Hey everyone! Obligatory apology for taking forever, but hey, at least I seem to be sticking to a nearly-monthly schedule!

So, this chapter talks about events that happen in the official DuckTales comics, specifically issue #4B, "Fight!". If you haven't read the comics, I highly suggest you do, especially this one which is my favourite. Even if you can't though, I hope I've given it enough context in story!

This chapter is kind of a long one, at least for me. I was going to split it in to two chapters, but I felt like they'd both be too short on their own, and I also wanted to do both from Louie's perspective.

Anywho, you've already waited long enough, so while I don't own DuckTales, here is my next chapter!

Chapter 3~The Many Secrets of Donald Duck!

"What can't you just ask me about?"

Uncle Donald was standing in the archway between the dining room and the foyer. He had come down for breakfast while the kids had been talking and somehow none of them had managed to notice.

Louie was still picking at the pancakes Dewey had tossed him. "Webby was just telling us you used to be in a band?" he said.

His uncle predictably blushed, and Louie knew he'd gotten them off the hook. "Well, uh, sort of," Donald said, pulling at his collar. "It was mostly just me and some friends having fun when I was younger." He sat down at the table and poured himself a glass of orange juice.

The boys looked at him expectantly before the questions burst out.

"Where do we even begin?" Huey said excitedly.

"Who else was in your band?" Dewey asked.

"Did you ever tour anywhere?" Louie wanted to know.

"How come you never talk about it?"

"Is that what you're always singing in the shower?"

"Did people actually pay to hear you sing?" Louie asked, recalling years of lullabies.

"What's a 'cable arrow'?"

"Caballero," Huey corrected. "Uncle Donald, do you even speak Spanish?"

"What's a 'caballero'?"

"Do you still get royalties?"

"Were you really in the navy?"

"Why'd you never tell us?"

"Boys, boys, please, a minute!" Uncle Donald said, gesturing for them to calm down. He sighed and looked at Webby, who was smiling eagerly. "It was me, Panchito, and José and we only ever played in some small venues."

Louie could practically see the stars sparkling in Webby's eyes. Obviously she was not picking up on Uncle Donald's discomfort at the moment.

"They also put out a CD that did moderately well in America while taking the international market by storm!" Webby added. Donald shot her a look that Louie immediately recognized as his uncle's 'please stop talking' face, but he doubted she noticed. Louie thought it almost comical how starstruck she seemed.

"Aren't they those guys who send you those Mexican Christmas cards every year?" Dewey asked.

"Actually, they live in Brazil," Uncle Donald said. "My Spanish is terrible, Panchito always did most of the singing, and she's making us sound a lot more successful than we really were."

"How come you never told us though?" Huey asked.

"Do you have any CDs left?"

"But, like, you were in the navy?" Louie said. He really could not picture his soft yet wildly temperamental uncle in a disciplined military setting.

"It, well, it just never came up," he said, shrugging and scratching the feathers on the back of his neck. "The band, or the navy. That was all a long time ago." He paused, but none of the children wanted to interrupt him as his gaze seemed to fixate on something far away. He shook his head. "Anyway, no, I don't have any CDs left. My last one burned in the fire."

Dewey smiled meekly and sunk into his chair a little.

"Don't feel bad, Dewey," their uncle laughed lightly. "That's one of the few things I was happy to lose!"

"Don't worry!" Webby chimed in, "I have your self titled album on vinyl, as well as bootleg copies of the unreleased EPs. Oh, and I have your live 2001 A Casa Dourata performance on DVD!"

"Fantastic," Donald said, burying his face between his arms.

"Webby, have I ever told you that you're my favourite person ever?" Louie asked. He couldn't have been happier with the direction this conversation had taken. Dewey nodded emphatically and Huey looked to be stifling laughs.

Their uncle was blushing ruby red. "This is a nightmare," he squawked miserably.

Louie saw Dewey stop smiling and straighten up in his chair. He looked at Huey for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Uncle Donald?" he said, tone suddenly shifted. Their uncle looked up at him. "Speaking of nightmares… can we ask you something?"

"Of course, Dewey. What is it?"

Louie watched as Huey paled and clenched his fists. Evidently he had decided not to tell Uncle Donald what had been going on, but Dewey seemed to have other ideas.

"It's just… ," Dewey looked to Huey, who shook his head slightly, eyes wide. Dewey deflated for a second before taking another breath and steadying himself with both arms crossed on the table. "Huey's been having really bad dreams every night for almost a month now."

"Really?" their uncle asked. His look of embarrassment had been replaced entirely with concern.

"It's not every night," Huey said meekly, "just every couple of nights."

"No!" Dewey said, a little too emphatically. He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly.

He must be even more tired than he looks, Louie thought. Now that he was getting a better look at him, Louie couldn't help but notice the shadows under his brother's eyes and the way he'd been leaning on the table since he'd sat down. He was still in his pyjamas.

"No, they only wake you up every couple of nights, but Uncle Donald, it's every night."

"Huey?" Uncle Donald asked, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Louie looked at Huey to see how he was reacting. He no longer looked mortified by Dewey's admission on his behalf, but rather resigned to the topic. His gaze was fixed on his lap where he was lacing and unlacing his feathers together quickly, which he always did when he felt bad about something. Now that Louie really looked at him, he seemed nearly as tired as Dewey did.

"Not really," he said. Louie was about to kick him under the table, but then Huey said, "but they're just so real, Uncle Donald."

"I knew these adventures were a bad idea," Donald muttered. "You're still too young." When that was all he said, Louie felt a weird sense of respect for his uncle for letting the three of them adventure as they pleased despite his own personal misgivings. Even if Louie didn't really see the allure of the whole 'danger and death traps' aspect, the treasure almost always made things worthwhile.

"It's just that… ," Dewey said, looking to Huey, "We were wondering… —"

"Do you think it could be a curse?" Huey asked. He sounded calm, but Louie could feel from where he was sitting that it was only on the surface.

"A curse?" another voice entered the room. "On a member of my family? Ah gey much doubt it," Uncle Scrooge said. He sat himself at the head of the table next to Webby. Louie also noticed that it happened to be the farthest possible seat from where his other uncle currently sat, but that could probably have been a coincidence. "Trust me, as far as dark magic is concerned, you wee bairns are covered fae tip to tail. It should nae be possible for any curse tae affect ye at all."

"Well, that's just not true," Huey said. "There was that time Dewey accidentally put on this weird samurai helmet that he and Louie were arguing over, and it tried to make them to fight to the death."

"What!?" Donald exclaimed. "When did this happen?"

"I did not 'put it on', it got magicked onto my head! It was when we were doing the yard sale for Huey's camping trip," Dewey said. "It was all possessed and junk, and it gave us these super cool outfits, but it also made us say things, which was super creepy."

Louie had to agree with his brother. He felt a chill run down his spine, remembering the sensation of someone else's words leaving his beak. Somehow it had been even worse than his body doing things he didn't tell it to do. It was not something he'd ever forget, nor was the cold panic he felt every time he remembered how very close he'd come to spending eternity like one of the creepy sculptures in Uncle Scrooge's gardens.

"Oh, and don't forget that time we all got turned to stone by the mystical mists of Moorshire!" Webby said. "Though technically, I suppose druids don't usually count as 'dark' magic."

Of course she'd had to bring that up too. It may have only lasted a few minutes, but that experience, coupled with the close call at the yard sale, had made even standing near things like statues extremely unsettling for him. He'd been having nightmares lately where it was impossibly difficult to move even a single feather, and he was never able to wake himself up from them.

Not that he'd ever tell anyone else that.

"Uncle Scrooge, I think we're going to have to have another talk later," Donald said. It looked to Louie like his uncle was barely containing an outburst, but he managed to hold it in all the same.

"Yer lecturing kin wait for another day, lad," Scrooge said, dismissing Donald with a wave. "We have bigger problems. The lass makes a fair point: Obviously, there are some glaring holes in your so called 'infallible defenses'."

Uncle Donald was turning a bright shade of red. "Well, they had a perfect record until someone started throwing the boys into danger on a daily basis!"

"Wait!" Dewey said loudly.

"What are you two even talking about?" Huey asked.

"Magical defenses, me boys," Scrooge responded, as if that were actually an answer. "Once ye dip yer foot in the world o' magic, it has a habit of following ye wherever ye may go." He looked across at the still-fuming Donald before nodding. "Now, Webbigail," he said, "will ye be a dear 'n' ask Beakley tae fetch the Relic of Hollow Bastion?"

Webby's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "Yes sir, Mr. McDuck sir! Does this mean we're finally going to tell the boys about magic?"

"Aye," he said. Uncle Donald was glowering at the two of them, his face unreadable.

"Wait, what now?" Louie asked. He didn't like not knowing where a conversation was heading.

"Why does Webby know?" Huey asked.

"Yeah," Dewey added.

She shrugged sheepishly. "Knowing about Clan McDuck is kind of what I do," she said, "and it didn't take much digging to realize latent magical ability runs in the family."

Scrooge sighed. "Yes, thank you Webby. And, technically," he added, looking thoughtful, "it's on the O'Drake side. Now, will ye hurry along and get that relic?"

"I know! And also—" she was cut off by Duckworth materializing directly in front of her. She seemed otherwise unfazed.

The triplets, on the other hand, all jolted back in their seats. The spectral butler was definitely going to take some getting used to.

"Oh, hi Duckworth!"

"Good morning to you, Miss Vanderquack," he said, bowing slightly. "I am sorry to interrupt, but I believe Sir has asked a favour of you? I'd do it myself of course, but you do know how your grandmother and I get on."

"Right, of course!" she said. "I'll get right on that!"

"Thank you, lass," Scrooge said as she skipped out of the room. "And thank you, Duckworth."

"Of course, Sir," he said. "Now, I shall go find something elsewhere that needs straightening up. I am sure the young masters have many things they wish to ask you." The ghost bowed again before vanishing in a grey cloud of smoke.

The five of them sat in silence for a few moments before the triplets broke it.

"So—"

"Many—"

"Questions!" Huey finished. He and Dewey both wore different looks of excitement on their faces, but Louie didn't share in it. Nothing paranormal ever sat well with him, especially not since they'd moved into the manor.

"Well, ask away then," Scrooge said. "Yae've got us both here."

"Does magic really run in your family, Uncle Scrooge?" Huey asked him.

"Are you a wizard?" Dewey asked him. "Are we wizards?" The two of them were practically bouncing in their seats.

"No, boys," Uncle Donald finally said. Although it was a little too loud and sudden, his anger had seemingly subsided. He was leaning on the table and looking down. "Nobody's a wizard."

Dewey and Huey looked to Scrooge hopefully, but he shook his head.

"It's true boys, Ah'm no wizard. What runs in me family is latent magical ability. We cannae harness magic, 'cast spells' per se, but it does give a powerful intuition and insight into things they without magic cannae perceive."

"Is that why Uncle Gladstone is so lucky?" Louie asked. He'd wondered if the 'Lucky Duck' gene could actually be hereditary. It would explain Dewey's weird golfing skills.

"No, that's on my father's side," Donald said, sighing and rubbing his eyes. Louie wondered why telling them anything about their past always seemed to physically pain him. "Through Grandma Duck."

"Aye, Coot Kin magic goes back generations, but is latent nonetheless. And yer cousin Gladstone happens tae have been marked by a lucky hex," Scrooge said. "He's quite literally cursed with it."

"Some curse," Donald muttered.

"So we're magic on both sides but it's useless?" Dewey asked. He looked sulky and tired again.

"Well, not entirely," said Scrooge. The triplets perked up while Donald stiffened in his chair. "If that were true, you two would nae have been able tae trigger the Headless Man Horse, nor the Deus Excalibur."

"Really?" Huey said, eyes sparkling.

"So we are magic?" Louie asked.

"Well, sort of," Scrooge said. "Ah suppose having a double dose of it in ye gives ye a powerful knack with magical artefacts. It took me years tae get the Excalibur to work for me, and Ah ne'er did crack that saddle."

"Wait, but," Huey said, eyes wide with realization, "if it's on your mother's side, and your father's side, and his mother is your sister," he pointed at their uncles, "wouldn't that mean… Uncle Donald?"

Donald groaned, "I hate magic."

"Aye lad, yae've got the right of it. The relic Ah've sent Webbigail after is frustratingly no more than a rather bonny baton in my hands. Yer Uncle Donald, on the other hand—"

"Has only a basic grasp on defensive spells because I have to!" Donald interrupted, shooting Scrooge a withering look. "It's not like you could have done it," he said quietly; bitterly. Louie wasn't sure if anyone else heard him.

"Which I will still ne'er understand, but tae each their own," Scrooge replied.

"Can we try the magical relic?" Dewey asked enthusiastically.

"Yeah, come on! I'll let you train me, Uncle Scrooge!" said Huey.

"Absolutely not!" "Nae till yae're older."

The two drakes answered at the same time. They looked at each other tersely before Uncle Scrooge said, "We'll talk about it later."

"So, who's Minerva Mouse, then?" Huey asked.

"Yeah, is that weird hat another one of those magic thingies we can use?" Dewey said. Louie wanted to kick him, but he was too far away. He kicked Huey instead.

"Wha—the hat?" their uncle stammered. "How do you—Dewey?" Donald accused.

"I didn't do anything!" he said. "Why do you always think it was me?"

"Because it always is you," Uncle Donald responded.

"No, it was me this time. I snuck into the back of the van," Louie shrugged. "I figure you don't get to be mad at me, since, you know, you've been keeping a ginormous secret from us our entire lives."

"Magic is nothing but trouble, and the only way to keep safe from it is to keep away from it," Uncle Donald said firmly.

Louie shrugged again. "Either way, I don't think now's the time for us to be discussing morality, hmm? Oh, and Uncle Scrooge, you should seriously talk to the post office about the lax security standards they seem to employ."

Scrooge looked like he was actually impressed by Louie, which was an odd feeling for him—unlike his Uncle Donald's current look of exasperation, of course, which he'd grown quite accustomed to.

"But who's Minerva?" Dewey asked again.

"That's your Aunt Minnie," Uncle Donald answered, referring to the wife of his best friend. Louie had only met the Mouses a handful of times when he was younger, but he could remember Aunt Minnie's laugh as clearly as if she were in the room when his uncle said her name. She was kind, clever, and she smelled like fresh strawberries and vanilla ice cream. Though it had been a while since he'd had one, Louie's happiest dreams were always the ones where she happened to be their mother.

Not that he'd ever tell anyone else that, either.

"She and Mickey usually ship personal mail under her full name," Uncle Donald continued, "since his is pretty recognizable."

"Wait a minute, is Uncle Mickey the Mickey Mouse?" Dewey asked.

"The guy with all the TV shows?" Louie asked. Mickey Mouse hosted both a morning show and one of the most popular evening news shows in the country. He also had an extremely popular late night show, which the triplets weren't allowed to watch (but did anyway). The boys had simply never put two and two together.

"Is that why we never see them anymore?" Huey asked. Louie thought it was a fair assumption.

"They're just busy," Uncle Donald said. "It's only been three years, boys. That's not that long."

"Okay, but, can we stay on track here?" Dewey asked. "What's with the hat?"

Uncle Donald looked hopefully to Scrooge, who shrugged and said, "That is the Hat of Yen Sid." He then gestured at Donald, evidently not planning on saying anymore.

"Mickey was given it by a sorcerer he apprenticed for for years," he said. "It's very powerful and very dangerous, so he keeps it hidden somewhere not even Minnie knows most of the time. Every year he lends it to me for a few days, though, so I can protect you boys."

"What do you mean, 'protect us'?" Huey asked. "How? From what?"

"Anything," Donald said tiredly. "Everything."

"Yer Uncle Donald has been casting protective wards on you three since ye were wee hatchlings. He ordinarily waits till a fortnight afore yer birthday, but with all the excitement we've been through lately, he thought it may be a good idea tae reinforce his safeguards a bit early this year."

"How are we just finding out about this now?" Huey asked them.

"I usually do it while you're sleeping," their uncle admitted.

"See? Now that's both creepy and something we definitely should have known about," Louie said. His brothers nodded. "You totally don't get to ground me now."

Scrooge gave him a wry smile and one of his brothers accidentally let a snicker slip. Louie figured it was Dewey.

"But you're gonna let us watch this time, right?" Huey asked.

Donald sighed. "Sure, why not? I suppose it's only fair."

"Right then, let's get this show on the road," Scrooge said. "Ah'll have Duckworth inform Beakley tae meet us in the salon outside the guest study."

"Wait, now?" Uncle Donald said. He was suddenly sitting up straight again and looking between his nephews' expectant faces.

"No time like the now, eh Donald? Unless yae're nae feeling quite up to it," Scrooge said. Louie thought he sounded more teasing than concerned.

"Of course, I'm up to it," he said indignantly. "It's just… ,"

"Please, Uncle Donald?" Huey and Dewey pleaded together. Louie still had his reservations.

Uncle Donald sighed yet again. "Fine," he relented, "I suppose it's been a secret for long enough."

Louie had never actually been in the 'salon' on the third floor of the manor. There were so many rooms to check out, and this one didn't even have a TV in it, so it wasn't really all that surprising he hadn't gotten around to finding it yet. The walls were painted a light blue and the soft carpet muted the sounds of the room. There was a heavy door in the corner which Scrooge said led to his guest study, but otherwise the walls were lined with bookcases and what Louie assumed to be priceless art. There was a view overlooking the gardens, which was probably quite pretty, but it was filled with entirely too many stone ducks for Louie's liking.

He promptly sat himself on a leather wing-back chair which was the only seat in the room with its back to the window. Huey and Dewey sat on the beige couch by the fireplace with Webby, and Mrs. Beakley was standing by the door. When Uncle Scrooge entered, she handed him something wrapped in purple and blue silk. Uncle Donald was leaning on the wall by the door to the study, still fidgeting nervously. Scrooge looked to his nephew, as if for approval, before Donald nodded.

"But boys, no touching!" he said sternly.

"Yes, Uncle Donald," they said. Webby laughed.

"Children," Scrooge said, carefully unwrapping the silks, "Ah present tae you the Relic of Hollow Bastion."

In his hands was thin staff with a long, golden handle. Its pommel was pointy and adorned with sky blue gems, and a brilliant yellow gemstone the size of an orange was embedded in its dark blue head. There were translucent lilac wings coming off the vibrant gem, and Louie wondered what they could possibly be made of. He also noticed that the staff was nearly as tall as he was.

Sounds of awe and wonder escaped all four children. Louie wondered what kind of jewels they could possibly be. He couldn't help but imagine how much that sceptre could be worth to the right buyer.

"Uncle Scrooge, where did you find that thing?" Dewey asked him, nearly squealing with joy.

"Well, the name's pretty self-explanatory, is it not?" he asked. Webby laughed again. "Ah didnae actually have anything tae do with this relic, though. This one was all yer Uncle Donald."

"Really?" Huey asked.

Their uncle shifted under the boys' eager stares. "An evil wizard I was fighting dropped it when I… when I defeated him."

"A bloody good thing yae did, too," Scrooge said. "Otherwise, Ah wouldnae be standing here right now!"

Donald cracked a fond smile. "That was a long time ago," he said. "It just started glowing when I picked it up."

"Yes, well, today is the day yae show off just exactly how far yae've come with that glow, Donald me boy." He turned to the kids on the couch. "Come along Huey, Ah believe you're first."

"Wait, what?" Huey asked.

"How come Huey gets to go first?" Dewey asked.

"Can't we watch?" said Webby.

"Aren't we just gonna do it here?" Louie said.

"Now lads," said Scrooge, "and Webby," he nodded to her, "Ah imagine what yer uncle is about tae do here takes an immense amount of concentration. He's ne'er even attempted this while ye've been awake before. Do ye really think it's fair tae make him deal with all three of ye at once?"

Dewey sighed dramatically.

"Yeah," Huey said, getting off the couch, "okay, I guess that's fair." He turned to look at his brothers reluctantly a moment before taking a deep breath. "Uncle Donald?" he asked, voice small. "Is it going to hurt?"

"Of course not, Huey," Uncle Donald said, smiling. He crossed the room to take Huey's hand. "I'd never hurt you boys."

"Right," Huey smiled. "Yeah, I know that. Okay, I'm ready."

It had been almost ten minutes since Uncle Donald had taken Huey into the guest study along with the magical staff thing. Uncle Scrooge had said he needed to take care of something business-related, but he'd assured them he'd be back soon. Mrs. Beakley had tried to take Webby with her when she left the room, but Dewey and Louie had asked for her to stay. Now, the three of them sat discussing the events of the morning while they waited.

"So, how long have you known about this, Webby?" Dewey asked her.

"Well," she said matter-of-factly, "I figured out that there had to be something magical going on with Mr. McDuck when I was reading his year-end finance report and stumbled upon his annual investment in protection from vengeance curses. I think I was seven at the time?" she paused for a second, thinking about it.

When the boys had been seven, they'd mostly been reading comics and beginner novels. Louie decided not to comment on this.

"Anyways," she continued, "nobody who deals with that much magic and lives to tell about it doesn't have a touch of it themselves. As for your Great Grandma Duck's side, I'd always had my suspicions thanks to Gladstone and his mother, but those weren't confirmed until today."

"What's the deal with Uncle Gladstone's mom?" Dewey asked.

"Her name was Daphne," Webby sad, sounding sad. "According to what I've read, she was just as lucky as he is, except it never seemed to bother anyone quite the way he does. Apparently she was kind, witty, and beautiful, and impossible not to love."

"So what happened?" Louie asked. He didn't like her tone.

"Well, one day," Webby said, looking around the room first and lowering her voice. Louie thought she was probably unsure whether or not she should be telling them this. "His parents went to a picnic for Daphne's birthday. Naturally, she'd won the all-you-can-eat passes through a radio contest she didn't even mean to call."

"Naturally," Louie agreed.

"Well… the thing is, neither Daphne nor Goostave survived it," she said slowly.

"Wait, what?" Louie said. His heart was suddenly racing.

"Did someone poison them?" Dewey asked.

"Unlikely," said Webby. "No one else was affected, and witnesses say there was nothing out of the ordinary. People like to say they died from overeating, but the official coroner's reports say cause of death was obstructed airways."

The boys stared at her blankly.

"They choked," she said.

"Both of them?" Dewey asked incredulously.

"Why are you reading coroner reports?" Louie asked.

"Was Uncle Gladstone there?" Dewey said. They couldn't imagine their carefree uncle having gone through something like that. It just seemed so very, impossibly unlucky.

"No, he was somewhere else at his own party," she said. "They share a birthday, you know. I think he was turning six. He didn't find out until that night when Elvira—that's your great grandma—broke it to him once all the guests had gone home."

"Wait, so Uncle Gladstone's parents both died on his birthday?" Dewey asked. Louie thought he looked like he might be about to cry. "That's awful! Who took care of him?"

"Well, after that, Scrooge's sister Matilda ended up taking Gladstone in. She and her partner had no children of their own, so they were happy to have him."

The boys were quiet for a moment. They had had no idea that their lucky uncle had also been orphaned, and in that moment Louie felt so bad for him that he wished he were here so that they could hug him. It must be terrible, Louie reasoned, to remember your parents. To miss them.

"Is it just me, or has he been in there a long time?" Webby asked. She and Huey had just finished starting up a fire in the fireplace, mostly out of boredom.

"No, you've got a point," Louie said, glancing down at his phone. "It's been twenty-three minutes. Uncle Donald only kept you for eighteen."

"That doesn't really surprise me," Huey said. "Uncle Donald kept asking me to sit still so he could concentrate. He didn't really feel like talking much, either. I doubt Dewey's being as understanding as I was."

Louie smiled, knowing how true that probably was. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the smouldering scent in the air. When the door had finally opened and Huey'd come out, Dewey had rushed at him with questions. He didn't look any different, they all instantly agreed, and, according to Huey, he didn't feel any different either. He had just shrugged and said it was 'kinda boring', before Uncle Donald came out and asked Dewey to come in. The look of determination on his triplet's face made Louie almost feel bad for their uncle. Louie'd also noticed that he was wearing the funny hat.

When asked for details about what had happened, Huey really didn't have much to say. "I just kinda sat on the desk while he read some words from a sheet of paper," he'd said.

"Did you get a good look at it?" Webby had asked. "Was it ripped from some tome of old?"

"No," Huey had said. "He wouldn't let me see. Said it was private. It just looked like it had been ripped out of some notebook, though. He's got it on a clipboard."

"That's it?" Louie'd asked his brother. "Come on, why does magic have to be so boring?"

"Well, the staff also kinda glows every time he stops talking," Huey had recalled. "And sometimes, it felt a little bit warm and tingly. But," he'd said, "all in all, it was pretty uneventful."

Now, the three of them were sitting around the fire, wondering what could be taking Dewey so long. Louie was picturing his brother bouncing around the room, demanding to have his questions answered, begging desperately to try the staff out for himself. He smiled at the mental image.

"You know, he really should have done you last, Huey," Louie laughed. "After dealing with Dewey for this long, it'll be a no-brainer for me to get some more answers out of him."

"Louie!" Huey said. "That's not fair. This is super important; you have to let him focus."

"Come on," Louie said, "isn't there more you want to know? I'll lay off once he shows me that clipboard. Maybe I'll even touch the hat."

"Louie," Huey said, exhaling his name in a way Louie recognized as a warning.

"Chill Hubert, I'll make sure I don't mess up whatever firewall it is Uncle Donald has running on us," he said. "I'm just gonna ask some more questions. If he didn't want to be exhausted while dealing with me, he should've let me go first."

"Maybe he doesn't have a choice," Webby added.

"What do you mean?" Huey asked.

"Well, magic usually has rules, right? Maybe he always has to do it in the same order: Huey, then Dewey, then Louie."

"Figures," Louie replied. He never got to go first.

Nearly forty-five minutes had passed by the time a very disappointed-looking Dewey exited the study. "How can someone manage to make magical powers so boring?" he'd asked, frustrated. Uncle Donald had simply pushed him gently towards the couch before sluggishly beckoning Louie with his index feather.

Now, Louie was sitting on the desk in the study and looking at the ceiling, trying not to think about the bust of Scrooge in the back corner. His uncle had told him that he wasn't going to be able to use his phone while this was going down, so Louie expected to be very bored, very quickly.

He looked again at his Uncle Donald, properly taking in his appearance. The stars on the hat, which Louie had previously seen as tacky and embroidered, now looked alive on his uncle's head, sparkling and swirling as if it were a window to the universe itself. Donald looked undoubtedly worn down and tired, but he also seemed to radiate an energy Louie had never felt before. He decided that that was probably what magic felt like, and mused on what it might feel like to wield it himself.

He was jolted back to paying attention when he felt a pale blue energy envelop him for a few moments.

"Gah!" he shouted in surprise.

"It's okay, Louie," his uncle soothed, voice strong and confident. "I'm just checking you for curses. They tend to leave a mark."

"You'd think Huey and Dewey would have mentioned this part," Louie grumbled.

Uncle Donald laughed. "Huey was too busy asking me questions and Dewey was pacing around the room the whole time, trying to convince me to teach him magic," he smiled. "I don't think either of them even noticed. This is the only spell you can see, anyway."

"Got it," Louie said. "So what's the diagnosis, Doc? Any cool magic scars?"

"Well, Huey was definitely right about that samurai curse," he sighed. "How did you boys get out of that one?"

"Huey saved us," Louie said. Saved me, he thought. "He stopped Dewey just in time. The spirit was confused because there's three of us, and apparently the curse was meant for twins. Anywho, somehow that must've broke it, because suddenly the weird armour disappeared and I was totally in control again."

"Oh Louie, I'm so sorry," his uncle said sadly. "That must have been awful."

He shrugged, trying to downplay the event. "I mean, it's Dewey. He's about as scary as a rubber duckie."

Donald laughed, "You're a brave kid, Lou. But," his voice turned serious, "you don't have to be. Adventures aren't always all fun and treasure; I know that better than anybody. I should have done more to protect you boys." He looked down at his clipboard angrily, as if he were upset with whatever was written on the page.

"Uncle D, it's fine," Louie said. He was starting to agree with Huey about not bothering the poor drake. "Now, are you gonna do your thing, or what?"

Donald readjusted his grip on the staff, inhaling and closing his eyes. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I don't have to have anything to do with magic for another year."

Louie was quiet for a few moments while he listened to his uncle speaking confidently yet quietly in words that he didn't understand. He figured he could probably ask Huey what language it was later. The yellow orb seemed to pulse with light as he talked, but other than that it didn't look or feel like anything was happening.

"Uncle Donald," Louie finally ventured after mulling the question over in his head for a while, "why do you hate magic?"

"Louie," Donald shook his head, not lifting his eyes from his clipboard, "I need to concentrate."

"I know, but—"

"Louie, please, this is important," he said.

"I know, but if it's so important, why did it have to be a secret? Why do you hate magic so much? What aren't you telling us?"

"Louie," he sighed, setting the staff and clipboard down and sinking into the desk chair. He rubbed at his eyes so roughly he may as well have been trying to push them back into his head. "Magic is never anything but trouble. The less you know about it, the safer you are." He paused again before adding in a whisper, "Someone always gets hurt."

Louie could feel that there was nothing more his uncle would tell him, so instead he diverted his attention to the clipboard he had set down. Looking to see if Uncle Donald was still lost in thought, Louie quickly snatched the thing and flipped it over. The page was divided into three columns which were filled with words in another language. Scrawled across the top were their three first names, and Louie couldn't help but grimace when he saw his own dumb name with its entirely too many Ls.

"Couldn't you have just written Louie?" he asked without thinking.

Uncle Donald's head shot up and he snatched the clipboard from his nephew's hands. "Louie!" he yelled, and then calmed himself. "That's private. A person's spells are their own business."

"I dunno, Uncle D, this kinda feels like my business," he said, trying to look as intense as he could muster, "and if you don't want me to walk out of this room right now, you should at least let me see what it is you're doing to us!"

Uncle Donald deflated, eyeing Louie and clutching the clipboard as if he weren't sure what to do. Then, he relented. "Fine," he said, turning the list over to Louie. "It's all in Latin, anyway. Go ahead."

Their names were written in a neat print that couldn't have belonged to their uncle, and Louie briefly wondered if their mother had been magic as well. As always when thoughts of her came up, though, he shut it out immediately. Under that in each column were words that made little sense to him. Different pens had been used and the handwriting changed slightly as the page went on, so Louie figured his uncle had been adding to it over time. While they were mostly the same, Louie had to wonder why they each needed their own column, and why not all the spells seemed to match. "Why are they different?" he asked.

Donald smiled. "Because you are three different boys. See here?" he said, gesturing to a line halfway down the page in Huey's column. "This one is for Huey's oak allergy."

"Huey's allergic to oak?" Louie asked, surprised to be surprised.

"Yep, not that you'd ever know," Donald said proudly, picking up his staff again. "You and Dewey are allergic to holly."

"Weird," Louie said. He didn't know how else to respond. "How come Dewey needs so many?" he asked. Looking at the page, Huey's list reached just over two-thirds down the page, while Louie only had a couple more lines after that. Dewey, on the other hand: His list extended all the way to the bottom.

Uncle Donald stiffened for a second before he smiled again. "It's Dewey," he said fondly. "He tends to need a lot more protecting." This made Louie snort with laughter; his brother did have a habit of diving headfirst into danger. "Now," his uncle said, "can I have that back?"

"Sure, Uncle Donald," Louie said, handing the clipboard back to him. He felt better about the whole thing now that he better understood it, even slightly. "Do what you gotta do."

His uncle smiled and got back to work. Louie decided not to bother him anymore and instead just focused on enjoying the warm sensation Huey had told him about. When he thought about it, it felt a lot like being hugged.

Oh my goodness, I had to cut it there! I still had another section or two I wanted to add, but this was starting to feel too long for my liking and this felt like a good place to conclude Louie's perspective.

So, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Hopefully my excessive use of references to Donald's other escapades and the extended universe didn't put anyone off, but I really enjoyed being able to work everything into my continuity!

Oh, and Casa Dourata is my attempt at a Portuguese pun, I guess! I took casa dourada, which is literally golden house, and rato which means mouse. It's a reference to the House of Mouse episode that had the Caballeros perform. I dunno, I think I'm kinda clever sometimes.

Now that that's all cleared up, I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter and that it won't be so long until next time!

This chapter has plenty of bonus points to award, so step right up and claim any and all non-DuckTales references and allusions herein!

Until then, reviews are scientifically proven to make me write faster ;)

All the best,

Shadow