"So Muggles have healers specifically for teeth?"
"Yes. They're called dentists, though," Hermione explained, scribbling down something on a piece of parchment. "Not healers. Can you renew the heating charms? It's getting a little bit chilly in here."
The two were once again in the small hut Hermione had taken Harry to days ago. Together they had cast privacy charms of a bit more permanent nature, and the witch had told Harry that she'd look up a few runes to make the security better. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best they could do with what they had.
"One of the things that we can do is support muggle-born business owners," Hermione said suddenly, looking up at Harry and gesturing for him to sit down. "If their businesses grow, their need for workforce will grow as well. And they won't be as discriminatory of who they hire as the pureblood company owners tend to be."
"How do we do that?" Harry asked. "I mean, I see the value and I agree with it, but if it's just the two of us—"
"First we do some research," Hermione replied. "We keep track of muggle-born owned businesses and what they do. And then we simply promote them when we get the opportunity to do so. For example rather than buying trunks from Rocherdale's - they give clearly better service to purebloods anyway and their discrimination is really obvious - we can both encourage the people around us to buy from Cleveley's. There are lawyers and healers and experts from all professions who are overlooked simply because of their heritage. Subtle suggestions that promote those people can do a lot in the long run. Most importantly, however, this sort of thing seems rather innocent. No one can accuse us of anything even if we get caught."
"I'm so happy you're doing this with me," Harry admitted suddenly, feeling relieved at how seriously the witch was taking this. Hermione gave him a quick smile before she continued:
"There are many other long-term things that we can do. One of our goals should be to form a team of lawyers who tackle the inequalities in the current legal system one by one. Oh, and we also need journalists to help with influencing the perceptions of the public. And reliable Potion brewers. And—"
"We can write a list of the long-term goals," Harry hurried to say. "But what are the things that we need to do right now?"
"We can start by listing the muggle-born owned businesses," Hermione told him. "I can do that. You should focus on winning the tournament and becoming as famous as possible. That will help a lot when we start with the promotions. And before I forget - who takes care of the fan mail you get? I'm certain that there'll be some sponsorship offers in that pile. Most importantly, though, we need to start drafting out the confidentiality contracts for any new recruits."
"I think the secrecy part of that is what we need to focus on the most," Harry said immediately. "To make sure that they can't take any actions that carry the purpose of revealing what we do without our consent."
"Absolutely," Hermione agreed with a nod. "Also restrictions against sabotage. Or harassment of other members, because that is also a risk."
"Do you think people will actually agree to our terms?" Harry asked, feeling hesitant and worried. "They won't think it's too much?"
"What our terms mostly focus on are simple security measures," Hermione replied. "If the recruits don't have any intentions to harm us, then it's not much to ask for at all. If they don't agree with our project or do not wish to be involved, then they can carry on with their lives as if they never knew about this."
"Hold up," Harry said, an idea suddenly crossing his mind. "Could we have that as another safety measure? In addition to the Unbreakable Vow that we'll have them take, I mean. If they decide to back out, we can obliviate them." The witch bit her lip and frowned, thinking about Harry's suggestion for a few moments.
"I don't know," Hermione said finally. "Isn't that a bit... dangerous?"
"It's illegal," Harry told her frankly, "but we can make that option clear to them from the beginning to get their consent."
"Do you know how to obliviate?" the witch asked. "I mean, I know in theory, but erasing specific memories rather than just a general timeframe is very difficult."
"I do," Harry lied, thinking first of Tom and then of Gildy. If he could get Gildy to teach him how to obliviate people successfully, it'd be one more thing he could keep hidden from Tom. Being underestimated in certain aspects would bring its own benefits in the future. "I'll need a while to practice, though."
"That's all right," Hermione said. "We don't need it right now anyway. We should first organise everything in order to be able to present a professional front. We need a long-term plan and security systems and financing and some sort of headquarters and— Oh, Merlin. There's so much to do!"
"We can focus on two things for now," Harry decided. "That promotion thing you talked about earlier and planning."
"The second task is too soon," Hermione sighed. "But we'll get you to promote something before the third task."
"If I live that long," Harry said, thinking of what had happened to George. "I'm not completely sure about my own survival. Or, well, maybe survival is the wrong word to use. I know I can pull through. It's what I need to do in order to pull through that worries me."
Hermione looked at him for a few moments, a serious expression on her face. "You think you'll... have to do something unpleasant."
"It's a violent game," Harry said. "It shouldn't be entertainment."
"Make them see that, then," Hermione said. "If you can."
"We have less than a week until the second task," Tom said, rolling his eyes and definitely not analysing the reasons for the annoyance he was feeling. Harry's constant concern for that friend of his was highly irritating. Didn't the boy understand that his silly little crush would go nowhere? "We will not start undoing the life debt until after you've recovered from that. I've told you this already. A complicated ritual like that will require many sessions and will be a very exhausting, occasionally painful experience for you."
"I'm not asking to work on it right now," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "I'm just saying that I would really like to hear more about the ritual that you suggested we use. And by suggested I mean the part that came after 'Harry, this is what we will do'. What are the steps? What is required? What does it really do to undo the life debt?"
"That would distract you from preparing for next Saturday," Tom said. "And you cannot afford being distracted. You don't know what the task really is - no, really, you have no idea. Your godfather didn't tell you anything useful at all. So you will just have to trust me when I tell you to be very prepared. Think about that rather than... letting that friend of yours put his mouth anywhere on you."
"What?" Harry squinted at the man with a baffled expression, unsure of what to address first. How can a grown man be so complicated and problematic? How did he succeed in saying and doing all the wrong things, time after time?
"Don't do that," the Dark Lord ordered, scowling at the young wizard. "You look ridiculous. It's too late to change my impression of you now but could you at least pretend to have some dignity? Merlin, we'll have to fabricate a charismatic public persona for you from scratch, won't we."
"You said that the ritual will be painful to go through," Harry started, ignoring the man's words. "What about Truls? Will he feel anything at all? It would make sense if he did, he is after all the other half of the whole—"
"He won't feel a thing," Tom cut in, and technically he wasn't lying. The boy wouldn't feel a thing. And after all was said and done, Harry would probably be upset, but for how long could he carry a grudge anyway? He was a teenager - an ordinary one, not like how Tom used to be - so probably not very long. "Now, moving on to the task."
"Sirius said we all will be sent out on a mission again."
"It's nothing like the previous task."
"How so?" Harry was quick to ask. "You don't have to tell me what the task is. Just tell me how it's different from the first one."
"Are you even trying to get information out of me? That was a ridiculously clumsy attempt," Tom snapped. "Merlin, you're better off outright asking, at least that wouldn't be an insult to my intelligence."
"Fine," Harry huffed, exasperated. "What's the second task going to be like?"
"I won't tell you," Tom replied smugly, leaning back on the chair he had conjured to sit on. "But shame on you for trying to cheat."
"Tom!"
"I can give you tips, but nothing is free in this country. Especially not useful information."
"Circe, you're annoying," Harry glowered. "What do you want?"
"Some respect would be a good start," Tom started, unable to completely hold back his smirk. Harry doubted that the man had even tried. "What I want you to do, though, is to stop holding back. It's very boring and underwhelming to see you hold back and hesitate and deal with whatever moral crises you apparently have every time you're about to make a decision of any kind. I want you to win the next round with an overwhelming advantage. That is a simple request, no? In fact, it's hardly even a request - everyone else seems to be aware of the necessity of effort."
"I don't fail on purpose," Harry protested, slightly offended. He had tried his best, but even if he relived the events of the first task now, he still wouldn't open the door. No matter what Tom said. "Besides, I got a great score last time, didn't I?"
"You could have been better," Tom said. "And the next task will allow you the opportunity to exceed everyone's expectations. You will be taken somewhere else but this time it's an open-ground hunt that lasts for three days."
"What?"
"It's an open-ground hunt that—"
"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time," Harry interrupted. "But what does it mean? Hunting? For three days? Hunting what? Where?"
"I'm not going to tell you more than that," Tom said, quite clearly enjoying making the younger wizard scowl and glower. The bastard. "You'll do just fine with the information that I've given you. What you need to do next is make sure that your victory will be absolute. Make it something I'll enjoy watching. Something that I can compliment you about."
By some miracle Harry managed to not blurt out some sort of protest, remembering just in time the importance of making Tom believe that Harry's attitude towards his ideologies was changing. He also decided not to ask about any possible compliments Tom would give Delacour who had caught his attention once already. Because Harry didn't care if Tom complimented Delacour. The Dark Lord could go ahead and compliment anyone he wanted and it wouldn't matter to Harry at all. Instead the boy said, "I'll show you what I can do. You'll be surprised."
"That's the spirit," the Dark Lord replied. "Just keep in mind that I'm the only person you want to impress."
"Knowing your standards, that does not help."
"Well, your life was never meant to be easy anyway."
'I know,' Harry thought, trying to ignore the misery welling inside of him. 'Merlin, like there was any doubt about that.'
"I feel sorry for you," Maria said, pushing the homework she had been working on aside and looking at Harry. "I mean, despite your participation in the tournament, you still have to do the same exact amount of homework that the rest of us do. Doesn't that upset you? The second task is in three days but here you are, working on your homework instead of preparing for it."
"It doesn't really matter if it upsets him or not," Ingrid said from her seat near the fireplace. "Besides, if you think you've got a lot of homework, just wait until you get to your final year."
Harry, who was trying to focus on his Charms essay, did feel like it was unfair to expect him to keep up with his homework and exceed expectations in the Tournament. He didn't dare express his feelings aloud, though. Then again, the annoyance was easier to deal with when he had Truls and most of the other Durmstrang students studying around him as well.
"I miss Durmstrang," Mette sighed. "This castle might look good but it's so very old fashioned."
"Oh, that reminds me," Harry said, looking at Truls. "Have you received any mail from anyone there? Filippa or Jakob or Petronella? Because I haven't received anything."
"I haven't either," Truls replied. "Maybe they think we're busy and don't want to bother us? Or they could be waiting for us to contact them first."
"Maybe," Harry said, nodding. "I'll write Filippa a letter as soon as I'm done with homework."
"Filippa," Truls repeated, sounding strangely pleased. "Not Clemens?"
"No," Harry said, despite the feeling at the pit of his stomach and the memory of Clemens that made something inside him clench. "Not Clemens."
"I wonder if we can invite some of our friends from there to attend the Yule Ball with us," Maria suddenly said. "Merlin, it would be great! Much better than attending the ball with any of these Hogwarts boys."
"You've been asked?"
"By two guys so far."
"I've lost count of how many people asked me," Mette sighed happily. "I know some girls already asked you out, Truls. Have you said yes to any of them yet? What about you, Harry?"
"Nobody has asked me," Harry told her, far more interested in hearing about the girls who had asked Truls than discussing his own lack of a date. "Who asked you?"
"I don't know their names," Truls said. "Doesn't matter, anyway. I said no."
"Nobody from our school is going to go alone," Ingrid said sharply, scowling at Truls who shrugged unrepentantly in response. "It's a matter of image. Next time someone asks you, say yes. Unless they're a Mudblood, of course."
"I already have a date," Mette bragged cheerfully. "All the eyes will be on us, so even if your date is ugly, you needn't worry. Nobody will even notice you."
"And you, Potter," Ingrid continued, as if Mette had said nothing. "You especially must be picky when it comes to selecting your date. You're the Durmstrang champion and cannot be seen with just anyone. I'm sure you know someone here who deserves to be your date."
"Or ask one of the French girls," Maria suggested. "There's one in particular… I don't know her name, but she's stunning."
"The Veela?"
"No, not the Veela. I think this girl is half-Algerian or something? I'll point her out to you later."
"Your date doesn't have to be a girl, by the way," Mette said, and for some reason Harry felt less anxious all of a sudden. Less anxious but more embarrassed, as if Mette was revealing something that Harry didn't want anyone else to know. Which was odd, because she wasn't. "I saw one of the Hufflepuff boys eyeing you up a few days ago. An older student, I think—"
"I've heard nothing good about Hufflepuffs," Truls cut in. "Besides, the Yule Ball isn't something we need to worry about yet. Homework first, and then the second task. After that is done we can start thinking about the ball."
"Circe, and to think that the second task is three days away," Maria sighed. "Are you nervous? The first task made me nervous and I was just watching it!"
"I'm a lot more nervous about the Yule Ball," Harry lied. "I don't think that panicking will help me at all with this task. Whatever it ends up being." A three-day hunt would require for Harry to keep his mind clear, and he'd be damned if he let Delacour's performance outshine his. He didn't want to lose to her again.
It was a ridiculous feeling and Harry couldn't understand why it was such an issue to him. His desire to win was all about the influence he could have afterwards, and was not tied to his self-esteem in any way. He didn't think that he'd be less of a wizard if he lost to Delacour.
And yet.
"Whoa, what's with the face you're making now?" Maria asked, leaning closer to Harry. "Something bothering you?"
"You guys saw Fleur Delacour's performance, right?" Harry said, leaning back and pushing the essay aside for a moment. "What was great about it? I mean, if you were judges, what about her performance would impress you?"
"She was ruthless," Ingrid replied, sighing and closing the book she had been reading. "Ruthless and efficient. Both of those things are good. However if you've seen the articles that reflect the public's views, people weren't entertained by her. She was efficient to the point of being boring. Her performance was clinical and swift, but it wasn't the entertainment that we were promised."
"I agree," Maria said. "I liked Weasley's performance the most, though. Sorry about that, Harry, but Weasley's act was intense. He even lost an ear."
"Is this about improving your performance for the second task?" Mette asked curiously, and when Harry nodded, she continued: "Then simply keep in mind that people really do want a show. We want to be surprised and shocked and feel captivated by what we're seeing."
'And you see no problems with this show you're looking forward to?' Harry thought, but didn't dare say a thing. He'd do as Hermione had suggested and focus on performing well in the second task. The best change he could bring would come through the influence he'd hopefully have afterwards.
"Well," he said after a period of silence. "I hope you'll find what's coming up even more… entertaining."
Giving the audience a show they'd be entertained by was far from Harry's mind when he was led with the other two champions towards the Quidditch pitch. He felt sick, the manticore shirt he was wearing under his uniform felt heavy, and he'd much rather be in his bed. He had a dagger in his boot and a pouch of galleons, unsure of how useful they'd be but still hoping for the best.
George had given him an easy smile and a pat on the back, and Delacour continued being depressingly flawless while ignoring Harry completely. It suited him just fine. Harry didn't think he could bring himself to talk even if there was a need for it. Walking into the Quidditch pitch and looking around him, Harry couldn't see a single empty seat in the audience. People were cheering, there were even banners raised and Merlin – were those cheerleaders?
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Sirius began, his voice echoing loudly for all to hear. To Harry he looked like a stranger in an expensive set of robes, and he wondered if they'd ever go back to the people they used to be. "Welcome to the second task of the Triwizard Tournament!"
'I wonder if Hermione is here,' Harry thought, before sighing heavily. It would have been nice to ask Hermione to go with him to the Yule Ball but considering how their friendship would need to be kept secret, it simply was not an option.
"There have been quite a few rumours about this task," Sirius continued, smiling brightly. "Some bets as well, eh? Are you that curious to see what's ahead?" The cheer of the audience made his smile turn into a mischievous grin. The man waved his wand and suddenly there were three bottles and three familiar plaques floating above him.
"Once again," Sirius started, "the Champions will be sent off to different locations. Only now… the playground is bigger. No more locked rooms! No more simple solutions! What we have here for you, instead, is an adventure unlike any other! The Champions will show you not only their power, but their cleverness and survival skills. Could a show be any better?"
It couldn't, surely. His reputation depended on it.
"You see three bottles here above me," Sirius continued, enjoying how attentively the audience and the Champions were listening to him. "These are full of Polyjuice Potion. It's almost ready, but is missing one important, final ingredient. The one that is added at the last minute after a month of waiting. Oh yes, we all know what it is – a part of someone else's body. A hair, or a nail… a whole arm if you want to go above and beyond."
As expected, his audience laughed. So far so good.
"Each champion will take one of the plaques they retrieved in the first task and will find themselves either in Istanbul, or Helsinki, or Cairo. Good luck trying to guess which key takes you where," Sirius said teasingly, chuckling when there was more laughter from the amused audience. "Engraved into the plaque is the name of your target – that's right, not numbers anymore! Track them down, take a strand of their hair and finish the Polyjuice Potion before drinking it. Once you've transformed into your target, simply touch the portkey – it will recognize the target's fingerprint and will activate on its own. You will be brought here. But— that is not all!"
His audience, now more curious than ever, was silent. The Champions looked calmer than any of them ought to be, and Sirius hoped that Harry at least would know better than to underestimate what was waiting for him. "The champions have three days to complete this task. During these three days you will be completely on your own. We on this end will be able to see you only when you arrive. I repeat: you are on your own. You will not be monitored or followed."
Ignoring the restless and confused expressions of the people around him, Sirius waved his wand again and the three bottles descended down with the plaques, and the wizard gestured for the Champions to step forward. "Pick a plaque and a bottle. Remember that this mission will demand more from you than the previous one did. Be fast, be efficient. The first one to return will be the winner of this round. Champions, it's your time to shine!"
With yet another wave of his wand the Polyjuice bottles and the plaques floated downwards until they were well within reach of the three students. After a moment of hesitation, Delacour pocketed a bottle and curled her long fingers around one of the plaques before stepping back. Following her example, the two boys did the same before they all turned to Sirius.
"Your portkeys will activate in a matter of seconds," the wizard said. "Good luck, and may the best win."
Delacour gave him a bright smile in return, and even Weasley managed to muster up a grin of some sort. Harry, on the other hand, stared at Sirius with a blank face. His hand was clenched around the plaque, and the few seconds it took for the portkey to activate seemed to last an eternity.
'I need to listen to him,' Sirius suddenly realized. 'I need to talk with Harry and listen to him. If I won't, there's no fixing this situation.'
Once the champions had disappeared, the Death Eater raised his hands to indicate that there was still something left for him to say. He smiled again, looking at the people in the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen…. you may now wonder where the entertainment is. What on earth could be fun about a mission that we cannot watch? Well, we all know how self-conscious people can be when they know they're being watched. The champions were told that they will not be monitored or followed – that was a lie."
Sirius didn't bother to hide how smug he was feeling as he continued: "The broadcasting will start in thirty seconds and will continue without pause for three days. You may come and go as you please during that time, though students must remember to not stay here after curfew. There will be constant surveillance and security in the area. Ladies and gentlemen… enjoy the show!"
It was a wide street with a seemingly never-ending line of shops, restaurants, and hotels on both sides. The steady drizzle of rain didn't seem to bother the crowds of people passing by or the street vendors selling the kinds of foods Harry had never seen before. The place reminded him of Diagon Alley in many ways, but there was something amiss – something that Harry couldn't immediately pinpoint.
The language he could hear people speaking wasn't even vaguely familiar, though that wasn't what was making him feel so wary.
'Standing still and overthinking things will be just a waste of time,' Harry decided, taking a deep breath and deciding to start walking. His brown Durmstrang uniform didn't stand out as he stepped out of the shadowed alley he had been hiding in, and it was only when he thought of his own attire that he realized what had been bothering him so: no one was wearing robes.
People wore trousers and shirts and skirts and even dresses, but it was odd that no one in such a large crowd was wearing robes. There were no pointy hats in sight, no owls flying above, and no matter how much he walked and how many stores he passed by he couldn't see a single broom store or a Quidditch supplies store or even a Potions apothecary.
It was as if he was… surrounded by Muggles.
(Something was wrong.)
Could that be true? Had Sirius sent him to complete his task in a Muggle-populated city? Harry's mouth hung open with surprise as he turned to look at his surroundings with renewed interest. Where on earth was he, exactly? Which one of the three cities had he ended up in? The boy glanced at the plaque he was still holding tightly in his hand, and the name carved into it was Mario Orsini. Italian. Not Finnish, Egyptian or Turkish. Even his target couldn't serve as a clue.
None of the destinations were anywhere near Italy. How was he supposed to look for someone with that name in this place anyway? He could be anywhere! Would a point-me spell work? Unlikely – Harry suspected that Sirius would have taken some measures to prevent the champions from locating their targets easily. Then again even if the spell wasn't somehow blocked, he couldn't use his wand around Muggles, could he?
Circe, he was getting a headache.
'Is that a car?' Harry thought suddenly, his attention captured by what was, indeed, a yellow car making its way slowly through the crowd. The boy had seen a car only once before in his life, when the Ministry of Magic—
No, Merlin, this wasn't the time to get distracted by cars. Ah, he needed to calm down and pull himself together, organize his thoughts and start thinking clearly. It was lucky that the audience wouldn't be able to see him fumble like this. Knowing that he wasn't being watched gave him a surprising kind of comfort and freedom, and Harry wondered if he could travel into the Muggle world in the summer.
(Why did he feel like hiding?)
'If I survive this,' Harry thought, shaking his head and walking slowly back to where he had first appeared, hoping to find a clue of any kind. 'Tom said he wanted a show… Now that I think about it, doesn't his request contradict what Sirius said? If we're not being observed, how can Tom enjoy the show? How can anyone be entertained if they can't see us?'
Feeling confused and irritated, Harry took another look at the name on the plaque before shoving it into his pocket. The fact that he was taken to this precise location must mean that Mario Orsini was somewhere nearby, right? Perhaps in a hotel? Was he one of the street vendors?
"This is ridiculous," Harry muttered, his fingers itching to pull out his wand. Would using it in such a public place cause him to lose points with the judges? Then again – could they see him now or not? Sirius had said that they weren't being watched, but Tom's words had given the opposite impression.
It was then that Harry saw… him. It. In the distance, a shadow taller than an average human but thinner than Harry himself and narrow enough to glide through the crowds without gaining as much as a single look from the people. Was this something muggles were used to?
(Danger.)
No. Harry had a feeling that this was something different. It walked on two feet, silent and steady in its gait. Somehow threatening.
Harry knew without a doubt that this was something he should get away from as fast as possible. Feeling a cold shiver up his spine, the boy ducked into one of the stores nearby and pretended to look at the books for sale. The sudden fear he was feeling was unreasonable and for that moment all thoughts of the tournament were gone from his mind.
The shadow passed slowly by the bookstore, and Harry couldn't believe how no one else could see him. Or even feel him. That presence like a sinister curse waiting to latch onto someone. Harry turned and walked further into the bookstore, afraid of stepping back into the street. He didn't know why, couldn't explain what made him think so, but leaving now wouldn't be safe.
An old man behind the counter looked up at Harry and offered a kind smile. Harry smiled nervously in return, feeling very out of place. What if the thing followed him inside and—
"Merhaba," the man said, before continuing with carefully pronounced and heavily accented English: "You not local? Need help?"
"Um, no," Harry replied, unsure of what to say next and resisting the urge to look behind him. "I mean yeah, I'm not local. I'm… visiting. Well, looking for someone, actually."
(Don't look.)
"Looking for arkadash?" the man wanted to know, though he didn't sound particularly interested. In fact despite his kind smile and polite mannerism, he seemed to want Harry out of his store, as if he could see that the boy had no money to buy anything with. Harry doubted that his Galleons would be accepted here. "Friend?"
"A friend, yes. Well, something like that," Harry said, shoving his hands into his pockets and trying to not think of the shadow creature that had terrified him in such a way. As if he could just forget. "Mario Orsini."
"Mario!" the old man suddenly exclaimed, before smiling and nodding. "Yes. Yes. Mario. Everyone knows Mario. Artist. Has a, eh, atölye very close."
"Really?" Harry asked, stunned but relieved about the turn of events. Suspicious, too. Harry didn't believe in luck and didn't feel comfortable trusting it. "Could you point me to the right direction?"
"Of course," the old man replied, walking around the counter and leading Harry back outside. The boy nervously followed, hating the mere thought of returning to the street. "You see shoe shop there? Blue walls? You go to street behind it and walk until you see Orsini. It is very easy to recognize. Only building at the end of the road."
"Thank you," Harry said, smiling gratefully. "I'm… very thankful for your help. Your, uh, your English is really good."
"You are welcome," the old man said with a chuckle, though his words left Harry feeling strangely chastised. "You English, yes? People here learn your language because you will not learn ours. Travel more, son. The world is bigger than your country. Learn more. Speak more. Every language is a doorway to a new world."
(Weren't you told, Harry?)
Orsini's atelier was indeed easy to find.
It was a shabby two-story building with small windows and a door that looked like a kick could break it apart. Harry knocked on the door before he even thought of what he was supposed to do next and how he'd explain his visit. It was too late to worry about that now, however, as the door was pushed open and a man with an angry scowl on his face appeared, glowering at Harry.
"Are you Mario Orsini?" Harry asked quickly, curling his fingers around his wand and smiling politely. The man grimaced at him, before nodding curtly.
"What do you want?" he said, his voice more like a hiss than anything else. "I was not expecting guests."
"I need… just a moment of your time," Harry told him, his polite smile unwavering. "Inside, if possible. I assure you that this is a matter that cannot be discussed out in the public." Orsini hesitated, before pushing the door open and gesturing for Harry to enter. The boy had barely taken a few steps in before the door was slammed shut.
"You wait here," Orsini said sharply. "I must finish a phone call that you interrupted. Do not move and do not touch anything. You steal, I will find you and make you pay. Understand?"
"Yes," Harry replied easily, not minding the wait. He wasn't in a hurry after all, and it felt safer to stay in the dark and hidden atelier than outside. It was a wonder, though, why Sirius had thought that completing the task would take three days. Then again… did Sirius know of the creature that Harry had seen? Was it meant to hinder him somehow?
Harry really didn't think so. He wasn't sure how to explain it… he just… knew.
(The more aware you become of them…)
The faint sound of a strangely unsteady melody came from upstairs, and Harry wondered absently if the man had put the music on to drown his conversation under the noise. Harry didn't blame him, and simply did his best to hum along as he took a look at the paintings around him. They were all so silent and still, and Harry tried not to cringe as he wrapped his coat tighter around him.
It was then that he saw it: a small painting hanging on one of the stained walls. The man in the picture was nearly identical to the creature Harry had seen roaming the streets earlier: he was taller than any human Harry had ever seen. His ashen skin had a blue glow to it and his dark grey eyes looked far too alive to belong to a Muggle painting.
The fear Harry had somewhat left behind earlier, returned with vengeance. He didn't think that this was part of Sirius's task, no. This had nothing to do with the living, and everything to do with the dead. Merope would know. Albus would know.
'Neither of them is here with me,' Harry thought, and jumped with a yelp when Orsini appeared next to him out of nowhere.
"Now," the still scowling man said. "What do you want?"
"This painting," Harry blurted out. "How do you— Tell me about this painting."
The man regarded him with a look that was slightly less angry than his scowls before. "Would you buy it?"
"Maybe," Harry lied, and continued stumbling and stuttering with words that didn't know how to arrange themselves. "I just… I need to know. This person— No, not this person, but someone like him. I've seen— I just. Please. Why did you paint this?"
"I dream sometimes," Orsini said, shuffling away from the painting and turning his back to Harry. His voice, however, remained loud in the room. "Of them. I dream of them sometimes. It used to be once or twice a year, but now it's more. I don't know how to stop."
"Who are they?" Harry asked. "Do you know?"
"The Gone Tribe," Orsini replied, his voice tired and echoing – calling – something that made Harry shiver with fear and anxiety. "Well, sometimes they're called the Fading Tribe, but really… they're already gone. They've already faded into nothing."
(…the more aware they become of you.)