"House Fawley thanks the Dynasty Zabini for its assistance," said Gemma with a curtsy. She kept it shallow enough to respect Antea's desire for normalcy but well within the margin of appropriate deference.
She, Harry, Blaise and Antea were alone at the moment, the others having been led out of the ritual room by Terence so she could get the formalities over with before dinner. Gemma's parents were away at an international conference in the MACUSA headquarters and wouldn't be back until the next week. Her grandfather and uncle were similarly detained: they were attending the wedding of a branch member of the House who was marrying a main House Dagworth-Granger. Meanwhile, Ulrich was getting himself into a tizzy in the kitchens, fretting about having to set a table fit for royalty. They had ordered catering from a respectable establishment well in advance, but that didn't alleviate his stress.
She was glad her great-uncle was there to worry about hosting their guest in a way that befitted House Fawley. Gemma had been too preoccupied with the Carrow situation to devote much thought to it. She wished her grandfather was there to guide her. The wedding couldn't have come at a worse time.
The heiress was all too aware that her lack of foresight might have resulted in Achilles' death. The safeguards she had put in place hadn't been enough. If the princess hadn't intervened in time, she would have had that failure on her conscience.
"You're beating yourself up," observed the Italian princess, her head tilting like a curious cat.
"Gemma — can I call you Gemma?" Antea didn't wait for her nod before continuing. "I'll admit I do not know much about the situation —mainly because my incorrigible cousin is stingy with words and the family has only gotten a vague sense of the happenings at his school, which is baffling considering how much your local paper has blathered on about his particular year group. Neville Longbottom, davvero, Biagio? I'll want to hear more about that at dinner. Anyway. One thing I can tell you is that no plan survives contact with the enemy. There is nothing you can do about that but learn from it and adapt."
She paused then and offered her a sympathetic look.
"Now that they will be looking for you, you will probably have more close calls. You will have to be on your guard, especially since your enemy House sounds like a piece of work. But you have a lot of allies and a lot of resources. Sometimes, that's all you need. Well, that and the willingness to spill blood to achieve the outcome you desire."
Gemma breathed out and offered the princess a wan smile. "That's actually helpful advice, thank you."
Antea threw her head back and laughed.
"I should be thanking you! I haven't done such an interesting ritual since the whole mess with Zia."
Blaise scowled at that. "I almost forgot that happened."
"What happened?" asked Harry.
"My sister Crescenzia is the same age as your cousin, Harry, but she wasn't as lucky with the friends she made." Blaise let out a scornful sound at his cousin's words, which had Gemma thinking that was probably an understatement. Antea's expression darkened. "One of Zia's oldest friends had an older brother. The Don of House Mancini, an Ancient and Noble Roman House. Like House Zabini, it existed before the Sack of Rome and the creation of Mezzogiorno."
Gemma wracked her brain at the mention. She remembered her boyfriend telling her about the history of the principality when Blaise made friends with Harry in the kids' first year, but the details were a little vague.
From what she recalled, the Principality of Mezzogiorno —sometimes sneeringly called the Cambion Empire by its detractors— was created to protect the Southern Italian Magical Community from the Visigoths. The First Principe, Proteo Zabini was the seventh son of a Patrician, the aristocratic class of Ancient Rome. He found the Grimoire of Solomon in his travels and came back to his native lands with an army of demons. But instead of laying waste to the invaders, he built floating islands and whisked away those of the magical community who wanted to live away from muggle wars. Most magical creatures followed him, all too aware of the fact that they would be the first casualty of human conflicts.
Wixen took more time to take his offered hand, but it only took a century for the southern regions of the dying Empire to relocate, bringing their ancestral grounds with them and swearing allegiance to the Principe. The majority had Dark and Grey affinities, increasing the rumours of demonic influence.
The Duchies of Northern Magical Italy were formed out of those who remained behind. And although both northern and southern communities now called themselves Italian and spoke the same language if different dialects, they often treated each other with unveiled scorn. While Dark and Light didn't have the same political connotation as in Albion — where wixen often conflated the blood purist ideology with Dark magic and progressiveness with the Light —, the underlying idea that what was Dark was also evil made itself just as prevalent in the North of Italy as it was in Gemma's home.
Terence often lamented that the Zabinis kept the memoirs of Proteo and his wife Azyam under lock and key, refusing to provide scholars any insight into Proteo's motivations or anything about his life before the establishment of his dynasty. Gemma thought it probably had to do with the secrets of the Grimoire of Solomon and the demons it contained, but her boyfriend seemed convinced that the Visigoths brought a threat to the Empire great enough to convince nobility and common people alike that they would be better off abandoning their lands to muggle whims. Proteo had even gone as far as to section entire chunks of magical territory to add to his islands.
When he'd asked Blaise, the boy had weaved the tale of a Christian Light Lord named Arius who poisoned the lands and made it toxic to Dark creatures and wixen. But immediately after, Harry had tilted his head and asked his best friend if he was telling the truth and the boy had laughed without answering the question. Gemma had to stay seated on Terence's lap to stop him from leaping at the Italian prince and strangling him.
Her lips quirked at the memory before she made herself refocus on the conversation.
"Don Mancini wanted the prestige of marrying a Zabini princess so he gave his younger sister a love potion he brewed and asked her to procure blood from Crescenzia to attune it to her."
Gemma stiffened.
"If it was only that, we would have handled it," commented Antea, her eyes clouded. "Attempts to slip us love potions are common. Recently, someone made an attempt on me when I was visiting Blaise's mother in Austria. We are very careful with what we ingest and have developed plenty of spells to check our food and drinks. Paranoia is the price royalty pays to keep their throne."
"The potion was topical," deduced Harry, rubbing at the back of his palm to mimic the gesture of applying through skin contact.
Blaise translated for his cousin at her inquisitive noise before continuing. "That's right. The Mancinis bought off the rest of Zia's friends so she wouldn't suspect it. They coated their hands in the potion before seeing her. Every handshake, every hug… the barest brush of skin would transfer the potion to her, and we didn't suspect anything."
"How did you find out?" asked the Fawley heiress, though she was scared of the answer.
Antea laughed. It was an awful sound, bitter and brittle.
"Lazzaro brought home a flock of birds."
The two British kids blinked. "Birds?" repeated Harry.
"Caladrii, to be exact. The caladrius is a magical bird with healing power who is known to make nests in palaces. There used to be an entire aviary of them in the Roman Emperor's palace but most were slaughtered during the sack of Rome. The Principe's palace is even called the Caladrius Palace in their honour. Don't ask me why, Dino's the one who's interested in history. The lessons bored me," said the Zabini princess, shrugging. "Anyway, Lazzaro found a nest of them while he was exploring ruins Down Below."
At their questioning look, Blaise explained.
"Mezzogiorno's territory consists mostly of the floating islands but the magical remains of the Roman civilization and the creature reserves belong to us as well. We have an agreement with the muggle Italian government. They're not too happy about mediating between us and the Duchies but because of the… tense history and the need for communication, we're a lot better at magical-muggle interaction than the British ministry. They also appreciate that the South's isolation means that we don't go around mindwiping muggles every three days. We don't interact much with them but it usually doesn't go too badly. As long as the Vatican doesn't get involved, that is."
Gemma grimaced at the well-deserved dig to the Obliviators' division of Britain. The inability of British wixen to fit in with muggles coupled with the fact that most magical districts didn't even try to stay separated from muggle cities made the necessity of memory manipulation much too prevalent. This was a common debate in the international magical community, even outside of the tired blood purity argument.
Some wixen were unsure if isolation was the right solution when it meant completely alienating themselves from people who were ultimately members of the same species as them and that they had a lot to learn from, as historically proven when muggle inventions greatly benefited the community. Others thought that magical humans had more in common with goblins and dwarves than the magicless and that the integration of magical creatures should be prioritised, and the fact that the muggle world was incredibly hostile to them should be taken into consideration.
Despite the way it had in some ways furthered wixen ignorance and bigotry towards muggles, the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy had first been brought up when it became increasingly clear that magical creatures would either need to hide or to attack to be protected from muggles. Sectioning off the magical world both made muggle lands safer and made it possible for those who could not fit in within their society to create their own spaces without being subjected to scorn, disgust or exploitation. Muggles might be weaker than their magical counterparts but they greatly outnumbered them and proved themselves very resourceful when it came to improving both their weaponry and their rhetoric.
The Statute had stopped the situation before it became untenable even if it created other problems. They were yet to find a perfect solution to the magical community's dilemma, so it would probably be debated until they had a better option.
"Huh."
Harry looked as fascinated as she was by this glimpse into the life of the Zabinis. She knew he was very excited to visit in the summer and her friends told her he had spent many afternoons learning the language with Blaise while they were sleeping in the hidden dorm. He'd had to pause his Occlumency lessons due to the lack of privacy so she'd been happy to learn he hadn't been left completely bereft.
"So, we call everything under the islands Down Below. Lazzaro goes there often since he's the Head of the creature division of the foundation for …ah, como si traduce questo? La fondazione per la conservazione del patrimonio magico? Biagio, aiutami!"
"Uh." Blaise furrowed his brows. "You know, I think my English gets worse when I spend time with other Italians. It's the foundation for the preservation of magical heritage."
"Your accent too," commented Harry with a little smirk. Gemma elbowed him.
"Right. That. So, he brought back the nest — the eggs were in stasis in an abandoned summer palace, apparently, and the foundation had to hatch them magically— since caladrii are known to thrive among royalty. As soon as he did, they pounced on Zia and drained the potion out of her. She was… badly shaken."
Blaise took a step closer before he wrapped a hesitant arm around his older cousin who looked stunned at the show of affection before huffing fondly and ruffling the boy's hair. Harry had told Gemma that his best friend wasn't close to his family due to the significant age gap between them and their many responsibilities. But this didn't look like a distant family to her, just one who was so used to watching out for knives in the dark that they forgot they could count on each other even when they weren't looking out for threats.
"Let me guess, House Mancini doesn't exist anymore?" asked Gemma with a smirk, hoping to lighten the conversation.
Antea sneered. "They died by fire, as vermin should. Father let me choose the ritual," she added with a grin. "It was grand."
The responding smile on Blaise's face was savage. Harry looked back and forth between the two with an impressed expression that had Gemma chuckling. She ruffled her cousin's hair, unheeding his exasperated groan.
"I don't know about you but I'm famished. Shall we join the others?"
Dinner was nice, though Blaise didn't get to speak much to Antea alone while she was there. It would have been rude to converse in Italian in front of their hosts and the other guests.
Before she left Fawley manor, she ruffled his hair again and said her father had enlisted her into checking on the Principality's trade guild representative whom he suspected to be embezzling money.
This kind of job was usually reserved for Lazzaro as he was the least likely to cast first and ask questions later but considering Antea's little brother refused to leave the palace until the caladrii were adults, he understood why she was sent instead. Constantino was too busy and Crescenzia was in no state to speak to people outside of the family. She still flinched when strangers touched her, even after two years. Now she spent as much time in the palace's magical menagerie as Lazzaro did when before it would have been impossible to drag her there of her own volition.
Before his cousin grabbed the handful of Floo powder her attendant was handing her, he intercepted her.
"Antea," he asked hesitantly in Italian, "did you talk to Healer Alfieri at all before you left…?"
His cousin's eyes widened at the question.
She nodded. "He said you'll have to purge the draught when you arrive and he'll prescribe you an appropriate regimen before you leave." She paused before fixing him with her piercing stare. "Have you told your friends about it?"
He wrinkled his nose.
"No. I didn't see the point. I'm planning on telling Harry this summer, but that's because I want him to be there for my check-up. I think Theo knows, he had a potion phase last year and the others will probably find out once I start taking draughts." He paused. "I don't mind them finding out but it's not something I'm interested in discussing."
She tilted her head, seeming a bit puzzled. "If you think it's best."
He sent her a deadpan look. Of course, he thought it was best or he wouldn't have mentioned it.
"Also, I wanted to write him and ask if he could have some of his assistants compile research into core corruption for me. They don't need to send it to me, I'll pick them up in the summer." He glanced at Harry, who was leaning on Theo's shoulder, exhausted by the eventful day. "Just a little side project."
Antea raised her eyebrows. "You'll have to tell me more about that if you want Healer Alfieri to agree. Some of these books are a little above your grade."
"I told you Harry was apprenticing as a healer. We're only in second-year and he's about as good as a muggle surgeon. Circe, he sewed someone's arm back a few months ago. The only things he can't deal with are specialised diseases, brain injuries and magical damage. The Carrows' curse really shook him up but before that…" He looked down. "There was this first-year girl. Our friends' little sister."
And wasn't it strange to call the Weasley twins his friends? Blaise had gone to Hogwarts with the conviction that he would spend his education feeling alone in a crowd. Surrounded by people with no meaningless connexions as he had been in his home country.
But then he met Harry at the feast and they'd clicked immediately. Theo, Daphne and Tracey had taken him longer to warm up to, though he'd been friendly from the start. He was always a social butterfly. He just had difficulty connecting with people on a deeper level. But something about Hogwarts made it easy.
And soon he'd added people outside of their tight-knit group to the small circle of people he cared about. Susan, the Hufflepuff he always went to when he didn't feel like staying cooped up in the castle. Padma and Su-a, the Ravenclaws who gossiped and discussed politics with him.
The Weasley twins, who listened when he made snarky remarks about the prejudice Slytherins faced and invited both him and Harry into their home.
He didn't trust them as much as he did his court but they were genuine people who'd never made him feel like his last name mattered more than what he asked to be called.
"She was possessed by a cursed artefact, I'm not sure what. I'd never heard of anything like it. She was taken to the hospital, St Mungo's. She hasn't come back. Her brothers said her core was corrupted. Harry's been reading up on it, trying to find something but it's… rare. I was hoping we had more records than Britain."
Antea hummed before she turned to her attendant. "Make a note, we'll make an appointment to the physician's wing when I'm back. We'll see what we can find," she promised. "I'm proud of you, Biagio. I know the situation with Zia was… but you didn't let that scare you off. You have something good here. But…"
She hesitated.
"I know. I'll be careful," he promised.
"Good. And you'll tell Dino about his artefact when we're back. He'll want to know."
Theo watched the Carrow twins as they carefully didn't look at Harry and his cousin while they boarded the train. His gaze trailed towards the girls' parents, a couple with eyes so empty they seemed chiselled from marble. Behind them was an elderly woman with a look so severe it made Professor Snape look jovial.
She was short and stocky with long bony fingers which she'd tightened around her cloak once she made eye contact with Theo's father. She bore the emblem of her House at her breast, a white spider at the centre of a plum embroidered webbing.
If Theo glanced at her shadow, he wouldn't be surprised to see it try to writhe away from her.
He shivered when he realised she was approaching.
He hadn't told his father about Achilles Carrow. He was too removed from the situation for it to do any good, and he had known the man wouldn't appreciate him putting himself at risk by visiting Gemma's house while she was harbouring a fugitive. Theo had mostly been invited because Harry thought he would want to see the ritual —and his friend was right, he very much did, and he couldn't wait to read the books he'd brought from home about Norse rituals— but he doubted that the nuance would go over well with his overprotective father.
"Scylla. Back from the continent, I see."
"Bertram," she hissed with a mean grin. "What a pleasant surprise. I haven't seen you in a long time."
Her presence was oppressive. Unlike Harry who couldn't always control the potency of his magic in the air and the way it seemed to hang heavy in the room when his emotions got away from him, it seemed that she wielded the density of her power like a weapon. It wasn't to the point where it was crushing, but enough for the taste of it to weigh on his tongue.
Theo despised it. This wasn't the chill of the starless days and nights on his ancestral island. This wasn't the ozone and petrichor of Harry's magic, the sulphur of the Zabini ritual, the cold of the crystals holding Daphne's Frozen Thoughts or the indescribable feeling of the wards around the Davies' household.
This was an intrusion. A thinly-veiled threat.
(Behave, or I will crush you.)
He wondered if the Dark Lord had done something similar with his followers. He remembered his father musing that it sometimes felt like they were all drunk on his power.
He hadn't dared to ask what the man he loved and respected had found so addictive in the venom of a snake.
"Has it been so long?" asked Theo's father, mild as always.
Subtly, the man shifted so his son could hide in his shadow. Theo breathed out.
His wand hand did not tremble.
But it dearly wanted to.
"It has been a while." More than twelve years, thought Theo. Scylla Carrow had left the continent in search of her master right after the Dark Lord's defeat, taking her heir and her spare with her. "Long enough for you to have forgotten your friends."
"I haven't forgotten anything," he replied. "But I had a wife to mourn and a son to raise."
The Carrow elder's mouth twisted in disgust at the mention of Theo's mother. She didn't seem to have caught the implications behind his father's words.
She clearly wanted to say more about what the man had forgotten, but something stopped her.
"Ah, yes, your little heir. The last scion of House Nott."
Theo shivered at the way she said those words. He knew that the absence of a branch family on the Isle made their House vulnerable in the eyes of others, especially considering the fact that his father's marriage to a foreigner hadn't given them close allies for this generation. He'd done the work to remedy that with his friendships but that mattered little to their enemies.
Knowing of a potential weakness was completely different from being confronted with a threat, he realised.
"I wonder if he is as talented in seiðr as his father was," she mused, her sharp eyes focusing on his half-hidden figure.
"He will surpass me in no time. Theodore has a knack for runic work."
Scylla's eyes narrowed. "And he will use this… knack for our cause, of course? I've heard interesting things about the Selwyn boy who just took his mantle. Just like I've heard interesting things about you."
"He will do what he must."
Theo suppressed a smile.
"Hm. We should talk more, Bertram. You and I are the only Knights left."
"Oh? What happened to Anton?"
That was the name of the Avery elder, he remembered. The one his father had told him never to approach alone because he was madder than a Black and easily offended.
"Haven't you heard? He was caught trying to break Grindelwald out of Nurmengard. Like that old fool would do us any good!" she spat.
Her magic rippled around her. Theo swallowed.
"Theo. Run along now. The train is about to leave."
He hummed and pressed a careful hand on his father's back, away from the harpy's sight.
Take care, he didn't say.
I love you.
I will see you in the summer.
He gripped his luggage more firmly and, after one last look at his father's inscrutable eyes, he walked away in silence, knowing that it was worth a thousand words.
Achilles rubbed at his wrists under the stream of water. He tried not to scratch it raw despite the temptation, unwilling to submit himself to the smell of blood so soon after he'd almost died from his veins being burnt from the inside out.
He focused on the bubbles of soap seeping away and rinsed his palms, taking a deep breath. And another.
"I'm safe now," he murmured, ignoring the clump in his throat. He turned off the faucet and dried his hands.
He was safe. For now.
He tried not to wonder how long it would last.
He thought about better things instead.
Miss Fawley —Gemma, call me Gemma— had promised she would get him letters from his sisters around May when there would be less scrutiny around the twins' actions. The new Spinea Regina of Slytherin was her best friend, she'd assured, and no one would find it strange if she asked them to hand over their correspondence.
Achilles wondered what was wrong with Slytherin to have had two blood traitors as queens in the span of a year. His great-aunt was probably seething.
But he would rather not think about Scylla Carrow right now. He would rather not remember staring at the motto of their House engraved on their silverware, the words he'd stared at when his father had casually pressed a steak knife against his wrist and told him he had half a mind to cut off his hand and see if his magic would regrow it.
His vision blurred. He put a hand on the door handle of the bathroom. He leaned his head against the doorframe.
He was safe.
"Achilles?"
He jumped. The boy blinked rapidly.
"Yes?" he croaked.
"Young man, are you okay?" asked the kindly guardian of the boy who had saved his life, Ulrich Fawley.
These people had saved him twice and were preparing to give him a future. An education, a chance at integration in a world he despised yet couldn't help but long for. A place where he would hopefully belong.
He had accumulated so many debts he had no hopes to pay any of them for a lifetime.
"Don't worry, little champion," had murmured his sisters when he'd voiced his worries, questioning the wisdom of trusting a family who had sworn Enmity against their kin. "We would have done worse than reach out to an enemy to keep you safe. No matter the price, it will be worth it if you live. We are both Carrows and traitors to our names. The former might have given the Fawleys cause to resent us, but the latter will save you."
They had told him to trust in them and the allies they had found.
The healer who walked like a king and the prince who talked like a merchant.
Harry Potter, who hadn't yet sworn the oath of physicians but behaved like it was his responsibility to see him safe and healthy. A Potter brought up among muggles, whose House was in shambles yet as rich as the Malfoys if not quite at the level of the Blacks, the Bones and the Ollivanders. They'd allied with goblins in the past and taken a hit to their reputation, but Achilles had always been told that Lucius Malfoy would never have gained so much influence in the Ministry if the Potters hadn't been attacked.
(Flora and Hestia told him he had come to them on the train and they had spent a long time observing him. They said he was the reason why they approached Gemma in the first place. Because she cared for him like his sisters cared for Achilles.)
Blaise Zabini, who called the favour of the second in line to Mezzogiorno's throne just to save a boy he'd never met because his best friend wanted him alive. Who came from a land where wixen and muggles barely interacted. Achilles hadn't dared ask what happened to squibs in a principality where everyone lived and breathed magic. He wasn't quite sure he would ever have the nerve to do so.
The lady without a ring and the man she intended to elevate.
Gemma Fawley, the heiress groomed to take a seat her father rejected, who was both kind and pragmatic. Who treated a distant cousin like a brother, and the squib son of an enemy like someone worthy of her protection.
Terence Higgs, who shouldn't have had magic and yet did, whose father should have been a wizard and yet wasn't. Whose family would teach him how to walk and talk and behave like a filthy muggle, just so he could survive in the world least hostile to his existence.
The mudblood jester who ran ahead of them and the pureblood lord who followed when he should have led them all.
Adrian Pucey who joked to relax him and hid his sharp edges behind a friendly expression, and Aspen Selwyn who was all thorns and cool cordiality but who softened every time his friends smiled at him.
"I'm— I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute."
Achilles had never met anyone outside of the members of his House. His existence was never declared, as expected of a child who hadn't yet manifested any magic. He didn't know how to interact with these colourful personalities who spoke of things he recognised only because he had nothing to do but read and hide from his family's scorn.
He saw all of these people he didn't know or understand and he was terrified. Of the unknown. Of the way his resignation had settled among them and he'd slowly accepted that he would never get a letter. Of the way they all made it sound like it might be okay to not have magic.
Achilles had lied. He wasn't fine. He was terrified.
But he was safe. For now.
"I'm going to kill him before the year ends," murmured Safaa under her breath, watching Spencer wave awkwardly at her from the other side of the room. She waved back with a fake grin, imagining how it would feel to tie the boy's intestines into a bow.
"No, you won't. We need him to stay on the throne if we want to finish the year without bloodshed," said Aspen. The two of them were alone that morning. The kids were in class, Terence and Gemma were doing couple things, and Adrian had some bone to pick with Warrington. He had gone to bother him as soon as he found out the fourth year also had a free period on the first day back, waving them goodbye and promising he'd be back soon. She hoped he was okay. He looked a bit peaky.
"Just a little maiming? Please?"
Her friend pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. You're supposed to pretend you two are madly in love. If you start cursing him now, they'll question your legitimacy."
She watched him for a moment, cataloguing the signs of exhaustion. His eye bags could rival Terence's —an impressive feat, considering the prefect's magic literally kept him from sleeping due to the Curse of the Vigil— and his uniform looked more rumpled than he'd ever allowed. And there were ink stains on the pads of his fingers, which he would have already banished if he had noticed them.
"Wait, is that— Aspen!" She grabbed at his hand. "That's not your heir ring. When did they make you a Lord?"
Her friend raised an eyebrow. "You noticed faster than I expected. I asked Adrian not to say anything. I wanted to see how long it would take the rest of you," he smirked. "Oren," his first cousin and the steward of House Selwyn if she remembered right, "gave me the Lord ring during Ostara. We did the… rites."
Cagey as always, she thought. Some Houses really didn't like sharing their magical practices.
"Ah, because the celebration is associated with new beginnings?"
"Mhm. Everyone was there."
"Even your cousins from Durmstrang?" she asked, blinking in surprise.
"All of them."
She whistled. "And how did it go?"
Aspen sighed. "It was a shitshow. Mother protested. She argued that I had no right to the Lordship as long as Father was alive. Juniper," Oren's younger sister, she filled in, mentally reviewing the Selwyn family tree, "told her House Selwyn wasn't House Wilkes and her family's laws didn't apply. A Selwyn Lord who hasn't stepped foot in the estate in twelve season cycles loses his right to the ring. That is our way," he explained to her benefit. "Mother didn't like that. She liked it even less when we announced that our House would make overtures to join the Longbottom Alliance. She's been asking me to grant her a marriage annulment."
Safaa winced sympathetically and bent down to reach for her purse. She rummaged through it and let out a cry of triumph once she'd found what she was looking for. She handed her friend a chocolate frog.
He snorted and took it, thanking her with a look. "Like she can't divorce herself." Aspen rubbed his face with his palm before opening the wrapping and beheading the frog, throwing its head into his mouth. "I shouldn't have brought Adrian to this madhouse."
"Why did you?"
He looked briefly embarrassed. When he started explaining, he didn't meet her eyes.
"My cousins asked to meet him. Well, Marlowe asked." That one was a second cousin, who went to Durmstrang with Juniper. He had five siblings and was the most tolerable of the lot, apparently. "Then Oren blackmailed me into it."
"Oh-ho, I see."
"You don't see anything," he deadpanned.
"Yes, I do. But I know getting you to admit it will be like pulling teeth so I'll just ask Adrian if you finally confessed and call it a day. You've been pining for what, three years now?"
Aspen shook his head, exasperated.
"Right." She took his lack of protest as confirmation and grinned at him. "Shush, you. Back to what I was saying. There was a lot of screaming, and most of the elders sided with Mother. But Aunt Laurel said politics didn't matter, only the magic did. If I performed the rite and the grimoire in the sacred tree ate me," he said with a side glance at her, though she kept her expression incredibly composed for someone who just learnt her friend's Lordship ritual involved a man-eating grimoire, "then I wouldn't be worthy of the ring. If it didn't, then we'd talk."
Adrian probably freaked out. She wondered if that was why he looked so ill. Come to think of it, he hadn't looked Aspen in the eye the entire evening yesterday. She would have to talk to him, she decided.
Aspen didn't need Safaa's mother henning so she made plans to address that later, both privately with Adrian and with their whole court.
"You survived, obviously."
He shot her a tired smile, his exhaustion even more obvious.
"Yes. But at what cost?"
Harry was meeting Neville at Hogwarts' greenhouse for the first time since classes picked up again.
Between the changes in Slytherin House, Gemma's awakening and his eventful spring break, he hadn't had the chance to see his godbrother much. He had even skipped the usual social events to take care of Achilles, which had worried his friends from other Houses enough that he had received several letters asking about his well-being. Ulrich suggested he tell everyone his foster guardian took ill and he needed to stay at his bedside as a way to explain both his and Gemma's absence. Harry wished he didn't have to lie but he understood that the truth should be kept among his and his cousin's allies.
They didn't know what information might spread from society gossip and there was no need to tickle the sleeping dragon.
"How's Ulrich?"
Harry leaned against the glass wall of the greenhouse, careful to keep his hands on the paved walk. Being bitten by a magical plant was not his idea of a good time.
Next to him, Neville was crouching close to a flowerbed, putting on his gloves and methodically coating them with his magic.
Harry wasn't as good at describing magic as his friends were —though Tracey was more like him as well, down to earth rather than flowery. Theo on the other hand, had a tendency to wax poetic about anything pertaining to magic, choosing his words with the care and reverence of a worshipper— but he'd always thought Neville's magic was a bit like what it felt to have sunshine on your skin. It was gentle and warm, and oh-so appropriate for a boy who preferred handling plants to humans.
"Better now. He's been sending all sorts of letters these past few days but he won't tell me what it's about. He said he wants it to be a surprise."
He knew some of them were for Remus, whom he'd been helping prepare for Sirius' release as well as asking for advice on choosing a proxy for the Potter's seat in the Wizengamot, which had been left empty for years now. As Harry's legal guardian, it was Ulrich's responsibility to find a steward for Harry's House. If the Potter heir had a suggestion to give he would have followed it, but Harry didn't know enough about politics nor have enough connexions to make an informed decision yet, so something had to be done.
Harry privately thought Ulrich was trying to figure out if his father's old friend would be amenable to accepting the role but they couldn't ask Remus directly without knowing if his mysterious illness would be an obstacle.
"Huh."
"What about your gran?"
"She's… as well as ever. She's brought me to two interviews," he sighed while repotting a plant, which made a chiming sound to signal it liked the quality of the soil. Neville smiled down at it despite his apparent weariness. "She says I'm old enough now, that I should be doing it more than once a year. That and I needed to talk about what happened in the Chamber. Everyone's been… I don't know if you've read the papers."
"No, I didn't. Should I? Or would you rather tell me?"
"You can read them if you want but I'll tell you how it went. They were mostly interested in the whole mess with Lockhart. I'm actually surprised you weren't contacted about him, since you knocked him out and all."
"They sent a letter to Ulrich after it happened. He refused on my behalf. They didn't insist, I'm not a celebrity," he said with a playful smirk.
"Lucky you," Neville grumbled. "At least she didn't make me talk to Rita Skeeter. If Gran thinks I'm old enough to give more interviews, then Skeeter probably will think I'm old enough to be ripped to shreds. I remember she had a field day when we had that whole debacle with that quack writer who published books about my life. I was eight then and I don't think I've ever seen so many ways to insinuate someone might be a squib before."
Harry grimaced. "And you couldn't sue her for libel?"
"No, she was careful about it. It made Gran so angry."
"So… did you say the whole truth to the papers? You know," he gestured at Neville's scar before making a nonsensical movement, "with the… diary?"
"To say the whole truth I would have to understand what happened. We still don't know what that diary was. I can't just tell everyone in Magical Britain that I met a teenage version of Voldemort. Even if it would be good to tell everyone he's a muggle-raised half-blood and therefore full of crap."
Harry hummed.
"I don't think that would help. He didn't really hide it from his followers, you know? The Knights of Walpurgis all went to school with him."
"How do you… ah, right. Nott."
"Yeah. Actually, I think that made it even more legitimate to them. Like, he's lived among them, he must know what he's talking about, right? That's what they would think."
"But he didn't!"
"Of course not."
Harry carefully didn't say that if the only muggles Voldemort had met were people like his aunt and uncle, he could somewhat understand where he was coming from. He remembered the scorn, the hatred they felt for him. He remembered the way his neighbours' indifference to his obvious mistreatment was sometimes even more cutting than his relatives' disgust of him.
He had no pity for Voldemort. The man had inflicted upon others untold atrocities that nothing could excuse.
But Tom Riddle, on the other hand… Harry knew muggle history. The man was at Hogwarts during the Second World War and if Theo's father was to be believed, he had been living in an orphanage during the summers. He doubted the man had known any kindness or safety during his childhood.
He wondered if the man would have turned out the way he had if he'd had someone like Ulrich to take him in. Or if the Curse of Blood Mania inflicted upon House Gaunt during the civil war led against Ramsey Lestrange would have twisted him the way it seemed to have twisted so many of his family members.
Was it nature or nurture that made monsters?
"So you didn't talk about Tom Riddle?" he said in a low voice.
Neville shook his head. "I said the diary was cursed by an evil wizard. I had to talk more about the basilisk to distract the journalist. I don't want people to take it as inspiration or something."
"That's not a bad idea. I bet they lost their minds when you told them you killed it with a sword."
His godbrother grinned sheepishly. He made an aborted motion to rub the back of his neck before remembering he probably shouldn't touch his skin with plant sap all over his gloves.
"The article called me the second coming of Godric Gryffindor. It was ridiculous. The twins have been reading it dramatically in the common room every night, it's terrible."
Despite his words, Neville looked bashfully pleased. He had managed to cheer up the Weasley brothers, which was no easy feat. The longer Ginny spent at St Mungo's the more difficult it was for her family to keep a smile on their faces.
It probably hadn't helped Ron, though. Harry had heard that the boy was taking it harder than anyone else, probably because he hadn't noticed Ginny was possessed until Tom Riddle revealed himself. He'd been lucky to have come out of the Chamber unharmed; although the cursed diary had mentioned plans to drain him of his magic as well, it hadn't done more than stun him before Neville arrived.
The only thing that seemed to cheer him up was ragging on Malfoy apparently, the family feud between the two Houses having worsened due to the incident.
"Well, they're not wrong, beast slayer. You'd certainly make a dashing knight," said Harry with a laugh to steer his friend away from thoughts of his best friend.
Neville shushed him. "Don't call me that. You're exaggerating." He paused. "The Argentum throne did call me a sword-mage, though. It said it hadn't seen one since the fifteenth century. I'm not sure what that means."
"Maybe you should find out."
"I'll ask Hermione," he said with a smile, "she loves research."
He pushed himself up before taking off his gloves. "We should head back. We're meeting everyone in the library, right?"
Harry nodded and stood up as well. They'd decided to make an inter-house study group to prepare for the final exams and at least half of their year mates had said they would come. Padma had apparently spent the first days back to school making study cards for everyone to use so she could quiz people later. The Ravenclaw was really frazzled, determined as she was to beat Hermione's grades this year.
They walked up to the castle in companionable silence.
"I think Professor Dumbledore knows what the diary was. He did that thing where his eyes twinkle when he looked at it," said his godbrother after a bit.
Harry made a face.
Neville sent him a curious look. "What? You don't like him?"
The Potter heir hummed before tucking at his caduceus earring.
"Headmaster Dumbledore is a bit… I just don't understand what he's doing at Hogwarts."
"How so?"
"Er. I'm not sure how to explain it." He paused, searching his words. "I talked a bit with Lee Jordan about a day ago, he and the Gryffindor chasers had come to our weekly Quidditch meeting —by the way, Cedric apologised to me for winning the match against Slytherin. Something about how it didn't feel fair since he didn't have a proper opponent and he should have been playing against me. He said it with a really innocent face too but I think he was pulling my leg. It was really funny. Anyway. Lee, Tamsin and I were the only ones there who'd been to muggle primary school and we mentioned how different wixen's view of education was. Like, just an off-handed comment, you know?"
Neville nodded to show he was listening. Harry smiled and continued. "Our professors are all higher scholars. Well, aside from the DADA professors. I mean, even Professor Hooch writes sociology articles about the importance of Quidditch."
Judging from Neville's expression, the boy hadn't known that.
"The professors at Hogwarts… they teach us and do research on the side. Theo found a book about ritual arrays dependent on the movement of planets written by Professor Sinistra and he's been raving about it since we've been back— sorry, sorry, I keep getting off-topic. Anyway, professors in the muggle world are not usually researchers. Some of them do it, but it's not common. They're usually people who have knowledge in a subject and do teacher training to be able to share that knowledge. School principals are former teachers, like the headmaster. So that's not different."
"The only thing that's different so far is the teacher training," commented Neville. "Well, that and what you said about the teachers not being scholars."
It was a little obvious that his godbrother didn't get what he was trying to say. He seemed genuinely curious though.
"I know, I know. The differences are really in the nuances. Like, Lee was saying that his mom complained about the fact that Hogwarts didn't teach mathematics or literature. But we do. We do arithmetic in Transfiguration and geometry in Astronomy class. It's like complaining about us not learning physics when most of it doesn't even apply to the wixen world and what does is taught in the magical theory portions of our classes." Harry sighed a little bit. He was not looking forward to revising his notes on the shrinking charm. "We could do with some English lessons though. Ulrich kept telling me my spelling was awful in first-year."
"So we have different priorities?"
Harry nodded. They were almost at the castle's doors.
"Yeah, that's where I was getting at. It's a different mindset. Muggle teachers don't need to be geniuses to teach, they need to be able to explain difficult concepts in a way that's easy to understand. Our professors are experts in their field the way college professors are in the muggle world."
It was really admirable when you thought about it. Other experts usually devoted themselves to their research and took on a few apprentices or signed on with Magical Academies where they had two classes to teach per week. Hogwarts professors taught around fourteen different classes on top of their research and most were still at the top of their fields.
Ulrich had told Harry he suspected the professors who taught core classes used time-turners to get some sleep time and wrote most of their research during holiday periods. Harry thought it still made for a crazy workload. He understood why Professor Snape gave insane requirements for OWL-level students to be accepted in higher classes.
"And Headmaster Dumbledore is like that too. He made amazing contributions to his research fields, especially in alchemy."
"But that's a good thing, right?"
They turned left at the entryway, intending to take a shortcut to the library.
"Yeah, it is. But that's not why he was made headmaster. That's what bothers me."
Neville frowned before he made a noise of understanding. "He became headmaster right after he defeated Grindelwald."
Harry fidgeted with his heir ring. "Ulrich told me that after the war with Grindelwald, the magical world kept throwing positions at him. He accepted all of them except that of Minister of Magic. And he did nothing but the bare minimum with all of them. And it's the same for his role as headmaster."
"Is that so?"
Harry jumped and turned around, opening his palm to let his wand slide out of its holster and stepping forward in front of Neville. His godbrother did the same a beat after, placing himself at his side.
"Professor," they both said when they recognised their interlocutor, watching the wizard with stunned expressions.
Albus Dumbledore glanced down at them with an affable expression, his eyes glinting behind his half-moon glasses.
"Hello. It's a wonderful afternoon, isn't it?"
The godbrothers exchanged a glance.
"It is, sir," said Harry slowly.
"Very, um, sunny?" added Neville.
"Would you care to follow me to my office, young men? It will only be a moment, I'm sure. I don't want to keep you. I've heard that you second years have planned quite an interesting studying session."