Welcome to Book Two: A Grim Tale of Grandmas, Schnitzels, and Ghosts. This story set in the Grim Tales series will be posted as one work here on ffnet, and this particular part is two chapters long. So, another next week!
In a clothes shop
"Thank you for letting me come to the funeral, Sirius," said Harry with a small smile as they explored a shop selling posh robes in wizarding Vienna. "Even though it was all very hush-hush and only a few of us could make it, I'm sure Regulus is happy to finally be laid to rest."
Sirius turned to look at his godson and felt a rush of pride. "You're a wise lad, Harry," he answered. "Don't let it get to your head." He quickly added when the boy's ego seemed to swell. "As for Reggie, I'm sure he was delighted. A quick list of the guests to his funeral: Sirius Black, his blood traitor brother who transferred all of his responsibilities as heir to him; Ron Weasley, child of blood traitors who actively fought him and his gang from the beginning; Albus Dumbledore, a half-blood and the biggest threat to his cause; Harry Potter, his half-blood god-nephew; Remus Lupin, werewolf; and best of all Hermione Granger, muggleborn, with her parents, muggles! And you know that's not the word he would have used to describe your little friend, hah!"
Harry laughed and imitated Walburga Black's shrill voice and bitter facial expressions. "Filth! Scum! By-product of dirt and vile blood! Get this half-breed out of my house or there will be consequences, Sirius Black. I heard from Kreacher how you defiled the family grave with a mudblood and animals! Is that the thanks my wonderful, pure, real son gets for helping to rid the world of another rabid half-breed?"
"Bloody hag," Sirius muttered darkly, trying to decide whether he loved or hated lederhosen. He pondered the question quietly for a moment, before catching himself. "Your impression is far too good. Sorry you had to experience that Harry; I suppose Kreacher still can't bring himself to lock her away after he speaks with His Mistress." He shuddered involuntarily while picking up the various items of a very stylish outfit he had seen on a moving mannequin. The crotchety old house elf was much less of a menace now, in part because he felt guilty for attempting to leave Sirius and Albus do die, yes, but mostly because there was closure surrounding Regulus' death. "Gives you an idea of why my darling brother turned out the way he did for so long though, eh? Come on, try on those robes, maybe you'll impress those young Austrian witches!"
Harry blushed and punched his godfather lightly in the arm before going to the changing room followed by an army of floating needles, reels of measuring tape, and pins. The dress robes (he had the inside scoop from Sirirus who had it from Albus that Hogwarts would be hosting some ballroom dance event to celebrate Yule), new quidditch uniform, sensible, and stupid clothes they had picked did not fly with the sewing supplies. Instead, they were delivered by a self-moving trolley, so as to avoid the risk of trace magic interfering with the tailoring process. Pulling on a shirt, Harry marvelled at the fact that he was in a different country for the first time in his life. He had only spent a few awkward days with the Dursleys following his third year before the surprising move to Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore himself had come to pick him up and Harry would cherish the memory of the harsh talking to the old wizard had given his family – no, not family, relatives - for the rest of his life. Aunt Petunia had not only given him a stiff apology but forced Dudley to do the same. Uncle Vernon had sulked throughout, but even he had looked a little bit guilty by the time Harry had finished the short job of clearing out the cupboard under the stairs looking for his oldest possessions. Harry had never seen Dumbledore quite so angry as when he opened the cupboard, and his old mattress was still laying on the ground. The entire house quaked with his rage while his aunt and uncle cowered in fear in the corner.
Harry shook his head doing up his buttons, letting his schadenfreude (a neat new word he had learned from his German phrasebook) go. It did not matter anymore. He had been promised he would never, ever be forced to go back, and that was all he had needed for a quiet summer. At least, quiet until he had found out the truth over dinner with Sirius, Professor Lupin – Remus, he reminded himself – and the headmaster one evening: he had a piece of Voldemort in his head, there was a prophesy about him and the "Dark Lord," which would not have been an issue except his enemy knew part of it, and this summer he, Prof- Remus, and Sirius would be going on a trip or two to figure out whether any of it could be fixed a sneaky way. Sirius was still a wanted man in Magical Britain, so Harry was pleased they had an excuse to be away from there for as long as possible. If he got to know his father's friends away from judgemental people and they found a method to remove Voldemort from his forehead along the way, well, who was he to complain?
On some level, Harry had been sad that he would be traveling without his friends. He could just imagine the shenanigans he would get up to with Ron and Hermione, but they had their own families to reconnect with. And, Sirius was his godfather, not theirs. He tried to suppress that jealous possessive feeling, but it was there and really, he liked it. He had a person who loved him. A real, if small, family of his own.
After an eternity of fittings, Harry made his way back out of the changing room again and saw Remus and Sirius chatting animatedly about what else they would do in the Austrian capital. Neither of them had ever spent much time overseas with first the wizarding war, then prison and poverty ending any dreams the Marauders had shared of a traditional magical grand tour after school. Despite Remus' misgivings, Sirius had insisted on the werewolf joining them and had thrown a charmed sack of galleons at him which would magically reappear in Remus' pockets or bags anytime he tried to discard or return them. This seemed to be the topic of conversation again, with Remus wanting to avoid high costs and Sirius seemingly wishing to spend as much of his money as possible.
"Listen Moony," argued Sirius. "Who knows when we'll get to have so much time together again. I intend to enjoy every minute."
Remus looked like he wanted to continue arguing, but he noticed Harry watching them. This had been an incredible year. After over a decade of essentially moping, firm in the belief that he had been the only remaining Marauder, he had two bright lights in his life.
"It's okay Remus," said the boy shily. "I've already tried to talk him out of spending all our money, but he just won't listen. Sirius has decided it's time for me to become a man, and he said he would probably have to pay extra for you and me. Whatever that means?"
"What?" exclaimed the werewolf, face pale. He turned to the man clearly having enormous difficulty holding in his laughter, and grinned. Then, he viciously punched him in the thigh using the hardest part of his knuckle.
"Ow, you furry git I bet that's going to leave a massive bruise! It was only a joke, and Harry told it. You gave the wrong man a dead leg!" complained Sirius theatrically, still laughing as he hobbled in circles trying to walk off the pain. Remus smirked, and once more basked in the glorious feeling of relief he felt whenever he looked at his friend and remembered he had not betrayed them. He looked so much healthier than even weeks ago. In quiet moments, such as during the funeral, he seemed to age before your very eyes and disappear somewhere far away, but around Harry . . . there, he was energised. He had a mission, a goal no dementor could possibly take from him, it was awe-inspiring. His friend was driven by rage and a little bit of Black family madness, yes, but also his enormous love for the boy, which Remus knew was being repaid tenfold. He laughed to himself at the realisation that all it would take for Sirius to get back to his old self again would be enough adoration directed his way by a teenager to reinflate his enormous ego. They were healing each other, and it was incredible, magical to watch.
They had arrived that day using the most violent and lengthy portkey any of them had ever felt. Indeed, it had been Harry's first time using any portkey, and he had sworn he would rather walk than ever take one again. Not long after their arrival, the lad had felt the same as when he visited Diagon Alley for the first time: gawking at everything everywhere. It had started with the absurdly long name for the auror manning the long-distance portkey arrival gate: Fernportschlüsselankunftsbereichswachhexenmeister. Sirius had not been able to stop the immediate burst of laughter at the comically wide wooden sign above the man's head, but he had soon stopped when the wizard barked a warning in a strongly accented German dialect, pulling his wand out and demanding identification. They had left the place a few golden Schillings lighter rather than showing any papers or wands.
Now gifted with mountains of new day-clothes that actually fit, Harry was impatiently waiting to see more of the city. Remus pushed them all through the exit and they were immediately confronted with the sights, smells, and sounds of the Hippogreiftreiber Straße, one of the magical streets that left the central square of the wizarding enclave hiding from muggles. The bookish werewolf soon launched into an explanation of Vienna's magical district: due to its history and geographical location, it was a melting pot of Western, Central, and Eastern European, as well as Ottoman magical customs; the street they were on had once been the premier spot to buy a hippogryph in the world, hence the name, with breeders from all over coming to sell their special breeds which they still did, but it was less unique these days. Harry was amazed to see an albino hippogryph and bowed to it like he had learned to with Buckbeak, only to retreat with a few choice words when it spat right on top of his head, unimpressed.
Remus gushed at everything he recognised from the Lonely Wizard guidebook he had read in preparation for the trip. Harry smiled to himself when he thought about how much Hermione would have loved being here. Knowing her, she would have all but memorized the Lonely Wizard guidebook, but Harry was happy to just listen as Remus shared the details. In fact, thinking about it, he was also glad not to be faced with the inevitable poorly concealed eye-roll that Hermione would have given him upon learning that he hadn't done any reading at all about Vienna on his own. The Breaking of the Second Turkish Siege of Vienna (1683) had been the last large battle where muggles and magical beings of all types had fought together before the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy in 1692 ("Well why do you think they called them Winged Hussars?"); Vienna had its own legend of a basilisk, but it had been defeated by a mere muggle boy ("You See Harry? You're nothing special!" Sirius joked, much to the young wizard's amusement); the Stefansdom, a cathedral also famous among muggles, had a massive entrance for giants called the Riesentor because during the middle ages an ambitious muggleborn missionary priest had convinced the cardinal that he could convert the creatures living in the nearby mountains to Christianity, and they would need an entrance to go to mass too; there was a famous main square full of traditional cafés catering to the local magical community called the Augustin-Dattelbutter-Platz,named to honour said priest following his grizzly end-by-stomping by an unimpressed giant; he had subsequently been revered as a martyr and gained sainthood as the patron saint of compressed Christians; because Vienna had suffered immensely during various plagues, there were mass graves and catacombs everywhere underground, covered by newer buildings and roads; these catacombs were the Viennese equivalent of Knockturn Alley and Harry was not to go there; the Plague Column in the muggle city centre was one of the few magical items or monuments allowed to stay in plain sight of muggles in the world, for the simple reason that to them, it was a celebration of the miraculous end of the plague, rather than the enchanted purification artefact that ended it; the witch who had designed the enchantments had also been involved in the defence of the city during the earlier mentioned siege; -
"Merlin! Moony, take a breath, would you? I'm already getting a headache," Sirius complained petulantly, rubbing his temples. "I don't know about you two, but I am famished. That portkey emptied my stomach, I'm in desperate need of some grub."
Harry agreed, and Remus fished his Lonely Wizard guidebook for the city out of his pocket for some suggestions. "Well, I think we should probably go to the muggle side for this. I've always wanted a real Wiener Schnitzel."
The late lunch at the world famous Figlmüller had been exactly what they needed, thought Harry, reminding himself of the need to breathe after trying, and failing, to polish off the two massive fried veal cutlets, each the larger than the plate they both arrived on. Okay, maybe it was a bit much.
"I have never eaten so much food in my entire life," a suffering Sirius declared. "Help! My stomach is stretching! If I were to turn into Padfoot now, I'd look like a pregnant stray!"
Remus laughed and winced, clutching his belly. "Ow! Don't make me laugh!"
Their gruff, enormous waiter passed by and slammed the bill, which was rolled up in a little schnapps-glass, on the table before moving on, a clear signal that it was time for them to leave so that the next wave of tourists could be seated. Sirius handed Harry his designated muggle wallet which included Gringotts credit cards but also a massive bunch of muggle banknotes. "Do what you must, lad. You know your way around muggle paper money a thousand times better than I could."
Harry eyed him sceptically over the rim of his new glasses. "Sirius, it's really not that hard. The numbers are written on the paper. Here, look," he said, handing his godfather one of the bills, "this meal cost us a 148 Schillings. So, you can give him this 200 Schilling note and you'll cover it. He'll give you the change."
Sirius frowned lightly at the boy's tone. "I'm familiar with how money works, dear boy."
"Then why do I have to do it?" asked Harry angrily, face going red. Was he really going to have to do all the crappy jobs nobody wanted to do again? He had had enough of doing everyone's chores at the Dursleys'!
"I just can't be bothered to look through it all. It's so much easier with coins because they're all a different size," answered Sirius dismissively, waving his hand. "And anyway, you grew up with muggles so it's easy for you."
"Oh, for fu-," Harry caught himself just in time, "for Merlin's sake! The banknotes are also different sizes!"
Remus watched the two bicker about the money and knew from Harry's stubborn expression that this was more than just a joke. He had initially been tempted to intervene, but two things had stopped him. He was happy to see Sirius confronted with the reality of a soon-to-be fourteen-year-old boy. Teenagers were frustrating and infuriating, and Sirius needed a good reminder of that now. Being a godfather was not just going to be fun and Quidditch and a prank-filled proxy-war against Severus. Secondly, however, he wanted to see Harry be purely, completely childish about something irrelevant for once. He was always too quiet. The entire time Remus had been his teacher, Harry had never shown himself to get upset over something so inconsequential as who figures out the muggle money – a part of him, his Marauder side, had even been on Harry and Ron's side during the now infamous broom-from-an-unknown-benefactor incident. For children their age, Harry, Ron, and Hemione took the world extremely seriously because they had regularly been confronted with immensely high-stake situations. Just this year there had been the Hagrid and Buckbeak case, Sirius Black the serial killer, Peter Pettigrew the rat, Sirius Black the avenger, Remus the genuinely stupid werewolf who could have killed all of them, and worst of all the totally, scandalously negligent, idiotic idea that dementors should be stationed around a school. He made a note to ask Sirius what Padfoot thought of them and their feeding on souls. His guess was: thieves.
He was brought out of his daydreaming when Sirius shot out of his chair and pushed it violently against the table as he made for the exit. "Right. Well. Wonderful meal. Let's go. Where to next?" he pointedly asked Remus, clearly holding onto his temper and hoping he had a solution. He was studiously avoiding eye-contact with Harry, who seemed equally angry, his face red.
Remus did not have to think long before he came upon the ideal solution. "I think I know what will cheer you two little crups up."
His guess had been correct, more so than he could have imagined. The Prater, a famous amusement park just a short tram ride away from the city centre, was an absolutely delightful afternoon of madness. Not only did it feature the world's oldest functioning Ferris wheel, which he had even managed to convince them to have a go on despite the visible lack of adrenaline, but it also had lots of other attractions that helped them forget their little spat. Harry had insisted they all have a go on the dodgems, because he was the only one who had the first clue what would happen when the music began, and the little cars suddenly had power. Sirius and Remus, who had unwisely chosen to share a vehicle and argued which way to go and which pedal to press almost the entire time, had been battered repeatedly by not only the young wizard, but also suffered brutal punishment from complete strangers (especially children) who were amused at how terrible they were at driving. Harry's delighted belly laugh was more than enough consolation for the two adult wizards when they stumbled off the track, bruised and dizzy. This had only been the beginning: rollercoasters, a spinning swing that went up at least 200 feet, a tower with a slide that twisted around and around from the top, and a log flume completed the adrenaline-filled experience. One highlight was a rollercoaster which may have been going quite slowly compared to a broom, but they all screamed anyway because, like all the muggles with them, they had no control over where they were going. Sirius bought the photograph at the exit, howling with laughter at Remus' expression. It had been embarrassing for the werewolf because that had gained the stares of everyone around them. All three were also immensely amused at the ghost houses, although each of them did get caught out by jump scares at least once. The rest of the day passed in a blur and before Harry knew it, he was falling asleep in his ludicrously comfortable bed in their hotel room.
The next morning, they made their way through the little tunnel that acted as a gate between the muggle and wizarding worlds. It was easy to miss from the muggle side, located in the Griechengasse, one of the oldest parts of town. It was full of cramped, ancient houses that had survived the previously mentioned siege and all wars since. Fist-sized, 300-year-old Ottoman cannonballs lined the magically protected walls that had simply absorbed the shots like a sponge and made them part of the décor.
As they approached the enormous Stefansdom cathedral, surrounded by crowds of muggle tourists, Harry began to get nervous. "Who is this guy again? What is he going to do to me?"
The glint in Sirius' eye was unmistakably a very Black one. "Nobody is going to do anything to you without both your say-so, and ours," he reassured, brushing a lock of his hair out of his face nervously. "You are no-one's experiment."
It was Remus who continued as they hit the cathedral's square, packed with muggle tourists. "We're going to see the Zauberbischoff, the magical bishop of Vienna. He is one of the world's leading wizards in cleansing magic. Imagine the combined terror caused by Gellert Grindelwald and his muggle puppet, Adolf Hitler. You've learned some of this at school, right?"
Harry nodded, though his knowledge was mostly limited the occasional violent films watched with Dudley or documentaries with Uncle Vernon, when he was in the mood to rant about evil Germans or how, even though he was definitely a bad guy, Hitler had built the Autobahn after all, and he had not been all bad. "This kind of fear and suffering, whether it from wizards or muggles in sufficient numbers taints the land to such an extent that even people with no magical abilities whatsoever can feel it. This man helped fix the continent, carrying out purifying rituals after the war on a scale the world had never seen before. Even as the Cold War approached and wizards grew suspicious of each other, he was one of the few people allowed to go anywhere, and do anything, because he transformed entire regions, removed this profound sense of wrong that lingered wherever thousands of muggles, witches, and wizards alike were murdered. It doesn't matter that this was almost 50 years ago now, he is a great wizard. Harry, you must keep your temper -" Remus held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to argue, " - in check. Show him the respect he deserves. He may very well be the key to all of this."
Harry kept quiet as they entered the cathedral through the Riesentor, which muggles thought closed but in actual fact led to a different, magical main hall, and almost gasped when he saw the cavernous interior of the magnificent building. Stained glass figures moved about, depicting different scenes of the Gospel. He had never seen such intricate animation of a window before. Unlike paintings of which there were also many, these were not interactive, and simply re-enacted the scenes of the Bible over and over, slowly moving coloured sunlight in calming patterns around the central chamber. The trio of wizards explored quietly, filled with an unfamiliar sense of peace and serenity none had quite experienced before. They first explored together, reading about the great wizards whose lavishly decorated tombs were placed in prominent positions, then wandered off in different directions; Harry stood, transfixed, as the painting of an unassuming monk said a prayer for him in German, all the while staring at his scar in a mix of sympathy and horror. Normally, this would have gotten on his nerves but here, it was appropriate because he was just one of many receiving blessings from paintings of monks. Judging by the number of people waiting in line at various portraits, it seemed to be rather the done thing, thought Harry. Language also seemed to be of no consequence here, the monument's very being whispering the words to Harry in English, conveying not only the meaning, but the feeling behind what was said. Hogwarts was rumoured to be somewhat sentient, and there was no doubt in his mind that the Stefansdom was as well. A moment after his realisation, he could have sworn he felt the building wink at him!
Looking around, he saw Sirius and Remus receiving their own blessings, and although he was intensely curious to listen in, it seemed like a private moment. So, he moved on and walked to an enormous rack filled with thousands of ordinary little red burning candles. Harry watched an old lady, dressed in an expensive-looking black fur coat despite it being the middle of summer, put a coin in a box, after which a candle fell into a tray below. She lit it using one of the candles that was already burning and whispered a prayer with a bowed head. Her candle, flickering brightly due to the very weak draft of the building, slowly levitated itself to an empty spot in the rack, joining the others. A wet smile brightened her wrinkled face, framed by elegantly cut curly white hair. The boy studied the changes in her facial expression, it seemed as if a burden had been lifted. A profound, long held, repressed wish took hold ofHarry. Rushing to the box, he took out his Austrian money pouch and emptied some of the coins into his hand, unsure why he was panicking and thus, incapable of figuring out which ones he needed.
"Junger Mann," the old lady called to him kindly, who he had not realised had finished her little ritual and approached. "Let me help you."
Grateful, he wordlessly stretched out his hand which was fully laden with coins. "I want three," he managed to choke out after she found the first groschen he needed.
At first, Harry thought he saw pity in her friendly face, but he soon realised that it was a mix of sympathy and understanding. She grieved her losses, he grieved his, and it united them in this moment. They walked to the box together, and she nodded her head in the direction of the slot at the top. Sure enough, three inserted coins meant three thin red candles soon landed in the tray and he picked them up.
He was eager to begin, but uncertain how to proceed, so for a moment they stood there together, silently observing the flickering flames before she shook herself and turned to him. "Would you like me to show you how I do it?" she asked him. He nodded, so she explained. "This is a Votivkerze, a votive candle. You can send your well-wishes and blessings to the lost, be they living or dead, and they will feel them. And they will know that it comes from you, too."
"They'll really feel it?" asked the boy, his features betraying both his hope and disbelief. "But my mum and dad both died when I was just a baby. I don't really remember them, except nightmares of their deaths. And I don't think Regulus – he's my godfather's brother - even knew I existed, and he definitely wouldn't have liked me. I'm doing his for Sirius, really."
She nodded in answer to his question and continued. "Your blessing will mean much to whoever you send it to, I guarantee it. Think about this: the longer it has been since you talked to someone, the greater the challenge it is to reach out, and the more it will mean to someone, oder nicht? I do not pretend it is the same as talking to them, but what you send can mean hope for the living who are lost, and peace for those who have left the world of the living. As for your godfather's brother, he is part of your family, whether you knew him or not. Come, let us do the first one, and I will let you finish the others in peace. Who should go first?"
"My mum," he answered without a second thought.
With a sad smile, she took his hands and wrapped them around one of the candles. "Lustig. My candle today was also to my mother. You may not remember much of yours, but you know how it feels to miss her, to want her presence and protection. For her to cradle you, support you, and love you, nicht wahr?"
Harry barely managed a weakly whispered yes as he fought the urge to cry, but she gave him a moment to collect himself. "Genau. I can see you know exactly what I mean. Now, keep this feeling within you, there is no need to give it to the candle, it knows, and the feeling belongs to you alone. Light it from any of the flames you see before you, for the fire here has been blessed and can be passed on from one candle to another. Exactly, like this. Do you feel it?"
Oh yes. Harry could feel the power as soon as his candle was lit, radiating warmth and hope, easing the heartache he had felt just a moment ago when he thought of his mum. Her death, her sacrifice, yes, these were parts of it, but what had always hurt the most was her absence, the gaping hole where she should have been. For a fleeting moment, he also felt what he had wished for and imagined as far back as he could remember, so often. Entire days spent in a fantasy world, hugged by his imaginary mother as he waited for the cupboard under the stairs to be unlocked again, but this time it was real. The foreign feeling was intense, sad, and lovely. Mum. I wish you were here. I wish it didn't feel weird to call you that. Thank you for saving me, even though it meant you couldn't save yourself, even if it meant I had to go to the Dursleys. I wish you could meet Ron and Hermione, they're the best friends I could wish for. I know I should be better at school, like you were. I'll try to improve but people like Snape or Lockhart make it really difficult. I miss you. I love you.
The candle gently lifted itself and began to move away, and the old lady took one of his hands as they watched it go up and up, to the uppermost row at least ten feet high on the enormous rack, before finally finding a resting place. She turned her wrinkled face to him, and he noticed her eyes were as wet as his. "Though it seems you have already given the flame a wonderful message, would you give me the honour of allowing me to add my blessing as well?" she asked. He nodded, and she switched back to German. Harry was once again surprised that he knew what she was saying. It was not that he could understand the individual words, instead, he realized with a start, it was the cathedral itself giving him the meaning for Harry to understand.
"Der Herr segne dich und behüte dich;
The Lord bless thee and keep thee;
der Herr lasse sein Angesicht leuchten über dir und sei dir gnädig;
the Lord make his face shine upon thee and be gracious to you;
der Herr hebe sein Angesicht über dich und gebe dir Frieden.
the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee and give thee peace."
Somehow, Harry was certain her message had been added to his. She stood by him as he began to repeat the process for the two candles he had left, again offering to add her blessings to his own. "Before the candle flew away, I think I felt my mum. Is that what it's like to be crazy?"
"Oh no, absolutely not," was her stern reply. "That was your mother, accepting your gift of love, and sending back her own from Paradise. It is difficult to get an answer from those who have left us, often we have no way of seeing or feeling it. The message we send with a votive candle must be freely given, with no expectation of a return. She must have loved you very much, to be watching over you so closely. You just received a rare gift of your own in return for what you gave."
Dad. Thank you for being mates with Sirius and making him my godfather. He is trying, and he is beyond anything I ever would have expected. Thank you for being mates with Remus too, who is an amazing teacher even if he did get fired, he taught me the patronus spell, and it's Prongs! I think Ron and Hermione are my Marauders, you would have liked them! I wish you could meet them. Meet me. I miss you. I wish we could have played Quidditch together. I love you.
This time, Harry felt his father's pride wash over him for an instant, a tingling feeling moving from his head to his toes before settling in his chest, and a joyous laugh escaped his lips, echoing through the cathedral and earning him an admonishing pshhht from some aristocratic figure in a painting nearby. Harry did not care. His father was watching over him too! His father was proud of him!
Regulus, you don't know me. I wish we had met. You hurt Voldemort, and you died to do it. That took some real Gryffindor courage. You are Sirius' brother, it would have been neat to have a real uncle, who cared for me and didn't call me a freak. Hopefully you would have seen past my mum being muggleborn. You are a hero. I miss you. I love you.
The reaction here was far more subtle. It felt as if a breeze lightly ruffled his hair, but strangest of all was the way his attention was directed away from the candles to Sirius, who was far away, talking with Remus and an old man in white, red, and gold ceremonial dress. In that moment, Harry felt a whisper of fierce protectiveness and care for his godfather, and knew what Regulus was asking for his help. I'll make sure he's okay, Uncle Regulus, he promised.
The three candles stood in line and burned brightly: their flames taller than the others around them. Harry had no idea how long he stood there, mesmerised by the holy fire, lost in a mix of grief and hope, bittersweet tears finally flowing freely, clutching the old witch's cold hand in his own again without asking. When it felt like long enough, he turned to her and thanked her. "Danke schön," he tried to say, messing up the pronunciation a little but remembering the entry in his German phrasebook. "Ich heiße Harry Potter. May I know your name?"
She beamed at him and nodded. "Mein Name ist Traudi von Habsburg. It was my honour to meet you and to help you, Harry Potter."
"Habsburg? Does that mean you're related to Empress Sissi?" he asked excitedly, having found something he had actually remembered from Remus' endless history lessons the previous day, and she chuckled.
"Distantly and only by marriage, yes. I knew her rather well though, back in the day."
She sighed, lost in nostalgia for a moment, and Harry understood that she must have been very old if she had known the former Empress. Been a part of history and watched the monarchy lose everything. As he struggled to find something more to say, she bowed and spoke once more. "Thank you for spending time with me Harry Potter, but it is time for me to go home. I would ask two things of you. First, that I may bless you myself?"
The boy nodded, and she spoke in German. Once again, he felt the meaning of the words with the help of the cathedral.
"Darum wird dir nichts Böses zustoßen,
Therefore, no evil will befall you,
kein Unglück wird dein Haus erreichen.
No evil will reach your house.
Denn Gott wird dir seine Engel schicken,
For God will send you his angels
um dich zu beschützen, wohin du auch gehst.
To protect you wherever you go.
Sie werden dich auf Händen tragen,
They will carry you on their hands
und du wirst dich nicht einmal an einem Stein stoßen!
And you shall not even bump against a pebble!"
Harry felt a pleasant tingle not unlike regaining feeling in a numb limb, and what must have been protective magic, but it passed in nary a second, much sooner than it had with the candles. He felt her care for him, even though they had only just met, and her warm wishes for his future, to be protected by guardian angels. Before she could react, he hugged her tightly, soft fur against his cheeks. She hugged him back. "As for the second favour, would you call me Oma, if we met again?" she asked, voice breaking, and he nodded vehemently. "I need a grandchild, and you need a grandmother. Even if it turns out we never meet again, know that I will think of you and send you my love until my very last breath, and beyond. You deserve it, Harry Potter. Would you do me this second favour?"
He only just about managed to keep the sobs from escaping as he tightened his hug in a quiet, second affirmation. He banished bitter thoughts of Mrs. Figg from his mind, with whom had never reached anything close to such a connection in a decade, and basked in the blanket of love he felt as another gap in his family was filled.
It was with a profound sense of fulfilment that Harry joined Sirius and Remus, who introduced him to Zauberbischoff Geistergruber. It took him the time they spent walking to a small office to remember who the magical bishop reminded him of, but in hindsight it made a lot of sense. Like many schools in Britain, St. Grogory's Primary School in Little Whinging had held weekly all-school assemblies on Friday afternoons. Usually, these had consisted of a few hymns (Harry still had the lyrics to All Things Bright and Beautiful memorised) and the Headmistress' announcements, but once per month Father Malcolm had come from St. Grogory's Church to tell the children some intensely boring parable or other from the Bible. The man had seemed friendly enough, and the Zauberbischoff seemed to have been blessed with the same, but in a way that shifted the air around him to be calmer, softer, healthier.
Harry glanced around the room they had been led to nervously, Sirius' protective arm around his shoulders doing little to ease the tension he felt.
"Servus Harry Potter, it is a pleasure to meet you," the old man said simply, smiling softly, his strong Austrian accent rolling the Rs and emphasising the Ts. Harry merely nodded, throat stuck, incapable of articulating a response. "These next days, we are going to talk about this scar of yours, and you are going to tell me everything about it you can think of. Und dann, when we have talked enough, maybe, I hope, I can help you. How does that sound?"
And so ends Chapter 1 of Book 2 in the Grim Tale series. I hope you enjoyed the first half of the little excursion abroad. I love fics that explore a little bit beyond the boarders of Magical Britain, and as someone who has spent rather a lot of his life in Vienna, I have often imagined what the magical world would be like here. The next chapter, next week, will deal with some of the heaviest topics possible when we explore Austria's traumatic role in World War 2 / the Holocaust; and how Sirius as Padfoot can help with some problems that persist there even today.