A/N: For writing this chapter I did a bit of research about Morocco, Moroccan magic, and asked locals about their slang for authenticity. (For example, referring to something as 'donkey milk' means it's neither useful or useless.)


Saturday June 26th, 1993

"Bloody hell! What happened to your arm!"

Marcello released a small breath. Not five seconds into arriving at the international portkey station, and already the young Weasleys reminded him of why a one-year teaching contract was a blessing in disguise. "I was contracted to dismantle a cursed object." He offered a casual gesture. "This was a small price to pay to get the job done."

The boys gaped at him. "That's a small price to pay?" George asked.

Marcello regarded the young man, considering his words carefully. "A permanent injury is no easy thing. However, in difficult times one must measure the consequences of sacrifice against the alternatives. Had I not chosen to sacrifice this arm, a man would have lost his life. So, for myself, in this instance - yes, it was a small price to pay."

The expressions on both teenagers' faces flickered as they digested the words. Neither spoke for a short time. Then came small nods and muttered answers that spoke of awe and understanding. Moving on, Marcello spoke with them briefly of their preparedness for the trip, then reassured their parents and siblings as they all came to bid the boys adieu. When all was settled, the three wizards took hold of the rope-shaped portkey, and vanished across the sea.


Arriving on a Saturday allowed the group two days to sightsee. The days were filled with grand palace tours, stifling heat, cooling water gardens, and bustling muggle markets. The young men with him were certainly having their fill of the exciting new culture. Knowing the isolationist views of Britain, this was probably their first experience of the real world. It was also obviously their first experience of food having flavour. Marcello had a good laugh when the boys tried zaalouk and a simple couscous for the first time and were overwhelmed by the taste. (Though he was kind enough to acclimatize them with other simple fares before introducing them to more flavourful dishes.)

The weekend also gave the group an opportunity to practise their Arabic (and remove rustiness, on Marcello's part.) With the differences between their experiences these past two months, George was having an easier time than his brother. That said, both boys showed fairly impressive efforts. Moreso when introduced to the translator, Siman Zerhouni, the following day. The elderly, tattooed woman tutored the boys on several local phrases and customs, making them practise until they were passable as polite and courteous visitors. When the weekend ended, however, the twins learned a whole new style of speaking upon visiting the Metallomagy.

"You dustbin-head! Have your ancestors been feeding on hyenas' brains?! What person would waste these goods?!"

"Yes, I know it's been damaged, but-"

"Damaged?! Damage is a dent from a car or a bit of rust. This arm is ruined, dough-for-brains! Destruction beyond imagining! Sliced off and melted. MELTED! Do you have any idea the number of protective enchantments I put into this when I made it?! May Allah curse your mother's vagina! What realm of insanity did you attempt to cause this?!"

Wincing in shame, Marcello could only see one positive from the tirade (in that the boys would not understand his answer to the question.) "I had to put the hand in basilisk venom to destroy a very dark curse."

That answer started a whole new slew of expletives along with disbeliefs that ranged from 'how does a crazy situation like that happen' to 'how could you be so stupid as to end up in that situation.' Nevertheless, a new arm is needed, so he pushed for the man to consider an additional commission.

"I can do this," the Metallomagy said petulantly, "but the last one I made was discounted as a repayment to your organization. One time only!"

"I understand. Though I won't need as many enchantments on this new arm. I'm retired."

"Retired. Ha! Retired, he says," he turned to one of his apprentices with that scoff. "The man has an arm sliced off and thinks he'll be fine with donkey milk."

"We can discuss the specifics over tea," Marcello offered. "I'm sure we can find something suitable for my needs later. For now, we should start with this gentleman," he gestured to George.

"Bah! Fine. Later tonight. You, Boy! Come here!" He beckoned George close. Once he stepped forward, the Metallomagy wasted no time removing George's outer robe to inspect the amputation. He tested the boy by melting a ldoune and prodded him with various measuring tools, all the while muttering to himself and calling out the results to the apprentices for notes. "It's a clean cut, without curses. Consider yourself lucky. The fusion won't be so painful."

The twins waited to hear the translation before Fred commented. "How painful will it be?"

"I'm fusing metal with flesh, Boy. What do you think?"

Fred paled when the translation came through. George put on a brave face in spite of it. "It's alright, Fred. I know what I'm getting myself into."

"If you're sure. It'll be worth it." That last part came out more like a question, but they both knew the answer to that one. Yes. It will be worth it.


"Wingardium leviosa!"

*BAM!*

The wooden crate slammed into the ceiling. Falling to splintered pieces onto the floor.

Despite the boys' cringe, Marcello gave an encouraging chuckle. "That was too much power, this time. Intention is important; but remember, your arm is now directly linked to your magic. The amount of power you need is even smaller than what is needed with a wand."

"Right. I'll try it again." George wiggled his metallic fingers as Marcello repaired the crate. "When you put it that way, doesn't that mean I'm capable of more magic with this?"

"Technically, yes," he answered. "Though without the concentrated guidance of a wand, more mental focus is required to accomplish a task. Otherwise you may affect more areas or power than intended. Which, as you can see, can come to devastating effect."

"Right. I see what you mean."

Fred watched the lesson with gleaming eyes. "That's what made you a good dark magic fighter, right? Being able to hit a wider target?"

"I've had one or two instances," tales that should not be told to such impressionable (and mischievous) ears, "but it has its risks. Especially when surrounded by friends as well as enemies." He gave George a pat on the shoulder. "Always keep your focus on the target itself; and remember, less is more. Now try again."


"Steady… steady…" The pitcher of water floated precariously away from them. It sloshed somewhat, but soon landed on a high shelf across the room with a metallic thunk.

"Yes!"

"Wicked!" The boys high-fived at his success. "You think you can do this anytime now? Like, when we get back home, will the Trace work around this?"

"Huh, that's a good question." George smiled impishly. "Suppose we can find out. I'm sure Percy and ickle Ronnekins must be missing our brand of mischief."

"Oh, most definitely!"

They started brainstorming ideas for their grand return. Plots that went awry as Mrs. Zerhouni started shouting at them. "What are you doing?! What have I told you boys about leaving water in strange places? Do you want djinn infecting my home?!"

The twins ducked their heads bashfully. "I've just been practicing, Mrs. Zerhouni. I'll put it back later."

"Yes, you will! Elsewise I need to fill my whole house with bokhour to keep it safe!" The woman stormed away in a huff, in search of her bag of incense herbs.

The boys waved goodbye, and muttered through grinning teeth. "We're testing our plans on her, first, right?"

"Course we are. Can't be sure of a good prank without a proper guinea pig, after all."


"Immobulus!"

The shock-tail jerboa he'd been aiming for hopped aside. The little creature squeaked angrily. It's tufted tail puffed and sparking in warning. Frowning, George took a step back to aim elsewhere.

"Careful, now-"

"OW!"

Marcello hid his smile as one of the shock-tail jerboas hit George from behind. "Always be mindful of your surroundings, Mister Weasley. You never know when an enemy is nearby."

"Or a gerbil," Fred commented cheerily.

"I don't see you helping out," George snapped, wincing as he rubbed his ankle.

"Good point." Fred looked over at Marcello. "Nothing wrong with a bit of teamwork training, right?"

"I suppose that's fine." It would help George having a target to not hit during this exercise. "Though I'll be keeping score, and you'll both be practicing until you can complete this task to my satisfaction. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor!" Fred launched out of his seat, wand in hand. Immediately the brothers were back-to-back, grinning widely at the change.

The change was almost instantaneous. George began spellcasting at a faster rate. Not near the level of Fred's, but certainly with more vigour. The boys twisted in step, back-to-back or at each other's side, yet never apart. Not once. Then something odd happened. After a muttered comment, Fred's spell nearby hit a jerboa, who leapt back- only to be struck down by George.

"Ha!" They laughed. "Formation D, works every time!"

In minutes the number of moving animals was halved, the rest following not long after. Impressively, still, the score remained even between the boys nearly the entire time.

It seems there's more benefit to his twin being here than I expected.


Marcello was enjoying the day off from training the Weasleys. After a morning spent finally gaining a new arm, he had lunch with a few old friends who live in the Maghreb. Many hours were spent swapping stories and reminiscing the old days. It was night by the time he returned to Siman's home. When he did, it was to the matron clutching a hjabat talisman and racing to him with a deep and worried frown.

"Is something wrong?"

Her answer came hushed, "I fear your boys are possessed."

He froze in place. "What?! Are you sure?"

"I hear them, Sayyid. Acting strangely, whispering in strange tongues. Worse, they've conjured unnatural, vicious animals! They were hidden in a jug of water before they pounced and attacked me!"

His eyes steeled, pulling out his wand in his flesh hand while flexing the new fingers on the other. "I will handle this. Stay outside, Siman, until I tell you it's safe to come in."

He walked inside cautiously. Eyes swept to places for cover, openings, and escapes. He listened for signs of danger, yet barely heard a sound. Creeping to their guest rooms, he heard mutterings and strange sounds coming from the Twins' room. Though, most unusual, their door was open. That's either a good sign, or a very bad one. With quiet casting, he conjured a mirror and hovered it to reveal the room's occupants. He spotted the boys easily enough. Then he watched their movements, their attention spent on the creatures Siman warned him of. Identifying the creatures, and their interactions with them, it took little time to assess the situation.

"So this is what happens when I leave you unsupervised?"

The boys jumped, lifting an open book in a failed attempt to hide the creatures. Marcello watched their actions with unimpressed exasperation, though the boys tried to smile as if nothing was amiss. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Just studying up on Tamazight runes, right Forge?"

"Right, Gred!"

Marcello let out a breath. "I lost an arm, boys, not my eyes," he said. Especially true as the creatures they were hiding peaked over the book. "How did you even find horned serpents, let alone buy them?"

"Uh…"

His eyes widened. "Please do not tell me that you stole them!"

The boys flinched. "It wasn't really stealing."

"They were the ones that were stolen from their nest!"

"We freed them!"

"They wanted to come with us!"

The pair of horned serpents looked between the boys, humming and hissing at them. George hissed back at them, and Fred gestured at them to Marcello. "They'd tell you themselves, but they only speak parseltongue, you see."

This… honestly Marcello has no schema for this level of absurdity. "I take it that you have no plan, nor intention, of returning them to their nest?"

"They were only a few days old when poachers came," George answered. "They remember it being near a lake, but that's all."

"I see."

They boys looked nervous before asking. "Can we keep them?"

"...If they truly wish to stay with you," seeing their smiles, he added sharply, "but- it is your job to train them and keep them on their best behaviour. They are not allowed to attack anyone in the house, and if they are caught outdoors I will not fight against attempts to return them to their original owner." Considering a young horned serpent's tendency for aggression, that will be a challenge certain to fail. "Your training of them will also in no way change your amount of training with me. Failure to abide by these rules, then I will return them to their owner or ship them off to a preserve at my discretion. Do I make myself clear?"

They answered hesitantly, "Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm going to let Siman know that it's safe to come back inside. You are to apologize to her immediately and be on your best behaviour from now on." A couple more 'Yes, Sirs' followed that. Only then did Marcello leave the doorway.

Those boys... He thought dejectedly. My son was never this much trouble at their age. It's probably a blessing and a curse that he'll be leaving them in a week.


Over the following week, Marcello found himself both impressed and exasperated by the Weasley twins. As it turns out, horned serpents can be surprisingly docile when under the care of parselmouths. The fact that these boys only know a rudimentary level of the language seemed irrelevant in the creatures' eyes. In fact, Aghilas and Azerwal (the now named animals), were delighted that they could teach the Twins more of their language. Combined with the fact that the snakes were brothers, the shared twin-status made the four nigh-inseparable.

Spellcast training was the only exception to the rule. To ensure their safety, Fred opted to keep watch of the little horned serpents. He spent his time training them or reading up on runes and metallomagy. George, meanwhile, continued his work relearning second year spells with his new arm, then moved on to third year casting by the time Marcello's portkey was scheduled to leave.

"You've done well this month. Both of you." He clasped each smiling boy by the shoulder. "Keep up your training. By the end of next month, I'm confident you'll be ready for your return."

"Thanks, Professor," they replied.

"I couldn't have done this without you," George added.

The boys' heartfelt thanks made him smile. "I've only done what is best for you. Now, remember, be kind to Siman; and take care of yourselves and the horned serpents. I'm only a call away if you start brewing trouble."

"Don't worry about us, Professor," George said, "we've got our hands full as it is."

"Yes you do." The clock of the portkey room chimed, and he released his grip. "Times up. Farewell, George, Fred. Until next time."

With a final goodbye, Marcello was pulled away to his home in Italy. Leaving the boys waving to where he once stood.

"Having said that," George looked to his waving hand. "My hands feel strangely empty at the moment."

"You know, I was just thinking the same thing," Fred replied.

"Siman's grandson did mention something about glowing sandfish living the desert."

"Azerwal and Aghilas could use a chance to stretch their tails."

"For sure. What kind of dads would we be to not give them some fresh air?"

"Horrible ones."

"Atrocious."

"And he did say not to bother Mrs. Zerhouni. She could use the break."

"Right."

"Though we should bring something back for her. You know, as a souvenir."

"Capital idea, brother mine!"

"Let's get going!"


Marcello appeared with a lurch into the Italian Ministry's portkey terminal. He left the room immediately, searching the waiting room for his family. A shout of "MARCELLO" caught his attention. His eyes landed on his wife, both of them smiling as he came to embrace her.

"I missed you," he murmured against Carmela's ear.

"I miss you, too. But you're back, now. That's all that matters." They held each other for some time. When they finally let go, Carmela looked him over with a gasp. "Your arm! It's different…"

He hummed in agreement. "The other one was damaged. I had to get a new one."

She gave him a hard, yet concerned stare. "And the rest of you?"

"Completely unharmed."

She sighed. "Small miracles, at least. Though that explains the money you had transferred from the family account." After a pause, Carmela asked. "Was it worth it, at least? Your adventure?"

"Yes." His flesh hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cool, dark stone within. "It was most certainly worth it."


A/N: Aghilas and Azerwal are Berber/Tamazight names meaning 'Panther' and 'A Man With Blue Eyes', respectively.