A/C: We've recently passed my 2/5 Year TLS anniversaries, and it's mind-blowing to see how far it's come. This story has over 1,000 users that follow/favourite it, and now has over 400 reviews! That's amazing! I can't thank you all enough for your support. This level of readership is really mind-blowing; especially for a story that started out as a personal and silly little one-shot. So thank you! Thank you all for your support!
Now, onto a touch of Comfort to counter the Hurt!
April 1993
Marcello was not looking forward to a return trip to England. The two years he spent there were full of cold, rainy days. A stark counter to the warmth of his family villa in Napoli. …A stark counter to most of the places he's travelled to, truth be told. Weather aside, the greatest reluctance to return had more to do with the purpose of the visit.
The contents of this message will burn after reading. So please read through it carefully.
Any message that begins with such a warning is one guaranteed to be troublesome; and that message proved to be exemplary of the notion. Whatever this trip holds, it's guaranteed to be a stressful and melancholic affair. Though at least the summons and transportation came with a silver lining.
"Travel by phoenix fire," his wife, Carmela, mused as she observed the red and golden bird waiting patiently on the window ledge. "This client of yours must be someone very important."
"Unfortunately so," Marcello replied. Satisfied with the final check of his trunk, he snapped it closed and activated the blood-bound lock.
Walking over to him, Carmela laughed. "Is it really that unfortunate, my love?"
"Anything that cuts my stay at home short is unfortunate, Cara." He hugged her close. The couple kissed, Carmela smirking as they did so.
"So that's all that's troubling you, Marcello?"
He grimaced slightly, mind flashing towards the message and the contents of his trunk. "This trip means having to navigate dark rituals, traumatized teenagers, and going to court."
Carmela gave a snort of laughter. "Not quite like fighting manticores and tracking nundus, is it?"
"I think I'd prefer that," Marcello admitted.
Carmela rolled her eyes. "My daring adventurer, quaking in fear of children and boring old men." She squeezed his arms gently. "You'll be fine, love. If it's truly that irritating, just find yourself an adventure while you're there."
The idea certainly intrigued him. "You wouldn't mind that? You'd be alone for longer."
Carmela raised a single eyebrow, head cocking to the door. In the distance something crashed, followed immediately by the sounds of shouting grandnephews being scolded by one of Marcello's sisters. More voices followed as the rest of the family came to investigate the disturbance. "…I'm sure I'll be fine."
"…Right."
The two left their embrace. Trunk in tow, Marcello approached the fiery phoenix. He took a moment to admire the bird, the way its dark eyes smouldered like coals and how the light of the feathers caught in the sun. "I'm ready." Metallic arm raised, he braced himself as the bird hopped and took hold of him. In an instant his body was consumed by flame. There was no spin, no pull at the navel. Instead his body was taken whole, encased fully in fire and light.
In scant seconds the light turned to darkness. The heat of the flames lingered, though slowly dissipated. Marcello fought against the sudden blindness, blinking, taking a step back -noticing that he can take a step back. The feeling of cold stone at his feet.
"Thank you, Fawkes," a voice spoke in the darkness. The phoenix crooned in answer. It hopped off of his arm, flying elsewhere and brightening the space as it did so.
Marcello turned to the voice. The source came from a child he hasn't seen in nearly a year. The year, it shows, hasn't treated her kindly. She was paler, now. Taller, yet somehow frailer. She watched him with bloodshot eyes that were marred with dark circles. Yet despite the appearance she offered the familiarity of a grateful smile.
"Thank you for coming, Mister Salvatore."
He gave her a nod. "Of course, Miss Bennett." Finding a lone chair in the small room, he sat down and observed the girl with careful, sharpened eyes. "Now that I'm here, it's time that you explain how, exactly, did this disaster happen?"
Ted Tonks shot out of his seat, gaping at a sudden, fiery entrance into his office. Before him stood two people and a brightly coloured bird who most certainly weren't there a moment before.
"…Melissa Bennett?"
The teen gave a short wave. "Hi, Mister Tonks."
His mind reeled. He had only just owled his reply this morning. Yes, he did advise her to come to the office as soon as possible. Still…
"How did you get here so quickly?"
She shrugged and answered lightly. "Apparated."
"But you're… you can't apparate inside of Hogwarts?!"
Bennett turned slightly upwards to the bird on her shoulder. "Wizard rules don't apply to phoenixes." She began to scratch the bird up its throat, causing it to purr hypnotically. The sound swayed Ted, it's magic pulling at him before the words had a chance to catch up with his consciousness.
"I see." He looked over to the man beside her. He knew the wizard vaguely. An acquaintance of Sirius' from abroad. Yes, he remembers now. A dark-magic specialist of some sort. Certainly a useful person to have around, if the letters he's received were anything to go by.
The man caught his gaze. Giving a quick glance to the witch and phoenix, he looked back at Ted and offered an apologetic smile. "You'll find this to be the least strangest part of the day."
Less strange than having a phoenix apparating people from Hogwarts? …Then again, with why he's been hired to represent Bennett, there's likely some truth to it. "Only one way to find out."
Marcello knocked on the door, only entering the room once given permission. He took a moment to assess his former student, simultaneously resting in bed yet looking utterly bored at the same time.
"Good day. It's been some time, so I'm not sure if you remember me."
With a smile, George Weasley answered. "Of course I remember you. Best defence professor we've had at Hogwarts." The comment warmed him as the boy continued. "What brings you here, professor?"
Marcello approached the boy, transfiguring a chair into existence as he answered. "I've been asked to see you regarding a sensitive matter, as well as an opportunity." He sat down, strategies forming before he continued. "How are you feeling, Mister Weasley? Both today and overall about why you're here?"
The boy still smiled, though now it was noticeably strained as he attempted to shrug. "I'm alright. Can't do much til the medi-witches say so, well- at least that's what they say. …Gets me a little stir-crazy though, to be honest."
"Understandable. And, overall?"
The smile faltered and faded. He didn't smile, but neither did he frown. "I- I try not to think about it. About what this all means." George glanced briefly at his stumped elbow before wincing away from it. "Mum's looking around for wands of anyone in the family that was left-handed. Just in case Dumbledore says I can- can come back."
"Very resourceful of her," Marcello acknowledged. He moved on, speaking slow and deliberate in his reason for being here. "That considered, there exists another option for you, if you're amenable to it." As he spoke, his hands moved in time, miming the act of an offering.
Watching the hands move, George's eyes widened in understanding. "You mean- I could-?"
"Yes," he answered. "Though, before you decide on it, there are four things you need to be aware of."
His mouth closed with a click. Eyes shining with hope, George spoke. "Okay. I'm listening."
"First- The procedure is painful. Attaching an arm is roughly as painful as losing one, in my experience." Seeing the boy nod, he continued. "Second, it cannot be done in Britain. I've spoken with my contacts, and they insist that your fitting and training all be completed in Morocco."
"Morocco?" George frowned. "That- an international portkey is really expensive."
"It is. Which brings me to my third point, this entire procedure is expensive." Hearing this, George frowned deeply. His hope was fading fast. "As well as the fourth, if you and your family are willing to consider it. Melissa Bennett has agreed to pay for all of it."
"Wait- what?" His eyes furrowed. "Why would she do that?"
"Out of a sense of responsibility and guilt," Marcello answered simply.
"Guilt?" George's voice upturned oddly. "Why? It wasn't her fault. Why not make that guy that possessed her pay for it?"
A brief moment of confusion followed, then Marcello stored away that useful perspective for another day. "As much as that would be useful, I'm afraid he isn't an option. So, Miss Bennett has offered to make the payment as it was her arm that swung the sword."
The boy's eyes narrowed. No doubt in preparation to fight back against the idea. Instead, Marcello continued and cut him off. "She was incredibly insistent on the matter. Stating that Weasleys are prideful and likely to reject the offer out of, quote "stupid gryffindor reasons", so she will need your help to convince your family otherwise."
Of course, stating "stupid gryffindor reasons" -coupled with wording it as asking for his help- are the kinds of remarks that can twist such people to redirect their pride. Not that Marcello has any intention of pointing that out.
George huffed at the remark. Pursing his lips, he leaned back and let the thought run through his mind. He glanced back at Marcello, eyeing the metal hand peeking out from his robes, biting his lip in thought. "A metal arm would be wicked… But, how does it work?"
With an encouraging smile, Marcello stood up and pulled up his sleeve. "Let me give you a demonstration…"