Chapter 3 is out! One more to go before Hogwarts starts!
Chapter 2 - First steps
It was the first time Ron realised how orange and dull the walls of his bedroom were; like really, really orange and dull. At this moment, the redhead was laying down on the bed, and he was bored to the death.
His mother had taken Ginny on a trip to the Rookery, where the Lovegoods lived, and the twins were out as they visited one of the friends they made at Hogwarts; his name was Lee Jordan, or something like that. Which meant that only he and Percy were at The Burrow for the afternoon. Well, them two and Gerd, truth to be told.
The Essentia, who shared his bored mood, had spent the whole afternoon looking at the Chudley Cannons posters the boy had in his bedroom. "Let me get this right, then," she started. "A single game can last for weeks? Don't the players have nothing better to do? I don't know, like a family to take care of, or something like that?" This was her umpteenth question about the sport—needless to say was the fact she had yet to acknowledge how awesome it was. "That is crazy. You, wizards, don't know what to do in this age!"
"Is not so extreme, Gerd," Ron replied from his bed, still looking at the ceiling. "The game ends as soon as the seeker captures the snitch; it doesn't matter how long it takes. Usually, games don't last more than a few hours, but the one which lasted weeks was an exception. I don't really know what happened that day, to be honest."
This was pretty much the sum up of his day—trying to explain to some ancient spirit why Quidditch was the best thing ever created. Yet she could not understand it; and much less how incredible it was the fact his team, the Chudley Cannons, were on a two games winning streak. How could anything be more incredible than it?
In fact, no one could; just as they could not understand the reason why Ron supported them with so much passion. And the truth was that he, also, really didn't know. It just felt natural. It had been like that since he attended his first game of Quidditch in a real stadium, with all the people cheering for their teams and the goals they scored. The Weasley family could not afford the tickets to a game—not for one person, and much less to the seven of them—but there was a time in which some friend from Arthur, his dad, gave them a few tickets for a game that featured the Chudley Cannons and the Puddlemere United; the very first and very last time the Weasleys attended a game.
Ron would never forget that moment. The game turned out to be a banger from the first second, and it lasted four hours, until the Cannon's seeker captured the snitch in one of the most epic moments the redhead could have ever imagined. They won the game by ten points, ending their losing streak, and the fans went crazy. All those shouts and cheerings were practically carved in his mind. There, Ron had felt more alive than ever, and when the players got down to thank the fans for their support he became one with the hooligans.
"You know what?" Gerd started, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Why don't we go down and pay your brother Percy a visit? I really want to see what he is doing. I mean, among all the people who live here, he is the one I see less. Oh, I swear I will never forget when, yesterday, your mother had to drag him out of his bedroom because he forgot to eat since he was so focused on that book!" That had been a great moment, indeed. Unfortunately for Percy, the twins would never let it go.
"If that's what you want," Ron sighed in defeat. He had been bored to the death, but even that was funnier than spending time with Percy and his books. "Most likely, we are gonna find him studying, since he has all these new subjects this year. Honestly, I just don't know how someone can enjoy spending so much time with their noses into a book. Utterly ridiculous, I'm telling you."
"Then you just gave me another reason to visit him!" Gerd exclaimed as she clapped her little hands; they made no noise, which, at first, Ron had found extremely weird. Now he just imagined the sound. "Let's see if we can make you learn a bit from him. It is about time you take your education seriously. After all, you will be attending school in a year and a half."
Ron sent her a side glance look as he walked towards the door. "Did Percy's spirit just possessed you? I swear you sounded just like him." He complained, yet thoughts of Hogwarts, the most famous Wizarding School in the world, came to his mind. He couldn't wait for his turn to go!
However, no matter how much he complained, the two of them walked out of his room. To be honest, deep inside him, Ron had always wanted to know what kind of pleasure Percy saw in his books and essays. It had to be something incredible, because, otherwise, he would not spend so many hours at it; especially, given the fact his hobby turned him into the victim of many of the twin's pranks.
And today, with Fred and George out of the picture, there would not be a better moment to find out.
After going down a few levels, Ron reached the door of his brother's bedroom and knocked on it. "It's me," he just said. It felt stupid to introduce himself when there was no one else in the house, but it was one of Percy's rules.
Well, Gerd was also there, seated atop of his shoulder, but her existence was a total mystery for his family. It had felt very weird having some ancient spirit, who only he could see, as a friend. Yet Ron really came to appreciate her friendship. With her by his side, Ron felt cleverer and funnier, for Gerd always loved to hear all the stories he knew and his jokes made her laugh like nothing else could. With her by his side, Ron could tell her all the things he felt bad or insecure about; things he would not ever tell his family about. No matter what the problem was, she always listened, just as she tried to help and give good advice to him.
"What do you want?" Percy's answer came from the other side. "You can come inside, Ron."
And so he did.
Just as Ron had guessed, Percy sat at the end of his bedroom, right under the window, where his desk was placed. His bedroom was the biggest and the best illuminated out of all—their mother had argued that he needed it to get the best marks. If Ron's room was so orange it hurt the eyes, Percy's was of a deep shade of grey, with some old, rusty bookshelves filled to the brim here and there; one next to his desk, the smallest right by the door's side, and the largest besides the end of the bed.
"What's up," Ron greeted his brother, though he didn't even bother to turn around. "Are you still working on that Transfiguration essay?"
That did the trick—Percy turned to look at him with a furrowed brow. "Of course," he replied. "I'm only halfway through it, but I might add more content once it is finished. This essay must be perfect." Only in the past week, Percy had mentioned a hundred times how important his essay was. He had always respected all the authorities, both from Hogwarts and the Ministry, but there was one figure above all: Minerva McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor and a Professor at the school.
"Why is it so special?"
"It is not," Percy answered, confused. "It is as important as any other. However, I'm in my third year now, and the OWLs are getting closer and closer with each week. I need to be ready for them. It is the only way to get a good job at the Ministry."
There it was once again, the Ministry. It had always been Percy's dream and ambition; the only brother to have it, let it all be said. Both Charlie and Bill had been eager to leave The Burrow and the country in search of their dreams; the first one to tame dragons in Romania, while the second worked in Egypt as a curse-breaker. The twins always talked about this dream of theirs to make a living from creating their own prank items. And then there was Ronald, who had no idea of what he wanted to do; in truth, Ron had yet to even think of it. The future looked to be so far away that he wasn't worried. When the moment came, he would know what to do, or so he hoped.
"I like him quite a lot," Gerd said, suddenly. "You should be more like him." Among all the Weasleys, Percy was her favourite one. The Essentia used to say they were very alike; at least, in terms of their thirst for knowledge. However, to Ron, they were very different—Gerd was just too lively and mischievous.
Although Gerd always nagged him about his lack of enthusiasm about obtaining knowledge, as she used to say. Because of that, Ron decided it was time to ask the question. "Tell me, Percy, why do you like studying so much?" He was really curious about it, there was no denying of that.
The question made Percy open his eyes in surprise. "What? Why are you asking me that?"
"Well, to be honest, I've been very bored here since the twins started their first year in Hogwarts, and also, I've always wondered what was so interesting about it that made you so keen on it."
Something sparkled in his eyes. "Are you serious? I mean, you cannot imagine how long I've been waiting for you to inquire about this, Ron! I was starting to think that I would be the last Weasley to take his studies seriously. It might be a little too early to judge Ginny, but, oh, there is no saving for the twins!"
Ron raised his hands in protest. "Eh, it was just a silly question, Perce. Come on, chill a bit."
Percy, instead, ignored him. "Do you remember the first time you flew a broom? That rush of emotion you felt when you were in the air? Well, that is what I feel whenever I learn something new—whenever I can take my magical skills to the next level."
"Come on, Perce," Ron laughed out aloud. On her behalf, Gerd, who now gilded around the older Weasley, just sent him a disapproving look. "There is no way you just compared flying to studying."
"For me, it is," Percy said with a serious voice. "Let me use another example, then. Do you remember when you couldn't win a single game of chess against Bill? Tell me, what did you do to change that?"
"Well, I read some books about the game and asked grandpa some doubts I had."
"And where did that take you?"
"I finally won a game against Bill. It took me almost a month, but I beat him fair and square."
"How did you feel when you won?" Percy went on with his barrage of questions. "Did you feel good about it? Maybe, satisfied because your hard work made you improve?
"Of course," Ron answered as if it was the most stupid question in the world—who on earth wouldn't feel good about winning? "It was the first time I won. I will never forget Bill's face, that I can tell you."
"Well, there you have it," Percy smiled, triumphantly. "That rush of happiness, that rush of satisfaction, is all I feel whenever I learn a new spell or when I get complimented due to my good work. That is how I feel whenever that said knowledge allows me to perform a kind of magic I couldn't do before."
That made a bit more sense. Still, Ron had yet to fully understand his brother's reasoning. "I mean, I kind of get it. But, I don't know, to me it seems you are exaggerating it way too much."
Percy just let out an exasperated sigh, yet he didn't give up. "Look, I'm going to tell you something that happened to me back during my first year of school. It happened at the very first class of Transfiguration, the day we all met Professor McGonagall. She asked us to transfigure a match into a needle— can you guess what happened?"
"You made it?"
"Of course not!" Percy huffed. This version of him looked so different to the distant and solitary brother they all knew. And Ron liked this better. "Nobody could do it— not me and neither one of the Ravenclaws with whom we shared a period. In fact, Professor McGonagall told us she did not expect for any of us to succeed on the task, for Transfiguration was one of the most complex branches of magic. We would need a few more lessons, and, most importantly, we would need to work hard. You know what I did, then?"
"Let me guess, you studied?"
"Yes. I studied about the wand movement, I read about the most basic notions of spell casting and Transfiguration. However, despite all my efforts, I could not make it in the next class. Though it did not stop me, so I kept working and working, and finally, in the third lesson of the year, I was able to turn the match into a needle. I was the first one of my promotion, and McGonagall congratulated me in front of everyone, just as she awarded Gryffindor ten points for the House Cup. You just cannot imagine how happy I felt that day." He took a moment of pause, as if remembering that day, and gave a hint of a happy smile. "Now, can you finally see what I was on about?"
Ron took a moment to think of an answer. "More or less, I guess."
"You may ignore it, but magic can be used for every task," Percy continued, way calmer now. "And excuse me for the expression, but, hell, even the twins study a lot. Not for their academic record, I'm afraid, but to improve their prank items. The worst of it is the fact that those two are very intelligent. If only they used their brain to prepare for their future…"
Ron felt the urge to pip in. "Wait a moment, did you just say that Fred and George study?"
"Of course they do!" Percy nodded in response. "They started to take it seriously after their first week of classes, or so I believe. Trust me, you cannot imagine all the possibilities a better understanding of magic gives them to craft their prank items."
"Woah," Ron whistled, surprised. "Definitely, that was something I wasn't ready to hear." If the twins thought studying was necessary to get better at magic, then it meant there was no better way. If Fred and George studied, and if he knew about their secret now, maybe, they wouldn't give him so much trouble, right? "I can see your point, Percy, or so I think. Say, could you lend me some books or some of your notes from the first year so I can give them a look as you all go back to Hogwarts after summer? I have nothing better to do, and I might give it a try. No promises, though."
Percy's eyes sparkled with joy. "Sure, I can! Trust me, nothing would make me happier. I did not lie when I said that I feared you were going to follow the twins' path."
At some point in the conversation, as he had paid no attention to her, Gerd had moved from Percy's side to hop back onto his shoulder once again. From the corner of his eye, Ron saw the triumphal smirk the Essentia wore on her face as he nodded at the older Weasley's words.
"Unfortunately, I cannot give you my books from the first year, because, well, you know, the twins got them," Percy went on. As it always happened when the matter of money got brought up—the lack of it, better said—his face grimaced quite evidently. "However, I can give you all my notes from back then. I know I should not say this, but they are quite good. Excellent, I might add, even better than those of the books since I wrote many of the Professors' opinions on them. Ron, if you take it seriously, you will start your first year with a very strong base; much better than mine, in fact."
"Perhaps, you need to cool off a bit," Ron tried to calm him with some exasperated huff. There were very few things that could make his brother's eyes shine as they did at the moment, but, oh, studies were one of them. "I'm doing this because of how boring The Burrow gets when you all are gone. I don't even know whether I'm gonna like it or not."
"You will, of that I'm sure." At least, Percy didn't look so enthusiastic anymore; maybe, happy would be the correct word. "It will be hard at first, but you need to trust me that it will get better with time. If you try, even if it is just a little effort, you will enjoy your first year much more. There are plenty of students who get frustrated because magic can be very difficult to learn when there is no knowledge about the basics. To put in the hours is the only way, Ron."
If Percy was so sure of it, then it would be as he said. He would never lie, and much less, he would never be wrong about something. "Thanks, Perce. You may have saved me from many hours of boredom."
"It's nothing. I'm quite happy about the fact you decided to follow my steps rather than the twins'. I will look for my notes—you'll have them before the summer ends."
Ron's stomach growled in protest, and the boy decided it was time to end the conversation before Percy could introduce him to the world of books and studies. Gerd sent him a disapproving look as they walked out of the bedroom, of course, but the redhead shrugged it off with ease. At that moment, eating was of the utmost importance.
"This was the happiest I've ever seen your brother," Gerd commented as they went downstairs.
"I guess so," Ron answered. Percy had always been the most reserved and solitary out of all the Weasleys; the other genius of the family, Bill, was the complete opposite of him. The twins often mocked him about the fact he spent so much time with his nose into a book, and both Charlie and Ginny had practically nothing in common with him. "He was quite enthusiastic about it, that's an understatement. Hell, he made me nervous! I thought he was gonna make me read an entire book if I stayed a few more seconds!"
"It can take so little to make others happy," Gerd said as she hopped down from his shoulder. Instead, she just glided around him, in circles, again and again. "Now that you have finally decided to take your first step into the world of magic, I will finally be able to talk to you about very fascinating things! Though I will need to wait a few more years—you still are far too silly to understand my vast knowledge."
"Of course," Ron huffed, ironically. "I wouldn't expect less of the great Gerdnyaram, who was born a genius!"
"Don't be like that," the Essentia smirked. Ron tried to slap her away, but that damned spirit was too fast. "It is true that I am very intelligent and wise, but do not worry about that, you can always be second after me."
"The twins say Percy is the most insufferable person they have ever met, but I think they would change their mind if I was to introduce you to them." Gerd just stuck out her tongue at him, mockingly, and it got worse the moment Ron failed to slap her again; that damned woman could predict his movements!
And so, Ron just ignored her silly remarks about him and ventured into the kitchen, a large room with old, wooden furniture covering every inch of the white walls. There was a long, rectangular table in the middle—maybe, the most worn away piece, with hundreds of scratches on its surface—and over it a pair of sandwiches had been placed. Please, I hope it's not corned beef again. Much to his dismay, it was. Come on, not again. However, his stomach roared once again. This time it was loud enough for Gerd to laugh at it, and so, the boy decided a sandwich of corned beef would need to be enough.
Purebloods were people of tradition, and so, like every Christmas or New Year's day, one of the most powerful and wealthiest lords from England had organised a ball to celebrate life or whatever the hell the guests wanted. The previous year—the most awful one, in Alex's opinion—had been lord Lucius Malfoy's turn, whereas today, it was no other but lord Thomas Greengrass who had hosted it; the richest man in the country, and probably, among the seven wealthiest bastards in the world.
These kinds of balls were one of the most anticipated and important events within the pureblood society in England, which had one of the closest policies in the world. Because of it, those foreign families that shared their wealth and power refused to form any kind of bond with them. Was there any reason behind that fact? Yes, the war and the man who started it, a dark lord who had been known as Lord Voldemort.
Most of the countries still blamed England for his acts; because the Ministry could not stop him before his influence could reach every corner of the globe. All over the world, his name still was feared, just as his followers were persecuted. However, it paled to what happened in his country of birth. There, people even refused to pronounce his name aloud. Alexander Shawn could understand them, yet he did not share their fear. Some might have called him a fool, and maybe they were right, but how could he fear a man who died when he was just a one-year-old infant? What damage could cause a corpse?
Whispers of nearby conversations reached his ears as he strolled around the enormous hall of the Greengrass' manor. Its walls were large picture windows, which allowed for the moonlight to seep through and with great views to the beautiful gardens; the ceiling, a very elegant dome, of pristine marble which curved upwards and showed carvings of feats accomplished by the House's ancestors; like a mirror image, the floor was made of large slabs of a darker shade of marble, almost grey, which reflected the pale light that illuminated the room. All over the place, there were large tables, which presented a hundred of different kinds of dishes and beverages to the guests, covered by a white tablecloth; in the middle of it, there was sewed the coat of arms of the Great House of Greengrass: a dense oak of dark, green leaves over a grey background.
"Theodore, my son, will attend Hogwarts in the very near future," lord James Nott told a friend of his.
"I heard that Amelia Bones was not invited," lady Maria Zabini said to lady Beatrice Parkinson. "Greengrass wanted to invite her, but it was Lucius who meddled in the matter; some debt owed to him, I've heard."
Even when they were alone, purebloods could not avoid making enemies among their kind—such was the power of money and influence. On that part, their society did not differ from the one in America.
Suddenly, a tall, thin man who wore a very elegant suit—black and embellished with red ornaments on the neck and sleeves—got in the boy's way. "Alexander Shawn, I presume," he said. If Alex remembered correctly, his name was Cyrus Selwyn; a former Death Eater, those bastards who followed and acted in Lord Voldemort's name. "I was wondering if your father will make an act of presence some day in the future. It has been long since lord Elend last appeared in his country of birth, and I would love to discuss some business of mine with him."
"I am afraid that is a piece of information I am not aware of." Alex tried to not sound as dry as he believed his voice gave away. He hated these events, yet his father obliged him to assist in the name of the Great House of Shawn. The only prominent House that still formed bonds with those of England. The only exception to a non-written rule. It was important to make allies and to remember those who once made enemies of the Great House of Shawn that they still stood proud; or so his father had told him again and again.
Allies, powerful allies, that was all they needed. That thought made the boy walk away from lord Selwyn—after bidding farewell with a subtle bow of his head, of course—so he could stare at the entrance of the hall, where lord and lady Greengrass welcomed their guests with Daphne, their heiress and first daughter, by their side, as per tradition.
Lord Thomas was a tall, thin man with long limbs and sharp, tanned features. He wore black robes, made of the best silk, with green ornaments in the neck and the wrists; of a dark green colour and following a pattern of leaves, it was all he needed to represent the colours of his House. To his right stood his wife, lady Anna Greengrass; formerly known as Larsson before their wedding, she was a member of the most important House in Sweden, and one of the most beautiful women Alex had ever seen. Of fair skin and hair, accentuated by the long, pristine dress she wore for the night, which almost touched the floor and with long sleeves that went down to the hands, her presence illuminated the entire hall. And then, standing at his father's left there was Daphne, a girl who had inherited her mother's beauty and bearing; they were almost identical, but the daughter had sharper features and her hair was a darker shade of blond.
However, she was not as good as his father at hiding her emotions under a mask, and it showed very well the moment one of the guests walked away from them; her face just could not hide the fact the girl did not want to be there. Like him, Daphne was not the most enthusiastic girl about these events; maybe, because of that, she was one of the very few pureblood children of his age that Alex liked to be around with. However, she was a girl, and Magic knew there was not a single thing in this world which was harder to understand than girls and their antics.
Suddenly, it was lord Lucius Malfoy who strode into the hall; accompanied by his son, Draco, who wore the same black and red coat as his father. There was not a single family Alex hated more than then, and so, he deviated his eyes from the place where they got welcomed.
With a quick look around he realised many wizards and witches already were on the move—some little groups had formed, a very common thing in these events, so the guests would start to show their true colours. On the one hand, there were those lords who stuck with their allies so they could look stronger to the eyes of their rivals; after all, power meant nothing if you could not prove you had it. However, there also were those who tried to implicate themselves with others in order to form new alliances; whether it was money, power or new business opportunities was something only they knew.
Then, on the other hand, there were those heirs and heiresses from prominent Houses, who had already formed social circles within those of their age; all at their parent's request, of course. And that meant Alex was no exception.
With some exasperated sigh, the boy walked towards those children of his age; though he quickly corrected his stride, for he needed to look confident and proud, like a true Shawn would. In fact, it could not be more evident to which House he belonged. With robes of a light blue and golden thread at the neck and the sleeves—the colours of his House—the coat of arms, sewn over his left chest, shone by itself. A golden phoenix with two black swords crossed behind it. Majestic and proud like no other House.
Indeed, appearances were something very important to keep.
Pansy Parkinson saw him coming, and that irked him greatly, because he had lost the surprise factor. And, of course, ever the boot-licker she was, Parkinson whispered the information into Malfoy's ear, who turned around to look at him with an arrogant smirk on his face. "Look who do we have here," the boy started. "I thought you were back in North America, Shawn." Those two would never lose their place atop of the list of the most disgusting people to ever take a breath.
Alex just smiled back—he also knew how to play that game. "That would be such a discourteous move on my behalf. Lord Greengrass sent an invitation to my father, and he sent me here in his name, for he was too busy to leave the country."
"Indeed, it wouldn't be your wisest move," Nott nodded both in response and as a greeting. He was a weedy boy with raven-black hair, half a head taller than every other boy in the group. His father, lord James, had been one of the first Death Eaters to plead for his innocence, arguing that he had fallen victim of the Imperius Curse. It was utter rubbish, and everyone knew it. During the war, lord James had been one of the cruellest and most vicious soldiers in the army of Lord Voldemort; a member of his inner circle. He loved fighting and killing, both muggle-borns and purebloods who opposed him. In fact, the man made so many enemies that, a few years after the war, his wife was killed in cold blood in the middle of Diagon Alley by a wizard who fought for the Order of the Phoenix.
Many would say it was poetic justice.
Pansy opened his mouth to speak, but Blaise Zabini beat her to it. "I know many years have passed since you last lived here, but is there any chance you will attend Hogwarts with us? My mother would love to know about it. I think she had a business to discuss with lord Elend." He was a silent boy of dark skin, and the only foreigner of the group. His House was famous because of his mother, who had already wed four wizards, each one of them wealthier than the former, and each one of them shared the same fate: to die under mysterious circumstances. People were free to think as they pleased, but Alexander could imagine from where his mothers's wealth had come.
"I will attend Ilvermorny."
His dry answer solved all the doubts, and, once again, all the heads turned to look at Malfoy, who held the power of the group. The Great House of Malfoy was the family with the most influence at the British Ministry, and that made the group pivot around Draco. Some, like Crabbe and Goyle, stuck to his sides like a pair of obedient buffoons; after all, it was all those idiots could ever hope to accomplish. There also were others like Pansy, who always tried to get Malfoy's attention. She did not belong to a prominent House, and so, it was her only chance to become the female leader of the group, a title Daphne held over her.
Malfoy just shook his head as he ate a canape. "This is good," he approved. "Better than usual, at least. Eh, Bulstrode, do me a favour and don't eat them all, okay?" Crabbe and Goyle laughed at the cruel remark, even though they were not the most adequate people to enjoy the joke given their constitution, while the girl just ignored it as she lowered her head.
Millicent Bulstrode was a bulky girl who had not uttered more than five words in her entire life; at least, in front of Alexander. She was the only half-blood in the group, and probably, in the entire party. That made her extremely special, and not in a good way. However, her father, lord Robert, had been a very important member of Voldemort's inner circle, though there weren't any reports about his role in the war at Shawn Manor's library. It was his reputation that allowed her daughter to assist these events—it was his reputation that saved her from being an outcast.
"Seems like the whole gang is reunited once again, eh?" A new voice piped in from behind, a high-pitched one. It seemed Daphne was finished receiving the guests, and she certainly stormed into the conversation to assert her place. "Even our dear friend from across the ocean came to visit us, how nice of him." To others, those words might have sounded a bit disrespectful, and maybe, given the fact there were others to hear them, it was not the best idea. To Alex, it was pretty evident Daphne wanted to mess up with him, and also, to use him in order to assert her dominance.
Much to his exasperation, Alexander just allowed her to get the last word—the last thing he wanted to see that night was a smug Pansy and an irked Daphne fighting for the head of the group. If there was something worse than the lords' game, it was the ladies'
The blond girl changed the topic as soon as it was clear there would not be a response from Alex. "I have just seen your mother, Blaise. She asked me to find you. There is someone she wants you to meet."
Those words had a lot of meaning behind them, given the background of Blaise's mother; though the real question was who would be crazy enough to attempt something with Maria Zabini. A lot of surnames had been added to her collection, just as many as husbands she took, yet she always came back to her original name; wealthier than before, of course.
Blaise just stood up with a sour grimace on his face; it must not be pleasant to meet the man who would court your mother, much less if that happened once or twice a year. In the end, he just walked away without uttering a single word.
Though Malfoy did it, certainly. "Blaise's mother strikes again." Those gorillas he had for friends let out loud guffaws at the joke, while Pansy's ever-present smirk got wider. Such was the dynamic of this group, to laugh at each one's back at the first chance given. Some, like Goyle of Crabbe, took it as best as they could, for there was nothing they could do, while others, like Parkinson or Nott, would just chin up, as proudly as they could, and wait for their opportunity to get their revenge.
To those who were not raised in pureblood families, this kind of relationship between children who had yet to attend school might appear to them as something unnatural. However, this was the way heirs and heiresses from prominent families were raised; politics and socials came before the study of magic. Not only was it needed to prosper in the Wizarding World, but also to survive in its high spheres. Today, in this event, there was no child around—just heirs and heiresses who wanted to make their parents proud.
Sat on a couch at the corner, Bulstrode took a timid sip from her glass of juice, while Daphne just rolled her eyes due to Parkinson's clingy behaviour. On his behalf, Nott just stared at another group of older children with dead eyes. This group had no future, and they all knew it.
Fortunately, a surprise guest would come in Alexander's aid.
Adrien Dorian, his step-brother, had come out of nowhere, in his search. He barely acknowledged the other children; just a subtle nod of his head in Malfoy's direction. That irked the blond boy, and it put a smile on Alex's face. "Alexander," Adrien began. "Your mother and lord Greengrass have something they want to inform you about. Something important, I must add. Do not make them wait."
Adrien was the first and only son of lord Paul Dorian, an important French pureblood lord who married Alex's mother, Athena, when she and his father decided to part ways. He was three years older than him, and from what Sophie had told him, Adrien was a nice step-brother to her. I was all that mattered to Alex, though his relationship was nothing but formal.
"Well, I think this is farewell time," Alexander just said with an ironic tone he could not hide. "I was having so much fun here, but when duty calls, one must answer." He did an exaggerated courtesy before walking away. Oh, how he wished to turn around to observe Malfoy's reaction!
"That was uncalled for," Adrien sighed as he walked by his side. "Malfoy didn't look very happy, to say something."
"Really? That's such a shame."
"I'm not sure if your father would have approved that attitude of yours, Alexander."
"Well, then I'm quite lucky that he ain't here to see it, right?" If relationships were so important to Elend Shawn, then, maybe, he should see to it personally; of course, that was only Alex's opinion. "The only reason why I'm still here is because he's so busy with work to make an act of presence. Also, the only reason why I'm still here is because he probably forgot to send one of his men with a portkey. So, pardon me if I do not exactly care about what I say in front of the heirs and heiresses of other Houses."
Adrien just raised a brow at him, impressed. "Wow, you are rather moody today, eh?"
Indeed, he was; and as so, he didn't want for the conversation to continue. Just a faint growl was all the answer the boy gave. However, Adrien did not share that commitment. "Look, there they are," the French pointed ahead with a move of his chin. "I know this is the last thing you wanna do right now, but, please, don't be such a jerk in front of lord Thomas. It will cost your House greatly."
Yes, as the heir to the Great House of Shawn, he had a duty to compel. And damned be his name if he failed at the verge of it just because he could not contain his tongue! Without saying a word back to his step-brother, Alexander just walked forward to meet those two persons who were about to make his headache even worse.
It was lord Thomas who saw him first. The man just sent away some lady he was talking to as his head turned to look at Alex; needless to say was the fact that said lady walked away with a very sour look on her pretty face. Just a nod of his head was all the acknowledgement Alex received from the pureblood lord; just as he had expected.
Instead, it was his mother who did the talking. "Alexander," Athena began. "Lord Thomas has a very interesting proposal for your father; that of a very prosperous business. And since he asked me to act as a mediator between your families, as a favour I owed him, I decided to accept." Indeed, that explained why she took part in the matter. After all, to say his parent's relationship ended badly would be to put it short; very, very short. Honour to the end, honour before all.
"Your lady mother explained it perfectly," lord Thomas cut in. The fact Alex had to look upwards to stare at him eye to eye angered him even more. Why was this man so tall? That fact, along with his very well trimmed beard, oiled with some kind of aromatic fragrance, and his raven-black hair, combed backwards, allowed him to look imposing; like a hawk about to hunt. And, at that moment, his prey was no other but Alexander Shawn himself. "I want you to deliver this letter to lord Elend." Then, there also was that deep voice of his. And those cold eyes which seemed to look through other's very souls. Indeed, Thomas Greengrass was a man who knew how important appearances were. "I do not trust owls for matters of this importance. However, I must warn you: under no circumstances shall you open this letter, for its information is reserved to lord Elend and only he. Was I clear?"
Alexander just nodded in response. In moments like these, he really wished he could put his mind blank as his father and uncle did; just another reason to keep practising Occlumency despite his many failures. "I will see to it, lord Thomas." Once again, he would need to act as an errand boy; perhaps, what he hated the most. However, it was something heirs of important families could not refuse to do. "Maybe, in the next few days. I need to wait for my father to send one of his men with a portkey so I can go back to North America."
"Oh, that will not be necessary, Alexander," Athena piped in. "That man Elend trusts a great deal is already here. If I am not mistaken, his name was Nathan. He is right outside the manor, waiting in the gardens for the ball to end. If there is any matter you need to attend before leaving the country, now is the time to have it done."
It was about damn time, Alexander exclaimed in his mind. I will be going as an errand boy, but I will be gone nonetheless. Well, I'll take the deal.
Alex just bid farewell to lord Thomas and his mother, but the man had yet to finish. "Your father must answer me as soon as possible," he said as the boy had already started his way out of the hall. "It was a pleasure talking to you, Alexander, and I really hope to see you around with more frequency from now on. Your House is officially invited for the next event held by the Great House of Greengrass, no matter its nature."
Turning around, Alex nodded his head one last time, faintly bowing to the British lord. Oh, he could not wait to grow older and become the lord of his House! He was really going to enjoy declining all those invitations! But meanwhile, it was time to close his mouth and bow his head to whatever tune his father whistled—as the motto of House Shawn said: honour to the end, honour before all.
The Order of Merlin, an organisation which worked in the shadows, known by very few people of the utmost importance, mighty enough to survive the passing of the time, and proud enough to not hide its existence to the world. Those who inquired about them, answers would get. Those who ignored them, their lives would continue.
A group of people so enigmatic that not even Shana, who had belonged to the Order for more than three years as the Fifth Master, could understand the secrets and intentions of those who formed it.
For the Order of Merlin and those who belonged to it, the days were odd, to say the least. A group of five Masters, they were, yet each acted individually and honoured their personal agenda. Each had their own entourage to do the dirty work, paid to do whatever it was, and those who followed them out of loyalty and love. Whether it was richness, wisdom, glory or recognition did not matter at all—every Master had its purpose, and cursed be those who interfered on their paths.
The Tower of Merlin, where they lived, was all they shared.
A huge structure, compounded of six towers of the most pristine marble, white and bright like a star. Five of them, smaller and following the lines of a pentagon, to host each Master and their entourage. One of them, the mightiest and largest, the one surrounded by the other five, was the true Tower of Merlin, where the Great Library and the Council had been built. With more than a hundred levels, many of them abandoned for uncountable years, no other place in the world held as much knowledge as the Tower did, let it be about magic, history or long forgotten legends. From the Ancient Times, where the first history records date back to, through the Middle Age, where the persecution of wizards caused the loss of very precious knowledge, to the Golden Age, the present days, where freedom and stable societies had arisen over the more primitive ways of life which had accompanied the wizarding kind for centuries.
Knowledge used by each of the Masters, Shana included. And she had learnt those lessons the tough way; since then, it had been very clear to the red-haired witch she also needed to follow that philosophy in order to survive. No one was aware of what each Master had planned but themselves, just as no one was aware of Shana's agenda but she herself. Despite that, she was rather confident with the fact they had way more to hide than her.
Isaac the First, the leader of the Order and the last descendant of the very Merlin—presumably, at least—had been working on a very important project for the past years. Of that she harboured no doubts, for each day he grew sombrer and warier of the rest. Rumours and whispers, that's all she had in her hands to find out about Isaac's ambitions. Needless to say, it was not a bright future for her; lack of information usually ended in bad choices, and there, in her situation, those bad choices could end her life.
A sudden knock on her chamber's door pulled Shana out of her thoughts. "Get in," the witch said.
In no time at all, one of her subordinates came inside. A woman who went by the name of Jasmine. Half a head shorter than Shana and about twenty years older, with the first specs of grey brewing from the roots of her black hair, Jasmine was one of her best spies and informants. She wore some very elegant robes of a bright azure shade, and that allowed her to know Jasmine had taken enough time to change her clothes before coming to her.
"Master Shana," she greeted with a faint bowing of her head. "Isaac the First met with some American Unspeakable yesterday. The purpose of the said reunion it's a piece of information I'm not aware of, however, I can say it wasn't the first time those two met." Her face remained neutral as she spoke, a gesture she only adopted in Shana's presence. Usually, the informant tried to look as innocent and clumsy as she could, for she didn't want others to set their eyes on her. And it had certainly worked so far, since everyone believed for her to be one of Shana's maids. "Moreover, I found nothing about Xaladir the Second."
Indeed, there truly were loads of rumours about Isaac, whereas there were none about Xaladir. To her, the reason for it was pretty obvious. Xaladir was the kind of man who would not think twice before making people disappear as soon as they started inquiring too much about his whereabouts. Of course, Shana could also suffer the same fate as those who tried before her, and so, Xaladir was out of her reach. For the time being, at least.
From now on, I need to be very cautious. It was no secret that Shana was the weakest member of the Order, and not by a short margin, as it should be noted. Perhaps, due to Lawrence the Third's old age, there was a slight chance of victory, but that was all she could hope to achieve in terms of direct confrontation. Of course, she could not even think about going against the likes of Xaladir and Isaac.
I know what my skills are, just as I know how far they can take me—how far I can take myself. Shana and her magic were very special in their own way, of course; maybe, unique would be the most correct word. Otherwise, she would have never been recruited for the Order. Unfortunately, her many talents would not make a difference unless her brains took them by the reins. If I get caught, Isaac will, probably, let me live. However, Xaladir will kill me on the spot. Magic knows that bastard doesn't share a soft spot for any soul.
Suddenly, Jasmine cleared her throat, and Shana was pulled back to the real world once again. "An Unspeakable, you say?" The red-haired witch continued, feeling a bit embarrassed about her lack of focus.
"A man who wore the mask of a crow. A very well crafted one, if I may add, with very realistic wings and all of that."
"That's quite odd, even for Isaac's standards," Shana sighed. Once again, she felt lost. "The only male Unspeakable who used to be in touch with the Order was Elend Shawn, but it was Master Lawrence the one he used to visit."
"It wasn't him, of that I'm sure. I've seen that pureblood lord a few times here and there, and, to me, he doesn't seem to be the kind of man who would hide his identity before a piece of leather; far too proud for that."
She had a point there. "Well, either way, I want you to keep looking into Isaac, just as you've been doing for the past months. Do not worry about your payment, I will see to it soon enough. The more information you report to me, the better you and your daughter will live. If you keep being so useful, soon enough even royalty will envy how good your lives are." Promises of a succulent reward, to motivate the subordinates, accompanied by a subtle threat, a simple mention of her daughter, to remind them of their places. A lesson she had learned from Lawrence the Third; detestable yet valuable.
Jasmine nodded her head before walking out, her face as cold as it used to be when there was no one around.
Solitude brought that storm of thoughts back to her mind. What the hell is an Unspeakable doing here? What does Isaac want from him? Far too many incognites in her life, enough to give Shana plenty of headaches. The red-haired woman wished she could speed up the investigation, yet she was very well aware of the fact that the other Masters had plenty of eyes on her. Because of that, Shana had to rely on her subordinates, who could betray her if a more succulent offer came to them.
She exhaled a very loud huff, exasperated, and got up from her comfy chair of high, wide back. Shana strode down her immense chambers as her head went from one scenario to another, giving a thought to those hundred which came between them. The floor, without a single spec of dust on it, was made of a thousand slabs of creamy marble, which greatly contrasted with the walls, of a faint blue colour, like a cloudless sky. Over it, there were many pictures of witches who once put their names on the history books due to the greatness of their achievements, like Rowena Ravenclaw, who was said to be one of the most brilliant minds the world had ever seen; tapestries which showed important events of the Wizarding's World history, like the creation of wands or Ilvermorny's founding; and shelves which contained far too many books to count them. There also were two huge, double doors of the most exquisite and refined wood; the lighter one led to her bedroom, and the darker led outside, towards where she took step after step.
Shana had been called to meet with Lawrence the Third, and Magic knew that the old geezer didn't like to wait. However, a faint smile formed on her face at the mere thought of arriving late just to spite him. If Isaac had been the one to recruit Shana when she was nothing but a silly, lost girl, it would have been Lawrence the one to look over her. In truth, that old man was the closest she's ever had to a fatherly figure; one far too lost in his books to barely pay any attention to her. But, in the end, that was the nature of the Third Master, an erudite, and she had come to like him as he really was.
Anyway, she had been summoned to his chambers, and that meant Shana had to walk all the way through her tower, the fifth, going down a few levels, and then do the same through the central one until she crossed the bridge towards the third.
A boring, long walk, it was, yet not even after taking that route a thousand times could she ignore how mesmerising every piece of architecture was. From the chiselled columns which held the vault, of white marble crossed by uncountable lines of basalt that created a succession of oblique lines, from the bridge's large windows that allowed her to observe the infinite sea around the island where the Tower was located.
And it all came to an end after more than ten minutes of walking. Shana just knocked on the door of Lawrence's chambers and stepped inside without waiting for an answer. There she found the Third Master, standing near a large window at the end of the room, right behind the biggest desk she had ever seen.
"I often forget you are not the kind of woman who likes to wait," the old man said as a greeting, a faint smile on his wrinkled face. Lawrence was tall and slender, and held a proud bearing despite being a bit stepped over on account of the many years he had lived. His white hair and beard, paler than snow itself, only added to it. "Of course, most of you, women, hate waiting, especially for a man. However, how you love it when it is the other way around! Ah, I have always found it funny."
"Perhaps, that is the reason why you never took a wife," Shana cut in with an exasperated huff. That man certainly liked to ramble! "You summoned me, and I answered your call. Why would I bother with unnecessary nonsense? Time is the most valuable of the resources; you taught me that."
"And what a fantastic education you did receive, if I may add," Lawrence said, his smile yet to falter. "However, you are right. Come here and take a seat, my girl. I know your knees are young and your back strong, but please, do it for this old man."
Shana just rolled her eyes and did as told. His chambers were even larger than hers, but the floor and the ceiling were of a very dull grey. And the walls, what little could be seen of them behind the thousand bookshelves which covered them, were of the same shade.
"As I just said, let's skip this nonsense, please," Shana sighed after taking a seat in a wooden, and very uncomfortable, chair. "You want to tell me something, and I want to hear it. That's all."
"There it is." The old man had the nerve to laugh. "That is why I prefer you to the others! You are like a breeze of fresh air to this old man, my girl. Merlin knows I've had enough formalities for a hundred lives! Blessed be Isaac for taking you into our Order."
"The information, Lawrence. That's why I came here."
"Oh, I know, do not worry. Well, it turns out that Jin the Stranger is back at the Tower."
Certainly, that was a piece of information she needed to know; one which Jasmine had not told her about. Jin the Stranger, the name of man feared and respected by many in the Underworld, where mercenaries, hitmen and many kinds of despicable people made their living. Moreover, Jin was Isaac's personal mercenary, assassin, bounty hunter, bodyguard and many more things. The man had been absent from the Tower for months, and that had allowed Shana to be bolder in her investigations. However, it seemed that had just come to an end.
This old bastard will never change, Shana groaned in her mind. Why had Lawrence told her this information? Not because of his kind heart, of course. This was his way of telling her that he knew about her investigations, and, most importantly, that he wanted her to continue them. Lawrence the Third would never risk his neck in such a venture, however, if there was a slight chance for him to know as little as possible from Isaac's plans, oh, then he wanted in. To him, every piece of knowledge could be useful, and whatever both Isaac and Xalaidr planned was like a mine of gold.
And Shana had no problems dancing to his tune. Mainly, because her own threads had also been arranged around Lawrence. True enough, she was the one to risk her life, while this geezer waited in the safety of his chambers for the information to knock on the door. However, this situation allowed Shana to control every piece of information the Third Master received; as such, he would need to protect her if he wanted to keep his best source of information.
A risky bet, it was, but triumph only came to those who seek it harder; and to put her life on the line was a necessary step towards it.
"Do you happen to know anything at all about the reason behind his long absence?" Shana asked, instead. Yes, she would let this man feel as if he had the upper hand over her. "I find it particularly weird."
"Just mere and silly rumours," Lawrence dismissed the matter with a waive of his hand. However, Shana sent him a sharp look, and so he continued, though more exasperated than before. "From what little I've heard, Jin has spent the past few months travelling around Europe. Some of my little sparrows told me he was looking for something important. Or someone, who knows. I'm afraid that's between Isaacn and he." His little sparrows, as he referred to them, were his net of informants.
A piece of information, kindly donated by her, in exchange of another one of his collection, also kindly donated by him. This was their deal; a very useful yet irritating one.
"I see," Shana mused, her mind already trying to solve this new mystery. Then another point came to her: Lawrence had not mentioned Isaac's meeting with the Unspeakable. There is no way in hell he doesn't know about it. So another one of your silly games it is, eh? The Third Master used to test the reliability of her sources by omitting very important information during their meetings. Though she did the same—as it was said, what went around, came around. "Well, I'm afraid I need to go back to my chambers," the witch said as she stood up, trying to look as unbothered as her storming mind allowed her. "I'm very thankful for the information you shared with me, Master Lawrence. I will contact you as soon as anything good comes to me."
"I'll wait eagerly for that moment, Master Shana."
The door closed behind her, and one of his guards, a tall woman dressed full in black, took his position in front of it as Shana walked in the opposite direction. So this geezer thinks he knows more than I do about this Unspeakable, eh? Well, he might be right, but that will change soon enough. She would need to pay a visit to the American Ministry in the very near future; in fact, her mind had already thought of a perfect way of infiltration.
You should not spend so much time with your nose buried into a book, dear Lawrence, she couldn't help herself but to smirk. Far too many things are happening under your nose, and you ain't catching half of them.