Brussels was truly a beautiful and enchanting city.

It had been a long first day. Harry had gone back to her compartment to get her things, and when she got out Sinclair was gone.

She had decided to just walk and soak herself in the different architecture and ambiance. It was a bit chilly still early in the morning, but she put on a warming charm on herself and felt incredibly good and toasty pretty fast.

The sky was blue, not a single cloud to be seen, and whilst she walked she could catch snippets of conversations. She didn't understand Dutch, but she could speak French fluidly and many people spoke it.

She had been a bit worried about the language barrier problem, but Hermione had told her that most people in Europe knew at least the basics of English, and if not, there were always translation charms, or even language-learning Potions.

She had opted to learn the charms since the Potions were quite aggressive to the mind. You would take one, and spend almost an entire week in bed with one of the worst headaches ever until everything was rearranged up there.

The Mind Arts were not to be trifled with. The brain was too complex and delicate, and the idea of a whole new language pushed there forcefully had made her feel nauseous.

She wasn't even bad at languages, often using a wit-sharpening potion when learning them to get faster results, but usually, she just preferred learning the old way.

After a few hours of wandering, she felt starving and found a cute eatery, where she tried some of the local cuisine and had spectacular Belgian waffles for dessert.

She was feeling kind of bloated when she decided to finally look at Hermione's Travel Guide and get some more touristy things done.

xxx

Reborn had been fast to start his research into the Sky, letting some of his insects (the summer Beetles) follow her for the time being.

The results of his research were… a mist fuckery.

Reborn frowned at everything he had compiled in the pasts few hours. It was not much.

There really was a Hariel Jamie Potter, but not much else. The name Black had not appeared anywhere until the very last, more guarded document.

He had found her birth certificate, and her parents' names and last names. One Lily Potter née Evans and one James Charlus Potter.

There was also a small obituary with their deaths and a small local newspaper article about a gas accident when Hariel had been a baby. A gas accident. Very suspicious. He himself had used that method for certain hits.

Hariel had been placed with her maternal aunt, Petunia Dursey née Evans, and her husband Vernon Dursley, who had a child by the horrid name of Dudley.

There had been an accident when Hariel has been five, big enough to get into various newspapers. Apparently, there had been a fire and she had been severely burned. The causes of the fire had been unknown but probably caused by a faulty wire somewhere.

All of these were newspaper speculations, so Reborn did not put any weight on it being true.

There were next to zero medical records. Only one. One simple paper stated that Hariel was totally recovered from her ordeal and could leave the hospital, in which she had been for six months. In the Burn Unit, for fuck shakes.

There should have been at the very least a lengthy medical history, but nothing, nada, zilch.

She had been visited monthly by a social worker, but any and all documents pertinent to that were missing.

She had attended St. Grogory's Primary School until she was eleven. Then nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He has looked at her grades and they were all over, no rhyme or reason. One year she was an excellent A+ student, the next she was failing everything, and the next she got A+ in half of the subjects and D- in the other half. It made the tutor in him itch.

It was very obvious to him that all this information had been trampled with. He suspected Mists, but with civilian Witness Protection included in the chaotic mess that was this Sky, he didn't even know.

He had hacked his way into WP and yes, one Hariel Potter-Black was listed as a person of interest, and her ID as Ms. Silverman. It was the only document that listed her as a Black.

Again, there was nothing else. Only a signature by a K. S

It was absolutely fucked and if this was not a Mist thing he would eat his fedora.

He took a sip of his espresso and continued with his research. Next were her parents, grandparents, guardians…

xxx

Hariel's feet hurt a little, but she had been walking all day. Hermione's guide too thorough. She hadn't even had time to visit Magical Brussels.

She was in a small museum dedicated to medieval weaponry, lifestyle, and clothes when she felt it.

She had seated herself on a bench in front of the thing and sighed, because of course there would be a cursed sword on display for all muggles to see and possibly touch.

It was not even a pretty or impressive one. She had been walking and watching hundreds of different medieval weapons and suits of armors. From impressive to mediocre, but at least none of them had been cursed.

She looked at the sword again. It was a gaudy thing, big and a bit broken.

Hariel had certain sensitivity to Dark Magic, having been a Horcrux, but this was so effortlessly felt. Dark, malignant, and with a strong compulsion to touch it.

She had chewed her lips, thinking what was the best course of action.

Should she call the local Aurors?

That seemed like the thing to do… but she didn't have to deal with all the bureaucracy that would come with it. Especially if they recognized her as the Woman-Who-Conquered.

Then what?

She bit one of her fingernails. A nervous habit, she had been trying to stop for years with no luck.

Well, she could… just take it and destroy it.

It was just that… first day in another country and already stealing things? It felt a bit like she was looking for trouble, and she sure wasn't.

The other option, leaving it there, left a bitter taste in her tongue. She could send an anonymous letter to the Belgian Aurors tomorrow, or this same night, but what if something happened in between?

Who knew what kind of curse was the one carried by the sword? It could be as simple as a boiling one, or an organ liquifying one.

Not that she thought for a moment that something which that kind of dark aura would do something as inane as a few boils.

Well then, stealing it was it. She would think later about how to get rid of it. Complicated and convoluted plans were not her thing, after all.

She looked at the thing, trying to get all the details right.

The placard in golden letters only said "10th-century double-edged long sword. Owner unknown."

Aw, Merlin, Morgan, and Mordred. Why her?

She left to go to one of the restrooms, which was empty and looked in her handbag for something to transfigure into a sword. It must be something that held some time because she wanted to avoid being held accountable for any kind of theft and she knew muggles had cameras everywhere.

Why, she had used a detecting spell and they had ones even in the shared compartment at the train. At least her "room" had been free of them when she had looked.

She found a muggle pen, probably Hermione's, mostly made of metal, and transfigured it into a replica of the sword.

She tried to get all the details right and saturated it with her magic, so the transfiguration would last at the very least a few months and with luck maybe, a year or two.

That done, and after looking at the replica for anything wrong (she was not a transfiguration genius like her dad), she took her invisibility cloak from the handbag (bigger on the inside) and put it on.

She smiled slightly at this. It almost seemed like adventuring through Hogwarts at night.

Then she apparated in front of the fake sword, her stomach churning. She shouldn't have gorged so much on chocolates.

So far, so good. Her silent apparition was on point.

Now to the more complex and delicate thing, changing one sword for the other without muggles being aware of it and without cursing herself. Which with her luck could happen.

She had put on dark red dragonhide gloves, and transfigured a cotton napkin into a foulard of shorts to wrap it out with. One switching spell and one apparition later and she was back in the restroom with the cursed sword.

It truly was an ugly thing, and no one could see her leaving the museum with it, but they also needed to see her leave the museum.

She muttered to herself about inconvenient and stupid ministries which left cursed stuff in public muggle places.

Then she cast a strong disillusionment charm on the covered sword and put several notice-me-not and muggle repelling charms in the restroom. She would leave and then apparate back.

It would have been easier if she could have just shrunk the thing, but shrinking an unknown cursed artifact was like number one of things not to do. Ever.

She left the restroom, and continued her tour, thinking of just finishing it and being done, but she was tired. She had not slept well or at all the previous day because of all her nerves and excitement about the trip, and now she was paying for it.

She went to the gift shop and got an ugly gigantic mug, a magnet, and two books on medieval weaponry that she was going to gift to Hermione for making her spend her so much time in such a boring place, with also, you know, had a cursed object.

She left the museum, letting all those muggle cameras see her, and walked to another café, a busy and big one, where she went to the restroom too, apparated back to the museum restroom, took the cursed sword, and apparated back to a restroom near her train. She felt sick with all those apparitions, with her full stomach and the dark magic coating her.

The sword was heavy, and she couldn't risk putting featherweight charms on it. She also couldn't apparate back into her room because of Sinclair. What if he was here. How could she explain getting out of her room when she was not being there in the first place?

Merlin, but she was getting more irritated by the moment.

She walked with her bags, and the bundled sword into the train, where she was received with a "Good Evening Miss Silverman" and more pleasantries than she was not in the mood of hearing.

She wanted a nap. She needed a nap.

When she opened the room to their shared compartment, Sinclair was there, drinking more coffee (had she seen him drink another thing?) and reading in his mobile phone, or smartphone or whatever they were called.

He seemed fresh, relaxed, and well-rested, and that made Hariel even crankier.

Would be truly a bad thing to hex a muggle? Just a stinging hex, or a minor curse maybe… just something to make him feel as bad as she was feeling and to wipe that smug look from his face.

xxx

Reborn was reading on the Dursey family and their death reports when the Sky, Hariel, came back looking more bedraggled if that was even possible.

She had obviously been shopping, and his insects had told him of all the museums she had visited.

"Good Evening, Sinclair," she said in a monotone and made a go to her compartment.

That wouldn't do.

"Miss Potter-Black, the dinner is going to arrive shortly."

At the mention of food, she looked a little green.

"Oh, I am not hungry," and her voice sounded tired. "Too many chocolates…"

Reborn got up from his chair and tilted his head a little. She was carrying a weapon. A sword to be precise, even if it was wrapped, he was the World's greatest hitman, and he knew to spot such things in less than a millisecond.

She had not left with one, not she had had one before, and the way she tried to get it as far from her body as possible whilst carrying it made evident she was not comfortable with it.

So, a squeamish wimpy Sky? Why get a sword then?

With a minimum burst of Sun Flame to make himself faster, and because he knew she had good reflexes, he took it from her easily. Her reflexes were sluggish, he noted.

"The fuck? Sinclair?" she shouted, eyes hard and flinty, clearly surprised and pissed off.

Her Flames remained still, playful even, now that they were back, and some tendrils were even kind of greeting his cheerfully now that they were more familiar with each other.

There clearly seemed to be a dissonance between Flames and Sky.

"Tell me, did you kill the Dursleys? Did you cause that car crash? Maybe even pay for it?" he asked, hoping to throw her off, and also because he had some serious doubts about that. It was suspicious as fuck.

"What? Why would…? You know what. That's absolutely none of your business, you nosy wanker!

While she was getting angrier by the moment he looked at the sword, it was an ugly and old thing, that was for sure, but he wanted to touch it, and so he did.

The hilt felt cold against his hand, and he contemplated the rusty exterior with moderate curiosity, the Sky forgotten.

He could hear her, shouting at him. But it didn't really matter.

He felt strangely cold and numb. Detached and far away. Something was terribly wrong

xxx

Sinclair's eyes were glowing red, and Hariel stepped back. The idiot. The insufferable idiot had gone and caught the cursed sword, and if he died now, her vacations were going to get problematic.

So, yes, the sword had a pretty strong compulsion spell attached to it, but he was just being nosy and intrusive, snooping where he was not wanted. Stealing from her.

She ducked. Sinclair had nearly cut her head. Or whatever was possessing Sinclair, that's it.

"What are you doing?" she asked, trying to remain calm. She needed to assess how bad the situation was and if a cutting hex to his arm would be the best option to separate him from the very cursed, very dark sword.

"I am free! I, the Great Alistair Grelmorius, am free again to battle against the moors and bring glory to hour Holy Land. Tell me, lass, and I may spare your life. Were we fare?

"Uh, we are on a train, in, umm, Brussels," she mumbled because that, she had not expected.

Alistair, using Sinclair's face, looked so very different. Like his face was really animated, and he gesticulated a lot. It would be funny if not for the situation.

Oh, who was he kidding? It was funny. She would play along.

"Sir Alistair, if I may," she started in her more prim and pureblood-like voice, "You are speaking with the Lady of the House of Potter and the House of Black. Whilst I am filled with joy at seeing such a strong warrior returned to us after all these years, I must insist you treat me with the utmost respect that my station deserves.

Alistair blinked, but then he crossed his word against his chest and gave her a kind of curtsy?

She did as more purebloods did and only nodded vaguely with her head. Then, chin up and her most I-am-better-than-you expression plastered in her face.

"My lady, I did not know. I have spent centuries trapped in that blasted sword, excuse this humble servant for talking to you in such a way and trying to give you swift death. Your garments confound me so."

"Sir Alistair or it is Knight? I have to tell you that… well, you are in a ladies private compartment, so you will have to wait until I dress appropriately as such clothes are not to be seen in polite company."

Sinclair blushed, well, Alistair blushed, but It was really weird seeing a blush on Sinclair's face.

"Forgive me, my most gracious Lady. I shall not look any more at your beautiful form, and I will make penance for having laid my eyes in you while you were in such a state. Knight Alistair Grelmorius, always at your service and that of our Lord and Savior."

"We will talk about it later, my dear Knight. Now, please, find a seat and wait for my return. If servants come with food, don't look or talk to them. There are many things about this land that you do not know still."

Alistair nodded and, without looking at her, seated himself very rigidly in one of the seats.

Hariel opened her compartment, closed the door, put on a silencing spell, and started giggling.

Then took one of her best dress robes and transfigured it into a black, modest dress that covered most of her. She didn't know what would ladies in his time wear, but surely being covered and in a dress was a must. And if he asked about colors, she could always tell him she was in mourning. It was riskier using a color and mistake which ones were used for nobility and which ones were not.

Then, she took a box of the chocolates she had bought and covered them in sleeping powder. She also took some vials of sleeping draughts and even The Draught of the Living Dead, since she wasn't sure how resistant to such things, possessed people were. Specially muggles. What if the thing, Alistair, just sucked Sinclair's life force or something?

She also didn't know if Sinclair was awake and watching like she had been when possessed by Voldemort, so she would try to do this the Slytherin way, instead of just cursing him silly and revealing magic.

Now, more composed, she opened the door and stepped outside where the dinner had been set. She winced a little and expected that Alistair hadn't done anything to the muggles.

"My good Knight, I see the evening fares had been served. I invite you to join me in my dinner and regale me with your tales of bravery. How could such a gallant Knight end inside a cursed Sword? That must be quite the tale."

Alistair looked at her, and he blushed again.

"I would be honored to share dinner with such a graceful lady such as yourself. I am truly undeserving of such honor, but yes, I must tell you of the terrible Warlock who condemned me into living forever inside my precious and loyal sword."

He seated himself in front of her, after curtsying again in what Harry supposed was the way they did it in his time, and then started eating like a total barbarian.

Ron was nothing in comparison. Nothing.

He just took everything with his hands, maybe thinking that the eating utensils were adornments, and starting telling her a tale of woe that which how tired and sleepy she was nearly made her fall asleep.

He even talked whilst he had food in his mouth. It was absolutely disgusting, and it was weirdly fascinating seeing Sinclair's face full of grease and gunk from the duck with potatoes and gravy that was served for dinner and then the chocolate and red fruits cake. Oh, Merlin, the cake.

She took pity on him and passed him a few napkins, cleaning her own face and hands, even if they were clean, just to show this Crusader bloke some manners. He looked a little sheepish and imitated her.

"What is that creature, my lady?" he asked, frowning at Leon, who had hopped into her shoulder a few minutes ago when she had nearly fallen asleep for the third time. The little guy was loyal to Sinclair, that was for sure. And such a cutie that he was.

"This is a Holy Chameleon of the Holy Lands. He came from the Heavens Itself to look after me and my family. He possesses the Power of Might and the Light Shines Bright inside him. He just uses this form to test the Worthy."

Alistair looked incredibly impressed at Leon and bowed at him too. Leon, the cutie that he was, just looked at him with an air of superiority.

"Such wonders, those of this time. Not only the food is like that of the Gods, but the heavenly creatures protect the worthy. Tell me then, my lady, since I have been talking a lot, but how fare our fight against the heretics?"

"It's a difficult fight, my kind Knight," Hariel said, trying to look sad. And really, all those people who were always teasing her for her lack of lying skills could suck it because Alistair was being a piece of cake. Not that he seemed very bright. Or bright at all.

"It has been a very long war," she said somberly "Countless brave knights have lost their lives, but right now, we have the advantage, so rest at ease at least for tonight. Dine well, and recover your strength because you will need it in the following years.

Leon nudged his head against her with impatience, but what else could she do? She had already dosed his food. It was a game of waiting, and if he did end up being immune to everything she had put in his food (some things with Leon's help even! Such a smart and cute chameleon!) she would have to use magic and then obliviate Sinclair.

Her obliviation spells were a sure thing, but they also could take a month of memories with whatever she wanted to be erased, so all in all, it would be a drag.

"It's been a long time since I had had such noble company," she started talking again, "Would you mayhaps entertain me with a game of chess?

"Chess, my lady? I have to say that when I play I use the dice, but if you do not care to be bored I would be honored."

"Oh, my sweet Knight, so gallant with a lady. Surely, you with all your knowledge of the art of war will let me win."

Alistair blushed and Hariel wanted to take a picture, but then he would get spooked again and she wanted him calm and dead. Or, well, asleep, since he was already dead.

She disenchanted her set of chess, and they both played until at last, he started to look like he was dozing off. His eyelids drooping and his body slowly relaxing.

"My lady, I think I might have more to drink than I should…"

"Oh, don't you worry about me, my Knight, it's normal that after such tragic misadventures you feel tired. I will retire soon to sleep, too."

"Yes, I… that Evil Warlock, I must find him, and… separate that heretic head from his shoulders. Then burn…"

He closed his eyes. She looked at Leon, and Leon looked at her. It was a moment of total commiseration between the two of them.

She checked with the Black ring and he seemed asleep, but since he was possessed, she needed to be extra cautious.

She got up slowly and went near him. She was so not touching that sword herself, and she couldn't use magic with all those muggle cameras in the train.

She just kicked his left hand with all her strength, and the sword went flying against the wall.

Maybe she shouldn't have to use so much force, but he was grabbing it like it was that Horcrux Ring from the Lord of the Rings.

There was a red smoke going out of Sinclair's body and into the thrice-damned sword.

"Well, that's it. That thing is toast, Leon. Toast. Why, that bloke has been talking for HOURS, about the crusades and other nonsensical stuff that I am not even going to address and, no, today is not my lucky day, not that I have lucky days, but I am going to make sure your pet human is alright, dispose of the evil cursed sword, and sleep at least ten hours uninterrupted."

Leon seemed content with that and hopped back into Sinclair. Probably smelling him instead of Alistair now that all the red vapor was back into the sword.

Hariel went to her room, took two blankets, and wrapped one around Sinclair, whose head was already in one of the plush cushions. So, what if he was so freaking tall that his legs were hanging out like crazy? That was his problem. She had already saved his life.

She finally was alone in her room with the sword, and oh Hecate, she was so drained and tired. Being in contact with dark magic always affected her worse than a normal witch.

She penned a fast note:

"Dear Barty,

Please take care of this cursed sword, and please don't tell anyone about it. Especially Hermione.

I found it in a museum. I am sure you will be happy to study it, but please do not let that Alistair fellow out. He's a bore and the worst kind of muggle if you catch my meaning.

Anyway, my vacation is going well. The food is delicious and I had a lot to do during the day, so I am going to sleep now.

Take care,

Harry."

"Winky!" she called out loud.

A Pop and the Crouch House-Elf appeared.

"Yes, missy lady Black is wanting something?"

"It's Potter-Black."

"Yes, missy. What can be Winky doing for yours?"

"Oh, that is a very cursed, evil sword. Can you take it to him? And please don't let him touch it with his bare hands, it possesses people pretty fast. Not that Barty would, but you know how enthusiastic he can get. I have written a note to go with it."

"Of course, missy Black, Master Barty will bess happy to have a nice cursed swordy."

Winky disappeared with the blasted sword and Hariel, just let herself fall in her bed, hugging her pillow and letting sleep finally overtake her.

What a long day.

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