbs among the staff that are openly employed and cherished by her and the patrons, who valued their cooking skills.
Madam Zenarie greeted the guests in passing ensuring that they ushered amicably either upstairs or into the dining hall. An excellent cook, but now, the right hand of Madam Zenarie is the scarred squib, Tamara. A former flower whose appearance had been destroyed by Mulciber. And though compensation had been made sufficient for Tara to redeem her debt. Lacking beauty or other trade skills, there was no place that Tamara had to go, so she decided to stay as a cook.
The visible lacerations seen on the back of her hand, neck, and a practically deep gouge across one of her cheeks often caused the still beautiful Tamara to be stared at by the patrons. Ignoring the stares, the oak-colored-haired, Tamara quietly approaches Madam Zenarie. "The guests have begun to arrive and have been let in through the back door," she quietly said. "Our principal guest has yet to arrive."
Madam Zenarie back straightened in understanding. The former Potentate of London had yet to arrive, Sanderson. However, she must attend to the remaining Potentates, who had all arrived. She turns to Tamara to instruct her. "Lead our principal guest immediately up. Mind your manners, Tamara. He is not one to tolerate any form of rudeness."
"I understand," Tamara stiffly responded having met the former Potentate of London. She still recalled the uneasiness the elderly wizard had caused her. It was as though she was being watched by a predatory beast.
Madam Zenarie politely excuses herself from the throng of patrons, but pointedly gestures with her fan for the remaining flowers and herbs to hurry inside. The last flowers and herbs usher their patrons inside the dining hall before the doors firmly close behind them. Relieved that the guests have all been collected, she moves towards a mirror in the hallway to check her appearance.
Madam Zenarie paused in front of a tastefully placed mirror to peer at her reflection. She is greeted by the gorgeous visage of a cream-skinned, slim, middle-aged beauty in a vermillion gown that highlights her taut, curved flesh. Her kohl-lined eyes highlight her light-colored eyes that are paired with lush, crimson-painted lips. There is nary a wrinkle or blemish on her flesh despite her age, (that was exorbitantly maintained). Although there are signs of aging in the silver tracks among her wheat-colored hair.
Slightly apprehensive, Madam Zenarie reaches up to adjust her hair, before firmly sashaying away. Up the stairs, she makes her way down the hall to one of the most secure and private concierge chambers. She knocks twice to politely announce her presence, before turning the silver knob and entering the lavish, but tastefully decorated chamber.
The air feels tense with wafts of smoke filling the room from smoking pipes and thick cigars. Madam Zenarie's eyes water and she stifles a cough. She warily takes in the room as she curtsies to the men in the room. "I greet, the Potentates," she tilted her head in a deeper bow. "Sanderson has to arrive, but do the Potentates require anything that my establishment might provide?"
"Bahh," grumbled a silver-streaked wizard with fiery red hair and weathered rough features, before taking another puff of his cigar. Forsythe, the Potentate of Scotland did not much approve of meeting in a whore house. It was rather ungodly if you asked him. The whole country had simply gone mad! His trade of house elves had plummeted as no one wanted good, beaten, submissive house elves but rather educated things! What was the world coming to!
"A bottle of elf-wine would be appreciated, Madam," answered much more civilly, a wizard in fine clothing with long locks of hair firm eyebrows, and a single diamond studded earning. Newport, the Potentate of the Coast controlled the coastline and thereby sold and traded with the merchants and sailors. There were plenty of these types of establishments that he owned. He owned cheap taverns for the sailors and higher-class establishments for the finer folks. There was plenty of picking to go around.
The clouds of smoke burn Madam Zenarie's but she patiently waits for any other request. She could not afford to be impatient not with these men, but she receives none from the remaining Potentates. Seeing that none of the remaining Potenates wish to speak, she begins to say, "I shall shortly return with the-," but the door loudly slams open causing the wizards in the room to automatically reach for their wands to attack.
"I apologize for my lateness," said, Sanderson, a weathered older wizard with neatly cut white hair. "I stopped by the cellar to pick up a bottle or two of 1878 elf-made wine from the Chateau de Foix," holding up two bottles of corked wine.
"Hear, hear," gratefully muttered, the wizard with the single diamond stud in his ear.
"I knew that you would like my choice, Newport," Sanderson greeted the Potentate of the Coast only pausing to stare dismissively at Madam Zenarie.
Taking the hint Madam Zenarie hurriedly bows, before excusing herself from the chamber. She only pauses to take a breath down the hallway. She wheezes painfully by how dry her lungs are and must step into an empty concierge chamber to pour herself some water.
Sanderson may no longer be the official Potentate of London, but that did not mean his power had waned. On the contrary, he gained far more power by becoming a legitimate businessman. And nor could she disobey him, he offered her protection that she needed to keep her flowers and herbs safe.
Madam Zenarie sighed, before straightening her back. This was her establishment and as the Madam, it was her duty to protect it. And she would. With that firm thought in mind, she marched out to attend to her patrons. It was her responsibility.