The following day was Halloween. Albus left his quarters early: full to bursting, his schedule only allowed him the time for a quick breakfast, a heap of paperwork, lunch with some of his dearest people, a Ministry meeting, and the evening feast, which would culminate with the announcement of the three champions' names.
Where he passed, floating jack-o'-lanterns turned in his direction while animated skeletons waved in greeting. Even Charity Burbage, the first teacher he spotted in the Entrance Hall, had partaken in the spirit of the season, for the clip she had Charmed to hold her long hair out of her face was shaped as a large bat with flapping wings. Smiling, she beckoned for him to come closer. She was not alone: planted by the Goblet of Fire and dressed in especially fancy robes was Igor Karkaroff. He watched as, one by one, his students advanced to drop their names into the cup.
The Beauxbatons party was nowhere in sight; in truth, Albus was prepared to wager they were having breakfast in their carriage at this very moment. It saddened him to know Madame Maxime had taken offense at his school's system without even attempting to understand it. After the devastating war the English wizarding community had suffered, Hogwarts was fortunate to have this many students. A diversity of magical beings could not be conjured out of thin air.
"Good morning, everyone," he called.
Karkaroff glanced up hopefully, only to deflate in disappointment.
"Good morning, Dumbledore. Look at my lads, eh!"
Albus turned towards the Durmstrang youngsters: a group of strapping young men and an equally athletic girl. In unison, they looked away from him—all except Viktor Krum, whose frown never faded. The Englishman thought he recognised an expression of grievance, which puzzled him. What reason had he given this boy for hostility?
"They are strong and proud young wizards," he agreed politely. "And the young lady is beautiful."
The girl blinked and then scowled: she now appeared as vexed as her Bulgarian schoolmate.
Unconcerned, Karkaroff was scanning the Hall.
"And vhere is that good-looking Negro vitch? I do not see her."
Charity reacted swiftly, her indignation genuine. "Aurora is from Cornwall!"
The man's response—a single cold glare—almost prompted her to recoil with fright.
"I mean to say… I think," she stammered towards no one in particular.
Unwittingly, though, she had provided him with a piece of information he craved.
"So the Negro vitch is named Aurora? Good, good…"
Since his question had remained unanswered, he fixed his stare on Albus in an expectant manner.
"Professor Sinistra is likely upstairs," the latter returned coolly.
If the Durmstrang headmaster lacked the brains to realise Astronomy teachers worked at night and slept in the morning, Albus was not going to enlighten him.
"Ah. Good, good..."
A sudden commotion among his students disrupted their exchange. One of the boys had whispered in the girl's ear, angering her greatly. She yelled at him in a language Albus could not place, and the words, which could have been a profanity, wiped the smirks off the boys' faces.
Karkaroff's eyes flashed. With a brusque motion of his hand, he led the offenders out, not sparing the two English teachers a word. One had to admit discipline was not a quality he had failed to ingrain in those youngsters: they had followed him out obediently.
Albus felt Charity shiver next to him.
"Ugh, he is as scary as Severus." The second the words escaped her, she blushed and pressed a hand against her lips. "I… I'm sorry—I sh-shouldn't have said that. It was unprofessional of me."
Albus tore his attention off the retreating crimson uniforms to pat her arm. "It's all right; now that you mention it, I can see what you mean." He heaved a sigh. "Is it my impression, or are his students ill-disposed against me? Were they this grim before I joined in?"
The witch bit her lip, apologetic. "They were… a little livelier."
As if to prevent any further embarrassment between them, a few Hogwarts students filed into the Entrance Hall. The Creevey brothers were among them, ready to make a beeline for their favourite teacher.
"Professor Burbage!"
"Yes, Mr Creevey?"
"We know what we could do during our next class," Colin declared. "You wanted to discuss the currently interesting topics—"
"—we know a good one," little Dennis added.
Both drew a breath before chorusing, "SUPER MARIO!"
Mystified, Charity furrowed her brows. "Super… Mario? The name doesn't sound English. Is it a famous Muggle?"
The brothers launched into an explanation, speaking over each other and confounding the witch even more. As far as Albus could tell, Super Mario was a Muggle game of sorts, involving a man jumping through a maze. It was best to leave them to it.
With an amiable, "I love your bat hairclip," he gave Charity a smile and proceeded into the Great Hall in search of a bite of food and a cup of coffee.
Pomona sat alone at the teachers' table, spreading jam on a toast. When he settled by her side, she peered at him sleepily and nodded her greeting.
"Good morning, dear," he uttered, reaching for a fried egg. "Do you know if anyone from Hogwarts has already submitted their name?"
"Five students from my House promised to." Her lips twitched. "It's safe to say twice as many applied in secret. What, in Merlin's name, did you include in the Age Line?"
"Oh, dear." Her question was revealing in its implications. "It's a little early in the morning to go to the Hospital Wing with a case of long, fluffy beard."
"Is that all there is to it? In that case..." She poured milk in her tea. "Summers took some Ageing Potion—and Fawcett. They knocked at Poppy's door around half past five."
Torn between amusement and exasperation, the headmaster shook his head. Not a minute later, the sound of another commotion reached them from the Entrance Hall. Anyone familiar with the Hogwarts corridors could easily recognise the laughter of the Weasley twins.
"Here comes a new batch for Poppy," he remarked, downing his coffee in two gulps.
"If those two hadn't tried, I'd have thought something was very wrong," Pomona chuckled.
By the time Albus reached the Goblet of Fire, the twins had leapt behind the Age Line, which granted them one instant of triumph. An ominous sizzling noise gave way to a blast, and the teenagers felt themselves hurled out of the golden circle. Seeing them land painfully a distance away caused Albus to cringe: he ought to have resorted to a milder spell. Still, one could not blame the onlookers for laughing heartily, especially when it became obvious the two bearded wrongdoers had taken their defeat in good humour.
"I did warn you. I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours."
They shot him unrepentant grins and complied. Upon noticing Harry and his closest friends amid the laughing audience, Albus could not help but admire the innocent curiosity in the boy's green eyes. Severus could say whatever he pleased; he was wrong—Harry never broke the rules unless he believed other people's well-being was at stake. He had not even considered submitting his name—one glance at him sufficed to establish as much—and this spoke volumes of his character.
Smoothly, the old wizard's thoughts returned to the grumpy welcome the Durmstrang students had reserved for him. One possible reason occurred to him while he sorted through his paperwork. Back in the day, a Krum family member had died by the hand of one of Gellert's followers. He had not been the only casualty among Slavic wizards either. Had Karkaroff stooped so low as to inform his candidates that Hogwarts was run by the lover and ally of the man who had murdered their families? After his first glimpse of Karkaroff's manners, it was a possibility Albus could not exclude. Clenching his jaw, he concentrated on the documents before him, careful not to pierce the parchment with an angry swish of his quill. He had lunch in Italy to look forward to, and fuming in front of his hosts was the very opposite of his intention.
In the end, he need not have worried: the first few breaths of Tuscan air calmed him down completely. The valley he had Apparated to offered a quaint, romantic view that could have been snatched from a postcard. The porcelain-blue sky, the pastel shades of the meadows, the gentle freshness of the breeze and the scent of the countryside, unspoiled by interference or neglect, helped one feel quite disconnected from the rest of the world.
The garden was vast: olive and lemon trees shaded carved benches, and the bushes had only recently shed their blooms. A path formed of slabs of stone led towards a graceful sand-coloured villa with green window-shutters. It was the home of Giacomo d'Angelli and his wife, Justice. To Albus, they were more than friends: he had, in practice, adopted them as his own children.
His brief trip to Durmstrang had forged the first bond between them. In the 1940s, Giacomo's father had been the Italian Minister for Magic, and his vehement dislike of Gellert's ideas had only been matched by his disregard for his son. Lonely and starved for affection, the boy had instinctively taken a shine to a younger, grieving Albus, striking a painful chord in the latter's heart.
Giacomo and Justice had been classmates; during their last school years, their friendship had in fact veered close to romance, only to succumb to a tragic misunderstanding. The witch was half-Spanish, half-English; in spite of her distinct predisposition for Dark magic, she was one of the most cheerful and playful young women Albus had ever met, and he had truly valued her company when she had been tasked with guiding him through Durmstrang. He had reached out to her again several years later, only to find her trapped in a loveless marriage with a prejudiced misogynist of a wizard. What was worse, Justice's parents had taken her husband's side. Without hesitation, the witch had accepted Albus's offer to seek refuge at Hogwarts and had never gone back to the wretched man. In time, she had allowed herself to be reunited with Giacomo. They had lived together ever since, as strong a couple as could be imagined.
That day's lunch had been arranged in advance, for Albus knew how busy the d'Angelli family had become. His adoptive son was no longer a lost, solitary youth: on the contrary, he had started a business in parchment, which had gradually expanded into a monopoly, and his hard work and keen intellect had propelled him into a position of significant influence. Besides, he and Justice had raised two remarkable children: Alvo and Gioella… named in Albus and Gellert's honour.
Stretched on a bench was a small black cat, who eyed the wizard's approach as if sensing an opportunity to slide into the house. Sure enough, as soon as Albus tapped the knocker, the animal streaked past him through the opening door. The witch on the other side of the entrance was a spitting image of Giacomo. It was Gioella, better known as Gia.
"Uncle Albus!" she exclaimed, hugging him with all her might. "Come in, we've been expecting you."
She stepped away to let him enter and inadvertently brushed the cat's tail, which alerted her to its presence.
"Giufà, alto!" But the animal was too quick for her. "Ay, that little beast! He needs to stay outside. How are you, uncle Albus? It's so good to see you."
"It's wonderful to see you too," he said with a fond smile. "How are you, my dear? Look at you—you grow more radiant with my every visit."
It was true: she was a beautiful young woman with a perky and energetic aura, a Lighter one than her mother's.
"Thank you," she beamed. "When will you visit me in Rome? You are such a mystery—my friends are starting to think you are a figment of my imagination!"
"Uncle Albus is not a toy for you to show off, Gia," a man's voice interfered. "Bring Giufà with you if you need to take cute pictures at the Ministry."
Giacomo had emerged from the sitting room. He was now the head of a business empire of his own, and his physical presence testified to his power: experience and authority had bestowed maturity to his good looks, the way age lent depth to wine. Albus, however, could never forget the young man he had once taken under his wing. He embraced Giacomo cordially.
"It's been far longer than I would have liked. But I will make up for my long absence. And Gia, dear, I'm looking forward to visiting you in Rome."
The promise brightened the young witch's face— she had pursed her lips at her father's words.
"Haa!" She clapped her hands, delighted. "Vedi, babbo?"
"We'll see about that." Giacomo smiled, addressing Albus, "I'll explain at the table. Our Gia has decided to pursue the family's longstanding tradition of joining the political arena through the Ministry, but she doesn't yet comprehend the downsides of such a lifestyle."
Before the Englishman could muster a reply, they were joined by Justice, and he opened his arms just in time: like her daughter, she positively lunged at him, her eyes sparkling with tears of joy.
"Ay, que bien que llegaste! I missed you so much! Please don't make us wait this long again—it's bad enough that Alvito took after you in this regard."
Stroking her hair, which was set in large, neat waves, Albus pressed her against his chest.
"Forgive me for making you wait, my dear. I've missed you too, you can't imagine." He drew back to admire her, giving her cheek a caress. "You have also grown more beautiful."
It was no flattery: despite the passing years, the petite witch—now a widely respected lady—had preserved her youthful, almost girlish essence. Nevertheless, his observation moved her profoundly.
"Mami, stai piangendo?" Gia inquired at once.
"No, no, not at all; something got in my eye. Who let Giufà in? He brings in all this dirt from outside."
Giacomo intervened yet again to invite them to the dining room before Justice could start crying in earnest. Her relationship with Albus had always been a special one. She had seen and comforted him at his most vulnerable moment—during his breakdown after one of his visits to Gellert at Nurmengard—and, in turn, had revealed her most vulnerable sides to him as well. Their bond was unique for it. It was not to say Albus loved Giacomo, Gia or Alvo any less; only, they were d'Angellis through and through, and it was Justice who had spent long, emotional weeks by his side, adding a precious layer to their connection.
It therefore came as no surprise to anyone when she settled next to the English wizard, ready to assist him and serve him any food he liked. Giacomo suspected she alone knew Albus well enough to have come to treat him as an aging parent, who deserved all the affection in the world, without asking for anything in return. After all, for all its light-heartedness, Gia's comment had been perceptive: Albus was a living mystery to most. Numerous people believed they knew him, and they were mistaken.
It was Gia once again who added a touch of levity to their conversation.
"Tell us about the Tournament, uncle Albus. How is it going? Who is the Durmstrang champion? Please, tell me they're Italian!"
Albus blushed pink—there was no stopping it. Even if he was not to blame for what this family's beloved school had become, he was sorry to be the bearer of sad news.
"Oh, Gia, I wish I could. The schools arrived last night, and the champions' names will be drawn this evening. But I regret to say… the current headmaster has no respect for history, tradition or, indeed, other wizards or witches. I would show you my memory of the welcoming feast, but I'm afraid of spoiling your appetite. The fact is, all the students he has brought with him are Slavic. And as far as he's concerned, Viktor Krum alone should compete, whether he wishes to or not."
Gia positively froze at the news; her fork stayed suspended in mid-air, and her mouth had fallen open. This time, Giufà was the one to break the spell, taking advantage of her stillness to jump on her lap.
"W-what? But… what about… the rest?"
Out of habit, it seemed, she turned towards her father. He was usually the one who provided her with answers and advice.
"I see the rumours have not been unfounded," he stated calmly.
"You knew?"
"Only the rumours. Durmstrang has not been doing well lately. As it happens, you graduated just in time. The quality of their education has suffered a great deal: a number of teachers quit, and many students have withdrawn their funds and prefer to be home-schooled these days."
"But…"
Gia could barely formulate her thoughts for shock. She looked between Albus and Giacomo, absent-mindedly restraining the cat, who was trying to paw at the table. Justice was quick to react: her shot of golden sparks forced Giufà to relent, and the small creature ran away sulking into the corner, not before digging its claws in Gia and making her yelp in the process.
"That's very sad for Durmstrang," Justice commented, her tone light.
With a resigned nod, Albus explained. "Karkaroff has made duelling his priority; he has increased its practice at the expense of other subjects, including Conjuring. I'm very sorry, dear." Knowing it was her favourite branch of magic, he gently squeezed the witch's hand. "In addition, he has expelled all the non-human wizards and witches. Any issues he encounters, he blames on Norwegian weather. Besides, he is determined to bother my youngest teacher."
Grimacing with indignation, Gia appealed to her father. "Papà, you must do something! He will ruin everything!"
Giacomo leaned back. More clearly than ever, the contrast between his younger, lonely self and the quiet but palpable authority he had acquired manifested itself in his posture. There was almost no physical resemblance between him and his father, who had once been the Minister for Magic; and yet, the expression he wore… it was the same shrewd, penetrating gaze that had been characteristic for Matteo d'Angelli.
"I would, tesoro, but I can't. It's either your program on Squibs or Durmstrang."
He was referring to Gia's political campaign, centred around the Squibs' welfare, which was costly to sponsor.
The young witch's face fell. "Oh…"
To distract Albus from her disappointment, Justice changed the topic.
"You mentioned you wanted to show me something," she reminded him.
The headmaster reached into his pocket and produced Aurora's indigo candle. It was a second one she had gifted to him at his request.
"I was going to show you this candle. My Astronomy teacher gave it to me—she got these from her Haitian mentor. It's the only thing that helps Gellert feel better—it purifies the air in his cell, countering the Dark magic that has gathered there for years. I tried to analyse it, but for the life of me, I can't replicate the spell. It's pure Sakrémaji, very different from the magic I know."
Justice examined it, her black eyes filled with awe.
"Ooh, it's quite remarkable. The spell on this candle is both protective in nature and meant to enhance your abilities. With some luck, we could find more of these at the source that provides my candles; but if not, there are ways. As far as I know, magical practices are highly unregulated in Haiti, so finding suppliers isn't easy—but don't worry, there have to be more. Maybe we can even find a houngan, who will help us reproduce the spell—in which case, we'll be able to cast it ourselves." She flashed him a bright smile. "If you entrust it to me for a few days, I'll see where I can get more. At any rate, this is only a start."
Such a sweet, reassuring response was more than he had dared to hope for. He pressed her hand again, touched beyond words.
"Of course, my dear—I trust you completely. Thank you so much."
Blinking moisture out of his eyes, he glanced at Giacomo and the youngest witch.
"So how is your campaign going, Gia? Do you want to tell me more about your plans regarding Squibs?"
"I'm working on creating a coalition," she announced proudly. This earned a cough from her father. "Well, eventually," she admitted. "First, I need to gain the necessary support. The campaign is simple: we want Italian Squibs—and I mean in all of Italy—to be granted the same rights as wizards. I think it's important to show that human value doesn't depend on one's magical ability. It's still a problem nowadays: not only are Squibs denied the protection they deserve, but in the majority of cases, they are positively forced out of the wizarding communities. I want to change it."
"We are working on it, step by step," Giacomo specified. "It's not easy, but the political ground for change is more fertile than before. The world was not ready for Gellert's ideas back then; now, as long as we proceed carefully, we can discuss them."
"And that woman can get off my back," Gia cut in.
Albus understood: Olivia Ollivander, the matriarch of a powerful pure-blood family of wand-makers, had always been a rival of the d'Angellis. Garrick Ollivander, who ran a shop in Diagon Alley, was merely a cousin of hers.
"Gioella!"
"Mi spiace," she returned at her father's admonishment, though she did not sound sorry.
"Let's agree on something," Justice decided. "No arguing—and no politics at the table, si?" Though stern, her voice had lost none of its sweetness. "It's not every day Albus comes to visit us."
Giacomo nodded; he and his wife understood each other without words.
"No politics. This was merely a brief summary of what Gia had chosen to tackle: more rights—"
"Equal rights," his daughter ventured. "It's only fair."
"—equal rights for all the members of the wizarding community, regardless of their blood status or magical talent. Squibs are only a start; the other groups will follow."
"And now we talk about the Tournament," Justice sing-songed. "Are you allowed to tell us anything, Albus?"
"I'd love to share with you all about the tasks to come, but as the only headmaster involved in the preparations, I had to sign a non-disclosure contract," Albus confessed. Frustratingly, his signature in blood forbade him from debating the secrets of the Tournament even with those who bore no connection to the event. "At the very least, rare magical creatures will be involved. The Hogwarts students—including the underage ones—are very interested in participating; of course, the Beauxbatons party is also quite poised for victory. I have a feeling Madame Maxime thinks us awfully backward for our lack of students of mixed blood. And as for Durmstrang…"
He paused in thought. "You have given me an idea. You see… the current situation in Britain has been increasingly precarious. According to certain signs, peace might not last for long, and a new war could threaten us sooner than we might anticipate. You have heard of Karkaroff's past. It wouldn't be surprising if he tried to run for it in a matter of months. This way, the position of the Durmstrang headmaster will be vacated, and hopefully, the board of governors will have learned their lesson, thus becoming more reasonable." He bit his lip in sudden inspiration. "I'll speak to Olivia Ollivander. You have Gia's career to think of, but she could make it her focus to rescue Durmstrang. She loved her school."
This suggestion perked Gia up.
"You could make it work? That woman has been torturing me—"
"Gia!" The warning, this time, had come from Justice.
"Que?" the girl insisted, her obstinacy lending her a youthful aspect, closer to her mother's. "Es la verdad, mamá."
"The Ollivander matriarch is an esteemed friend of uncle Albus's, as you very well know, tesoro. You are being impolite." Giacomo's tone made it plain the matter was closed. He turned towards Albus. "Could you take a walk with me after lunch?"
The older wizard nodded.
"Ooh, can I come along?" Justice chimed in playfully to cover her daughter's sulky pout. "By the sound of it, delicious gossip is about to be spilled."
"You look a little jealous, mamá," Gia shot back.
"Me, jealous?" Justice waved her hand, as if scandalised. "Please, everyone knows uncle Albus likes me best."
They chuckled at this.
"What about us, uncle Albus?" Gia went on to pursue the banter. "Oh, I know: you like Alvito best, verdad?"
"I adore all of you." Indeed, he was fonder of them than words could express. "Where is he, by the way? Is he abroad for research or for leisure?"
"He went to the Grand Canyon to study the properties of those rocks. I'll show you the pictures."
Justice walked out into the sitting room. Gia was the next one to stand up.
"Lucky Alvito," she sighed. "I have to head upstairs to write my next speech. Politics has turned out to be so much work, uncle Albus… proprio terribile."
"L'hai scelta tu questo camino, tesoro," Giacomo pointed out. "And make sure to think through every detail; the last thing you wish is for someone to spot an obvious blunder. It happened to your grandfather—and it did him good, but still."
This captured her interest. "Really? When was that?"
"I'll tell you another time." He was holding back a smile. "At the time, it wasn't so funny."
"You older wizards always do that! I want to know!"
In spite of her exasperation, she recognised the lost cause and approached to give Albus a tight hug before excusing herself. Giacomo caught her hand before she disappeared.
"Be fashionably late, d'accordo?"
"Ma certo."
There was a silent current of tenderness between them, and then she was gone.
Albus could not cease marvelling at his adoptive children. It went without saying Gia's personality combined both of her parents' traits; however, as if her name, selected to honour Gellert, bore magical properties, it had transmitted to her some of the German wizard's ambition, some of his energy, his dreams. She was as good as his political heiress without being related to him or having ever met him. Albus felt immensely proud of her: in truth, no amount of obstacles or effort could dampen her enthusiastic spirit. He had been serious in promising to come to Rome to meet her allies and listen to one of her speeches, and he could hardly wait to tell Gellert all about it. Naturally, his beloved knew of Albus's closeness to the d'Angellis; he was aware there was an extraordinary Italian witch, who had embraced his legacy and made his mission hers.
If given names actually wielded power, Alvo was no exception: like Albus, he had grown up to favour research and academia. A confident, independent and handsome young man, he now often lingered abroad. Sorting through the photographs Justice had retrieved for him caused Albus to experience a familiar blend of happiness and humility. He handed her the last picture with a large smile.
"Should you have plans on ordering a new family portrait, I hope you'll give me one for my desk."
"On condition that you join us." Justice linked her arm with his, as she used to do in the times when she had found refuge at Hogwarts.
Giacomo sat down next to them; with Gia out of earshot, his gaze had gained a tinge of unrest.
"Albus, there is something you must know."
With a sigh, Justice objected, "I wish you had delayed just a little longer, amore. We see Albus so seldom."
He did not reply, nor did he turn his eyes away from the older wizard. She sighed again but nodded her assent.
"Giaco is right; this may be urgent."
Albus frowned, absently stroking the witch's shoulder.
"What is wrong, Giaco?"
"You will know I lobby a lot on Gia's behalf—she is blissfully ignorant of the full extent—"
"Only because it would hurt her feelings," Justice explained. "Young people are idealistic. In reality, if we are to push Gellert's ideas forward, we need to do so cautiously, and it will require every single method in my father-in-law's arsenal, if not more. Also, I apologise in advance if I end up murdering Olivia Ollivander at some point."
Her husband raised his eyebrows. "Honestly, Justice—if our daughter hears us right now…"
"I'm not daft, Giaco. How many times did we make love with the children in the house?" No sooner had the words formed on her lips than she flushed crimson at her indiscretion. "Oh, Albus, I'm so sorry!"
"Here is the thing," Giacomo carried on. "The Albanian Minister for Magic let it slip that a murder had been committed in their woods. A murder for the purpose of a Necromantic ritual."
Albus straightened up; all mirth fled his features. Rituals of this nature had been designed for one goal only. And he knew but one wizard with the skill and the ruthlessness it took to perpetrate such a Dark deed.
"This is a very alarming piece of news," he acquiesced.
"And it's not all," Justice said. "The symbols, it would seem—although removed in haste—were unique. They must have been drawn by someone well versed in the art of Necromancy."
"Someone who had travelled around the world," Giacomo concluded. "I thought you might want to see for yourself."
"Absolutely. Thank you for telling me."
Necromancy was not at all unheard of in Albania, but like any branch of magic, it had its tried and tested practices. Innovation within this singularly complex and obscure discipline was a sinister sign.
"If we are fortunate, this will be determined to be the work of a local Dark wizard," he reflected quietly. "But it is essential that I investigate. There have been too many coincidences." He contemplated them. "About two months ago, I received a blank, ink-spattered calendar page from an anonymous sender. Gellert is convinced it's a plea for help and that the person who dispatched it was restrained. On that same day, Aurora—my Astronomy teacher, who had studied Sakrémaji—told me the omens around the note pointed towards resurrection. I have gone through all of my contacts and remain no wiser as to who sent it."
Giacomo and Justice exchanged a glance. It was true: such coincidences did not exist.
"I'll send you a note, Albus," the younger man assured him. "I have a contact in Albania. The whole affair has been hushed up, which means the British Ministry won't be informed—and the Italian one neither. Unless, that is, a trace leads to an Albanian witch or wizard in Italy, which I do not deem likely. We have a very limited time to visit the scene of crime. Will you be able to come when I call you?"
"I will make myself available," Albus declared. "Fawkes will be on the lookout for your message. Thank you, Giaco."
"Be careful, you two," Justice urged them. "And I will get you the candles, Albus. How many?"
AN: Igor Karkaroff is far from a delicate, mild-mannered man—though we can't help but hope you find him amusing in a horrible sort of way. His "attraction" towards Aurora is insultingly objectifying. We would like to clarify that when he calls her a "Negro witch", he resorts to a word that is outdated in modern English but is still used in certain Slavic languages with a neutral connotation (same as "Caucasian", for instance), so he doesn't intend for it to be offensive. Of course, it comes out more offensive for it because he can't bring himself to view the beautiful witch as a respectable and professional human being but rather as a pretty nameless shell.
Giacomo and Justice first appeared in our one-shot Deep Still Waters, which took place in 1946 and described Albus's trip to Durmstrang. It has remained one of our favourite pieces.