DISCLAIMER : The characters and some events described in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute.

6: A strange kind of fortune

(August 1991)

Viola's birthday in August was a quiet affair. In previous years, there had been small social events each time. This year, they were a group of four – her sister, her mother, her aunt, and Viola herself – that sat around the old table in the once glorious but now shabby drawing room in their house in the Danish country and had tea together as they also did on so many ordinary days.

At least Viola had the opportunity to make music with others during the holidays. They met in an old chapel three times a week – two boys that visited the Durmstrang school and one young witch who had already finished school – and played. It was the young witch that, at one of these occasions, told them about an extraordinary opportunity.

'My father has many contacts, as you know. One of his friends is part of the Dragen Broderskab, and he asked far if he knew anyone who'd play at the julefest of the brotherhood. Far suggested us!'

The two adolescent boys howled with excitement, words like 'great' and 'gorgeous' coming from their mouths. So far, the quartet that was comprised of one cello, two violins, and one oboe had only played for family gatherings. Since their combination of instruments was rather uncommon, they had to adapt musical pieces that were originally written for a different instrumentation, but they were often commended for their originality. The others had often loudly fantasised about paid performances, but Viola always thought that she was not good enough.

She expressed the same belief, now. 'Play in front of hundreds of strangers? We're not ready for that!'

Three voices of disagreement met her exclamation. 'We're more than ready! You have no idea how many times people come up to me and ask me about us, about you! I'm studying music with Professor Bergström in Stockholm – do you really think I'd bother with this if it wasn't brilliant?'

Viola fell silent and dropped her gaze to the floor.

'On top, they offer to pay fifty galleons. To each of us!'

In the subsequent poll, she was outvoted.

The following months, the quartet met each weekend for an afternoon to practice. Even during school time they were given special leave to floo home for their rehearsals. The Yule party was a challenge for them, for they were asked to have a variety of European traditional folk pieces in their repertoire to give credit to the multicultural mixture of people within the brotherhood.

What the brotherhood was, was anyone's guess. Officially, they were known to deal with all kinds of magical creatures, breeding them, and selling their products. Behind closed doors, rumour said they were more than just business associates; an organisation of wizards with a special interest in the dark arts. That rumour stemmed from the brotherhood's leader's murky reputation. There was, however, not one incident known that supported these speculations. To all appearances, the Dragen Broderskab was only a federation of tough, and above all very successful, businessmen that were respected in society for their high work ethics (though that respect was mingled with some trepidation in company of a 'brother'), which was why Viola's mother happily embraced the opportunity for her daughter to earn some dearly needed money. Only when Viola repeatedly voiced her misgivings in relation to the concert, disclosed her mother to her that this was the only way that they would be able to pay her school fee (even though half of it was already paid by the Danish Ministry for Magic).

The actual event took place in the afternoon and evening hours of the 22nd of December. Their performance was scheduled for the late afternoon to take place in the Great Hall of a moated castle in the north of Denmark in whose chambers they were also invited to spend the night.

As Viola floo'ed in with the three others about midday, she stepped into an impressive study, its walls covered in bookshelves made of walnut wood, its windows half-covered by heavy, ruby-coloured drapes. Outside, the first snowflakes of the year were hurled through the air by a fierce, cold wind. The sound of children laughing and frolicking through the castle came in through the open door, while a medium-sized man stepped up to them in greeting. Had she been asked, Viola would have described him as a stout, athletic man that, despite his dark eyes and his for a wizard unusually short haircut that left her with the impression of a very strong-willed, sharp-minded, and straight-forward personality, welcomed them warmly and immediately struck her as very likeable.

Åge, as he said his name was, excused the absence of house elves (who were all occupied with meal preparations) and offered to show them to their rooms himself. Viola was fascinated with the shimmering red of his billowing robes as she followed him and also admired the fine black embroidery that adorned its brims. After a moment, however, her gaze started to wander. She marvelled at the wide halls, corridors, and stairwells that they strode through. Rich, colourful paintings, at least a dozen feet high, covered the walls, hundreds of people crowding each one of them, illustrating the Goblin Rebellion in Great Britain in 1612 or the famous myth of the Flight from the Dragon that had supposedly taken place in the early middle ages (8th or 9th century) in Norway and these days had become a tale every mother told her children as bedtime story. Indeed, all of the paintings' motives dealt with magical creatures in one way or the other. In one huge frame, all that Viola could see were the scales of a gigantic snake that glittered in the light of the corridor's torches as they slowly moved through the picture. She quickly hurried to catch up with her host, not eager at all to meet that creature face to face or – Merlin beware – eye to eye.

Eventually, Åge halted in front of a door and opened it. A spacious room with two beds and warming flames in the fireplace came into view. 'This will be the ladies' bedroom; the next door leads to the chamber for the gentlemen.' He smiled at them. 'As we are working in shifts today, some of us taking care of business, the rest enjoying themselves here, I would ask you to play for about an hour at two o'clock and once more at five o'clock, if that is agreeable?'

The blond oboe-player, the eldest of them, acted as spokesperson. 'Yes, of course. You said you wanted a potpourri of pieces of both classical and folk music but haven't given any more precise instructions – do you have any special wishes? Any concept of the order of the pieces?'

Their host shook his head minutely. 'You are the artists; I don't intend to reduce your creative freedom.' He shrugged. 'You will see that we are a colourful group of people. Men and women, and even a few children. Most of them are easy-going people that just want a bit of light entertainment that reminds them of their home country. Some, however, appreciate the fine arts. That is why I asked for diversity. Perhaps it would be best if the slower pieces dominated the afternoon session, while at tea time you played a few dance songs, to help the audience into a more cheerful mood, suiting the evening programme.'

'I see,' the blonde replied.

'If you don't have any further questions, I will leave you, now. Feel free to wander the castle. I will send an elf to fetch you at half past one, so you can prepare in the venue.'

They thanked him and turned to their respective rooms.

Viola placed her bag and her precious violin (that had been fawned over by her fellow musicians when she had first come to a rehearsal with it) next to one of two identical dressers and walked over to a window to open it. The house elves had been a little over-eager in piling up fuel on the fire so that the room was quite stifling. Looking down through the tumbling masses of snow, she took in the scenery of the lake that surrounded the castle. 'This is an amazing place,' she expressed her awe. 'I never thought I would ever stay in a castle like this. It's almost as in a fairy tale.'

The blonde smiled at her while she busied herself with unpacking, an occupation that seemed fruitless to Viola because she knew that she was going to leave in less than twenty-four hours. 'Yes, it's quite nice for a change. When I was younger, I spent many summers at my uncle Julien's in France' – her family was of similar blood status as Viola's, but far wealthier – 'but I would not want to live in such a place forever. It's too impractical. I prefer our mansion. At least there is always a house elf available,' she huffed and eyed the clothes in her hand.

Viola refrained from replying. There was nothing she could contribute to the conversation that would not either affront her companion or embarrass herself. She had been unable to find anything suitable in her wardrobe, not to mention buy something new for today's occasion. In the end, only the generosity of her mother in lending her one of her old but rarely used dresses had saved her from disaster.

Since they merely had an hour until they were to be fetched by the elf, the four of them sat together for some light rehearsal.

Viola's heart hammered insistently against her small chest as she sat there in the last minutes before they would play their first notes and watched the people slowly gathering and sitting down at tables of three to eight people each that were set with almond biscuits, gingerbread, and all kinds of other Christmas pastries. There were mostly men between twenty and sixty, well-built, and not as a general rule well-dressed, although some had given their looks some consideration and had exchanged their work gear (that reminded Viola very much of the man she had met during that Saturday afternoon near her school) with something more festive. Additionally, about fifteen or twenty women – presumably the men's wives – and a couple of children in varying ages talked animatedly with each other. All in all, Viola guessed, there were approximately a hundred people seated around them, but there were a few more males walking the castle's halls and corridors.

The quartet sat on a slightly raised platform in their midst that they shared with a huge Christmas tree, heavily hung with all kinds of sweets and a constant attraction for the children that were eager to relieve the twigs of their load, something that earned them reproachful looks from the fairies who sat on the branches in place of candles, giving off a glimmering light.

Eventually, their host stepped up to them to hold a short introduction speech that Viola in her nervousness paid little attention to. When he came to a close, her fingers trembled so much that she was certain she would not hit a single note correctly. Yet when her bow touched the string, all anxiety flowed threw her hand out of her body into the instrument and quietly dissipated there. She felt free and light, melting with the instrument and into the music. It had been love at first touch between the two of them – Viola and her violin. Everything seemed so much easier with this instrument than with her old one, and filled with the lightness that flooded her mind, now, the girl was unable to believe anyone could be happier. She had never felt like this before.

They had opted for dividing their hour into quarters; one quarter classical music, the next quarter folk, and so forth. Every once in a while, Viola dared to glance at the audience to assess their mood. As was to be expected at such an event, not everyone paid attention to the music. A soft murmur of conversation formed the carpet on which their songs danced. Yet some women and a few of the children and males listened intently, even displayed a small smile at some sections that seemed to especially please them.

The four musicians had improvised little bridges that led from one piece to the other, and during one of those, Viola's wandering gaze found the table of their host. He sat to their right, almost hidden behind the piles of small presents that lay beneath the Christmas tree, and had thus evaded detection so far. She glanced back at her notes out of habit although she knew everything by heart, and then threw another look at him, eager to learn if he liked their performance. Åge leaned towards another man whose sight shot an arrow of recognition through Viola's mind: it was the man who had complimented her on her play. So her initial thought that these people resembled him in their appearance had been well founded.

For a while, she had to pay closer attention to the music for they had reached a challenging section, then she dared a third glance in the host table's direction. Régis, as she remembered the man had called himself, had taken care to wear a robe of dark blue velvet over his animal hide attire. On his lap sat a small girl, snuggled up against his chest and wearing that same expression of being deeply enthralled with the music on her face that he had on his. Both of them had closed their eyes. That image made Viola smile. So Reg was one of the few men here who had founded a family.

They played the last two pieces. When their music faded away and they bathed in a fair amount of applause, Viola was once more swept away by excitement. She beamed at her fellow musicians and barely dared a few glances at the audience while she rose to her unsteady feet. The oboist hugged her. 'I need something to drink, now,' she commented and pulled Viola with her off the podium.

They almost collided with their host. 'Won't you join me at my table?' he proposed.

The oboist received a glass of elf-made, golden wine; Viola was offered some cherry juice that she accepted gladly, and she emptied it in one draught. The cold feel of the glass against her lips gave her an idea of how flushed she must look.

Only after she had taken a few deep breaths and had sunken lower into her comfortable chair, feeling the excitement slowly abate, did she take in her surroundings. She sat in the chair that a few moments ago had been occupied by the woman who she believed to be Reg's wife; the oboist sat on the chair he had been in. 'Where is Régis?' she asked, the residues of adrenaline in her mind robbing her of her usual inhibitions.

Her host looked at her interestedly. 'You are acquainted with each other?'

Still too riled up to flush more than she already had, Viola merely nodded meekly at the realisation that she had just given away something like a 'secret'. Yet, then again, there was nothing to it. He had merely joined her on a walk.

'He had to go back to work,' Åge answered the young girl's question. 'Would you care for a piece of chokoladekage?'

Their second performance of the day went even smoother than the first. Now, the excitement Viola had experienced during the first time had slightly immunised her to the stage-fright as if her body had decided that one extreme bout of nervousness was all it could take per day.

Half an hour after they had put away their instruments, a huge banquet started. Their host insisted that they attend, but of course with dozens and dozens of other guests, he could not pay the musicians much attention as it proceeded.

After an hour and a half, the chatter and laughter and clatter of plates and crying of infants overwhelmed Viola, and she silently slipped off to find a bit of solitude. Tired from the day's many excitements and dozy from the heat that emanated from the fireplaces, the girl elected to take a walk in the fresh winter air. She retrieved her (somewhat tattered) travelling cloak and went to find a door that led outside. After fifteen minutes' fruitless errantry, she finally spotted a house elf that accompanied her to the courtyard.

The coldness of the air shocked her lungs into almost denying her their service when she pushed open the old wooden door. In the cold light of the almost full moon, she could see her breath form huge white clouds. Hiding her bare hands in the depths of her cloak's sleeves and wrapping said garment tighter around her small body, she stepped outside into the night.

In the dark, she could only dimly make out the shapes of the courtyard. Some steps made of erratic boulders led down a small but steep hill that was covered in grass. On its foot, several big, old trees – mainly birch – stretched their twisted branches skywards. They surrounded a small pond. When Viola had descended the stairs, she spotted a bench on which she – after brushing off the snow – settled down.

A bird joined her after a while, picking grains from the ground that someone had apparently strewn there some time earlier that day. Shuddering, Viola drew in her legs, resting her feet on the brink of the bench and hugging her knees. She looked up to the stars, every once in a while seeing a shadow pass in front of them towards one of the towers. The owls must have their room up there.

Sometimes, Viola wondered. She lived in a magical world. Everyone could do the basic daily life charms. In the end, even though magic had some limitations (it was impossible, for example, to produce food out of thin air), almost every problem could be solved by it. And yet, there were still so profound differences between the lives of the people. Why did she have to fear being unable to pay the school fee, why did she have to wear tattered clothes and forego her beloved music lessons when other people could live like this? In a castle, with banquets, and fires blazing in their fireplaces, and wealthy enough to pay musicians for two hours of entertainment as much as her mother earned in two months of hard labour.

Where did these social distinctions spring from? Had her father been an untalented wizard? She did not know much about him. He had always kept all matters of importance from the children, probably also from his wife. 'Women have no mind for these matters' he had always claimed. 'All you have to concern yourselves with is marrying well and making sure to please your husbands,' he had lectured her and her sister. She had never dared to pose a personal question. Her instincts had always told her that she was below him; that she had no right to… Well, to do what? Get closer to her father?

Sadly, Viola could not say she held much affection for him. She had always wondered about that. Well, not always. Of course, he had not sent them to a Muggle primary school, as some poor wizarding families did since it meant free education. No, his children's education had been a matter of parental responsibility. Thus, before she had finally been sent to Beauxbatons, Viola had had little contact with other children and had thus had no opportunity to compare her family life to that of others. Only when the girls at school affectionately spoke of their 'papa' and the boys had boasted with the activities they had shared with their dads did it slowly dawn on Viola that perhaps something was not right within her family. It had taken a while to sink in.

Now that her father had left them, she asked herself what life would have been like if he had been a different person. What if, instead of emphasising pureblood dignity that dictated that he alone was to sustain the family, he had let her mother finish school and take up a job? What if he had not been so obsessed with the idea of a male heir? Had the stress he had put her mother under perhaps partly caused her bad health? Would she…

-A faint pop, barely audible had it not been for the absolute quiet surrounding Viola, wrenched her out of her thoughts. Quickly, she took her feet off the bench. On the other side of the pond, a dark figure appeared with its back to her. Scuffing its feet, it moved a few steps further away from her, turned around, and slumped down on a second bench opposite hers. A huge white cloud rose up from the man's mouth when he huffed and threw back his hair. From such a distance and in the dim moonlight, Viola could not be certain, but she thought she also saw vapour rise from the top of his head as if he were sweating.

'All alone out here, Miss Søgaard?' he suddenly asked, and she realised in whose company she sat. When she did not answer immediately, he went on by himself. 'Well, perhaps these banquets are not quite where a young woman of respectable parentage should linger for too long. Not everyone here has internalised the behaviour that is deemed appropriate in the company of a lady.'

Viola felt a strange sensation stir inside her. She – a lady. No one had called her that yet. She was always the little one. Even amongst her peers her opinion often did not have the same weight as others had. She was too petite, too quiet. She was considered sweet, perhaps, but people rarely paid attention to what she had to say. The thought of being called a 'lady' made her smile.

The girl peered over to her charmer, trying to make up her mind. Should she…? Slowly, she rose from her seat and moved over to him with measured steps. When she settled down on the far end of the bench, he rewarded her with a gentle smile. 'I enjoyed your little concert this afternoon very much,' he offered a compliment in welcome.

She returned his smile shyly, her hands clamped together. 'Thank you.' Eyeing his indeed still slightly steaming, somewhat tousled appearance, she dared to pose a question. 'You never told me with what kind of magical creatures you work…'

He smirked and reached into an inner pocket of his robes. The moonlight caught on the small phial that he held out to Viola.

She took it and, holding his gaze to silently ask for his approval, carefully unplugged the stopper. She was not a very good student when it came to Transfiguration, and neither did she have the mind for all the star constellations above them, but Potions were her forte. She immediately recognised the strong, sulphuric stench when she moved her hand over the flask to make the smell waft over to her nose the way she had been taught. 'Dragons! You work with dragons?'

'Quite obvious, considering the name of the brotherhood, I would say,' he commented dryly.

Heat rose to her face at the realisation of her own stupidity. She re-plugged the stopper and handed the dragon blood back to him.

'Admittedly, we don't only breed dragons,' he added. 'It started with them, but lately we have expanded into breeding several other kinds that are also in danger of extinction and highly sought on the market of potion ingredients. Still, the dragon reservations are our most prestigious project; and – in my view – also the most interesting and challenging.' There was a faint glimmer in his eyes that conveyed his passion for what he was tasked with.

'How… I mean… What exactly do you do? And how did you get the job?'

'Thinking about your career perspectives?' he looked at her meaningfully. 'Nice to hear you don't plan to just be some man's trophy wife.'

She felt uneasy at his bluntness and confused about the things he had interpreted into her question and looked away.

Unexpectedly, he stood up. 'I need to find a bite to eat. If you care to join me in the kitchen, I'll gladly tell you whatever you wish to know.' With that and a prompting glance, he strode off.

Viola followed a few steps behind him.

'I joined Åge about ten years ago,' he commenced to answer her question when he held the door to the entrance hall open for her. 'He was looking for young wizards with a sense for adventure at the time, and so I was approached by someone and took the job after I passed the probation. It's not an easy job, mind you. It consumes a lot of time and energy. In exchange, however, Åge takes great care to create a good working atmosphere, as you can witness yourself. We're almost like a family.'

The girl smiled at that. A makeshift family – that sounded kind of nice. That was an idea she could relate to. Seeking a new family amongst friends. There had been a time when she had been close to her mother. They both shared a passion for music. Yet over the last years, perhaps partly due to Viola's stay at the school, it seemed to her that they had moved apart. Maybe it also stemmed from her mother's changed situation, the hard blow of her father's disappearance, and the many hardships her mother had had to go through in her life. Her sister was nice and someone she could count on, but the two of them had very different interests. All in all, Viola sometimes felt pretty alone.

After they had walked through a short corridor, Reg pushed open a door and heat combined with the flavour of dozens of different dishes hit Viola with full force. With amusement, she watched as he walked along the long, circle-shaped row of pots and pans, lifting lids and sniffing food. Soon, two house elves crowded around him, trying desperately to learn what he wanted, yet he ignored them.

'The tiramisu was heavenly,' she suggested.

'Well, if you say so…' Their eyes opening wide at the joy of finally receiving an answer, the elves scurried away. 'And I could use a large plate,' Reg added offhandedly while he eyed the lamb. Immediately, one of the elves halted in its tracks and took off into a new direction. Five seconds later, Reg had his plate and filled it with an assortment of diverse kinds of meat and bakes. The portion with which he finally sat down at the table was quite remarkable. He sent a challenging look at the girl that sat opposite of him to comment on it, but she kept quiet. The piece of tiramisu that was served to him was enormous as well. A moment later, Viola found the same dessert in front of her.

'As to your second question,' Reg continued while attacking a piece of lasagna, 'the demands of my job are numerous and diverse. I am the head of the Romanian reservation, therefore I have certain administrative responsibilities. I control the finances, I choose and observe the personnel. Yet I also still work some shifts with them. The reservation is a magically sealed area in which the dragons can roam freely, but we need to make sure that they do not kill each other because of territorial arguments. We also look after their health, make sure they find enough prey, and collect whatever they leave behind – egg shells, scales, fallen out teeth or claws – to sell it to potioneers. Sometimes we give them a nudge if they haven't been breeding in a while or we have to rescue little ones that were abandoned by their mother and hand-raise them. Those are the only ones we can obtain dragon blood from, apart from the handicapped dragons that cannot live on their own because they would not be able to hold their ground against other specimen. These we tend to in a small extra reservation.

'Additionally, as you know, I take care of the trade insofar as it concerns raw ingredients. Åge, as a Potions Master, also processes them, but I rarely have time to help him with that.'

Viola savoured the tiramisu that had been refined with banana. 'And how many people work for you?' she enquired.

Reg abandoned the lasagna after eating half of it and turned to the lamb. 'About fifty people in Romania. In the smaller reservation in Sweden, there are about thirty-five more. With a shift only lasting six hours, we still rarely have enough staff.'

'Why only six hours?,' Viola asked as she put her spoon down and took a sip of the juice that had been placed next to her plate. She was thrilled to be allowed such a detailed glimpse into this unknown world.

'It is all I can ask of my men,' Reg explained. 'After all, those six that keep an eye on the big main reservation with the free dragons have to spend all the time disillusioned on a broom in the air, no matter the weather. The eight that tend the handicapped ones are on call and need to head out immediately when there is a fight they have to keep under control. And with twenty-eight shifts a week, each staffed with sixteen men, my fifty must each do about nine shifts the week. Only the toughest can handle that.'

'Oh.' Viola pushed a morsel of tiramisu listlessly around on her plate, her stomach being already full to the brim. 'It is no surprise, then, that so few of you have wives and children.'

Reg smirked, and Viola thought he probably deemed her too immature to trouble her mind with such concerns, that he thought she was too young to discuss the matters between men and women and her comment therefore was hilarious. 'Indeed, it takes a special kind of woman. Few of the men are charming, well-mannered gentlemen,' he answered.

'But you are,' Viola said before she realised what she was doing and slightly pulled her shoulders up in embarrassment.

The man opposite her, that had by then pushed his half-empty plate away and eyed his dessert, displayed a mischievous smile. 'Why, thank you.' In a quieter voice he added, 'Life sometimes strikes strange paths.'

Viola looked at him contemplatively. 'May I ask you something?'

Reg pushed a spoonful of white cream topped with dark brown powder into his mouth and motioned for her to go on.

'Your name is Régis, but you don't have a French accent. Your Danish is very good, but every once in a while it sounds a bit strange – where do you come from?'

Régis leaned back and folded his arms. 'Oh, I am Danish,' he assured her, 'but I am travelling a lot.'

'And you use other languages so much that they influence your Danish already?'

The man shrugged. 'Seems a logical assumption.'

Viola wanted to know how Reg's wife dealt with the business and presumably long absences of her husband, but seeing the way the man already seemed a little offended by her insinuation that his Danish was off (he had stopped eating and watched her intently, his arms still crossed in front of his chest), she thought such a question was too private. 'I guess I should go to bed, now,' she announced with regret. She would have loved talking to him some more.

He retrieved a silver pocket watch with fine engravings that the girl could not see in detail, and flicked it open to peer at the face inside. 'Perhaps you are right. I'll guide you to your room and turn in myself afterwards.'

Glad of his offer to accompany her, Viola beamed and thanked him.

As they walked through the castle, the sounds of laughter and music could be heard. It seemed the banquet had turned into a merry feast with dancing and flirting and a lot of drinking.

Reg took a turn to the right, and only a few steps later, when the sounds had disappeared from their listening range, Viola recognised the corridor that led to her room. He stopped in front of it and faced her with a soft smile on his lips. 'God nat, frøken Søgaard.'

'God nat,' she whispered and slipped into her room. Seeing that she was alone, she closed the door, leaned against it, and shut her eyes.

Notes concerning chapter 7

The name 'Åge' is derived from ÁKI: Old Norse diminutive of names containing the element anu "ancestor, father". It is pronounced 'oge' (as ogre without the r).

chokoladekage: Danish for chocolate cake

Thanks to all of you for the reviews!

Due to the new semester starting and the plot bunnies playing hide and seek with me, I'm going to switch to updating every two weeks from now on.

This was the longest chapter so far, by the way.

See that shiny link next to the speech bubble?

P.S.: I just noticed I've made a mistake - I combined chapters 2 and 3 to one as was suggested by Sveta, but that means that chapter 7 turned to chapter 6, and those of you that had already reviewed chapter 6 could not leave a review for this chapter. Mea culpa.