Spencer crossed Rollo's Keep's wards with dread pooling in his gut.
He ignored the part of him that told him he should run, run and never look back. He didn't have that luxury.
The family house elf, Meady directed him towards the sitting room, where she claimed his mother was receiving a guest.
The first thing he saw was blood pooling on the carpet.
He had never told Safaa.
He wouldn't have dared defy his mother like that. Oh, but he had wanted to. Spencer had wished he could talk to her about his cousin whose custody had been given over to his mother while her father languished in Azkaban. His precious cousin who had been robbed of a chance to attend Hogwarts by Fenrir Greyback. Lizzie Rowle was eight when she was bitten. The same age as him. He'd had to beg his parents on his knees not to put her down. They'd called him soft and scorned him for it, but he got his way. He was their only heir after all, and though he had never been told in so many words, he knew his mother had sacrificed her ability to give birth in a failed attempt to resurrect the Dark Lord she still worshipped. The ritual they attempted hadn't worked for reasons he was still unclear about, though he still thanked any gods that would hear it for that.
They used Lizzie as a tool to guarantee his obedience. And it had worked.
He had been the perfect heir, sometimes beyond expectations. In exchange, he'd been allowed to tutor his cousin, to grant her the magical education she had been denied. To give her a future.
As far as anyone at Hogwarts was aware, Lizzie studied at the Salem Institute of Witchcraft. And when it came time for her to 'graduate', no one would be the wiser. She would integrate back into British pureblood society with a supply of wolfsbane potions at hand, study under a more tolerant Master and live a happy life, if one shrouded in secrecy. Spencer shackled himself to his family seat for her life and freedom. He never regretted that choice.
He had only allowed himself to look at Safaa because Lizzie encouraged him to do so after he confided his eyes sometimes sought her out in the common room. She didn't want to deprive him of a chance at love. His cousin always felt guilty for all he'd given up for her sake. He'd agreed to try, if only to soothe her guilt. He had never known how to tell her no.
So he had tried. He'd been reckless with it, his growing love for Safaa emboldening him to take risks he would have never dared to attempt. And for months, it was wonderful. The Light witch was a breath of fresh air. She was brilliant at potions, a passionate storyteller. She shared tales of her family in Egypt and Persia, took him to the kitchens and cajoled and bribed the hired elves until they made her favourite recipes for him to try and talked about her dreams to open a magical cosmetics business that would set new trends in the wixen world and encourage people to be bolder, brighter and more at ease in their skin.
She used him as a canvas sometimes and painted artwork onto him with potions, unguents and powders of her design, humming songs he'd never heard before as she worked. When she did that, Spencer always stayed still and stared at her unblinkingly, afraid that the wonderful mirage his mind had concocted would somehow disappear if he closed his eyes. She always laughed and covered his gaze then, saying he was making her blush. She called him her gentle giant.
She was so beautiful it sometimes hurt to look at her.
He spent months in bewildered bliss, unable to fathom that she had chosen him of all people, despite his inability to express himself, despite the way he sometimes flinched when she made to touch him, despite the enforced secrecy.
Lizzie was thrilled when he told her all about it. She started making plans for when he would finally challenge his Lady Mother, take the Lordship of House Rowle from her and marry the girl he loved. He'd never had the heart to tell her he was too much of a coward to try. He let himself dream nonetheless, imagining a world where he would be strong enough to take on the woman who had been called Madlin the Dread by her fellow Death Eaters and who had only escaped Azkaban because she had never been caught without her mask.
(Madlin Rowle had been a Gryffindor, like most Rowles before her. Their house sigil, two gold manticores on a crimson shield, reflected this tendency. Spencer had no doubt Lizzie would have been one too, if she'd been given the chance. They were both proud, fierce and brave.
Spencer… was not.)
He let himself dream.
Then Draco Malfoy found out and his world came crashing down.
He was forced to betray the girl he loved for the sake of his sister in all but name, who would be the one punished in his stead if the little worm of a blackmailer actually dared to tattle.
(Malfoy didn't seem to understand that his threats might have worked but enforcing them would result in his death.
Spencer wasn't willing to kill a prepubescent teen. He would do it if he had to. He almost had, before the little worm who thought to call himself a dragon had assured that if anything happened to him, his secret would be outed by his personal house elf and the Malfoys would know where to point fingers.
Spencer couldn't protect Lizzie if he was dead, and it would be the most likely outcome of putting himself in the path of Narcissa Malfoy's wrath, nevermind his own mother's.)
The two months he spent as a puppet king were miserable, both due to Safaa's refusal to even look at him and to the stress of having to figure out an exit plan for Lizzie before the truth inevitably outed. He'd told her immediately of course, and they'd found a way. They waited until the Daily Prophet announced a new sighting of the Greyback pack and Lizzie claimed her Right to Hunt, an old Rowle tradition from the times their family, the only magical descendents of William the Conqueror, himself a scion from the line of the Viking Rollo and the only son of the enchantress Herleva still kept to the ways of their ancestors. They hunted their enemies after coming of age and bathed in their blood to strengthen the magic in their cores.
She argued she was of age and House Rowle's traditions allowed it. Madlin found it amusing enough to let her. They'd reasoned it would surprise no one if she never came back from it, especially if Lizzie left blood near Greyback's settlement to cover her tracks. Of course, she had no plan to approach the pack's den until they had already vacated it.
When Spencer received a message from her telling him the deed was done and she would now be headed west, he had breathed easier. Shortly after, Safaa's court enacted their own plans. And he gave her the crown of thorns as both an apology, a way to ensure she would have control over Slytherin after he graduated, and a statement both to Malfoy and to his parents. His mother's silence rang loudly, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
Although Safaa still scorned him — and for good reason —, she played the game well enough and he was granted the guilty pleasure of her company. He had the time to memorise her features, all too aware that he would likely never see her again. Because he had to go home and the only certainty he had was that his mother wouldn't let her heir die. He could expect his re-education to be painful but as long as he complied, he could leverage Lizzie's safety for his obedience again. As long as she stayed far, far away it would be fine. He had only strayed once after all. His mother wouldn't forgive it but he was sure he could make her forget it.
Or so he thought.
But here Madlin Rowle was, his beloved cousin's corpse at her feet, calmly sipping tea in front of the mirthful eyes of Scylla Carrow.
His mother calmly set down her teacup before appraising him, her expression unreadable.
"Welcome home, Spencer. Say hello to Aunt Scylla, would you? It's been a long time since she visited. For shame, her children are your godparents and yet we haven't seen them in a decade."
She shook her head in mock disapproval.
"You—" Spencer choked, feeling like bands of steel had encircled his heart.
Madlin Rowle tilted her head, as if puzzled before she put on a look of affected understanding.
"Oh, that? Fenrir made a mess of the carpet," she tutted, shaking her head with mock disapproval when she noticed his gaze was still focused downwards. She gestured towards the bloodied body on the floor. "He hasn't changed at all, after all these years. When I told him his pup would be looking for him, he was thrilled," she said in a musing tone. "Of course, he was a little disappointed when she ran from him instead of challenging him. But dogs love a chase, don't they? It gets their blood pumping. Now, why don't you come sit, dear. We have a lot to talk about."
Harry's mother looked like a wax doll. Pale and pink-cheeked, with her blood-red hair streaked with silver and her glassy, empty eyes, so dull compared to her son's they almost seemed a different shade. She rarely regained her awareness, though when she did she always had her son's or her husband's name on her lips. It was heartbreaking.
James Potter's state was even sadder. His gaze always stayed blank unless he was having an episode, which Harry had confided happened rarely now. According to the comprehensive diagnostic charm Harry had surreptitiously cast during a prior visit, it used to happen once a day during the first months of the man's hospitalisation, as opposed to once every six months in recent years. Blaise had only seen it happen once, when they had visited after Harry's last birthday. It hadn't lasted long, though Harry's sombre mood after he was subjected to it had taken a few days to dissipate.
The constant tremors in Lord Potter's hands and legs were worrying, though not as much as the way his magic sometimes thrashed as if he was still under attack.
A callous healer – new to the Janus Thickey ward, they later learnt — had wondered aloud why Lily was less affected than James when it was well-known that Death Eaters were always especially more vicious against muggle-borns. The curse Ulrich had sent him for that remark hadn't quite made Harry smile but it had certainly kept his magic from lashing out, which was as much of a victory. Blaise had only recently learnt the answer to that question, the story of the incarceration of Sirius Black shedding a lot of light into the more personal motivations of the Potters' attackers. Blaise thought Bellatrix Lestrange should count herself lucky she was already dead. Her husband and brother-in-law better pray he never found a reason to visit Azkaban.
Harry spent most of his visit telling his parents about his year and his plans for the summer. He apologised to them for not being able to visit again until the end of August, since they would be leaving for Mezzogiorno in two days. After that, he asked Blaise to watch for and — if necessary — distract the healers and medi-wixen in charge and cast another diagnostic charm. The results of it were completely unlike what he usually got when examining Slytherins needing to be healed after a duel. It was so extensive that the charm that generally presented itself as long lines of symbols curling around the patient was instead encompassed into multiple spheres containing each hundreds of symbols that shimmered above the Potters' heads in a language that was gibberish to anyone who wasn't familiar with healing magic. Harry would need several more visits before he could finish copying down all the information provided.
Blaise had an inkling of what his best friend planned to do with it, though he hadn't found an appropriate time to bring it up.
The Italian prince watched from the corner of his eye to see if he was finished, just in time to see his friend dispel his charm and press a wand to his mother's forehead.
"Legilimens," he murmured.
Blaise's eyes widened. He had taught Harry Legilimency in an effort to help him create decent Occlumency shields, though the year had been too eventful for him to truly dedicate himself to the lessons. He didn't expect him to attempt it on his parents though. Especially not considering that Legilimency was technically illegal in Britain.
He took an aborted step towards his best friend, only halted by the fact that Harry himself retreated and looked over at him.
"Just a probe, don't worry. I'm checking that their mindscape still stands," he whispered with a sad smile before moving over to his father and repeating the process. As he stepped aside, his eyes were suspiciously bright. "Huh. Turns out my dad's an animagus too," he said wonderingly.
"Oh? What type?"
Blaise had mentioned that animagi's minds often contained a spiritual form of the animal whose shape they adopted, though he hadn't expected for the knowledge to be relevant to Harry in any way. Few wixen became animagi; while it was a pretty impressive magical feat, it didn't necessarily have practical uses in day-to-day life and the animal instincts were sometimes such an inconvenience that it made the transformation less than worth it. Unless you were a spy. His uncle had a few of those under his employ. One of them transformed into a mosquito, which was both very unfortunate and very useful.
"A stag," he replied, walking up to him.
Blaise grimaced. More mundane animals were generally better, in his opinion, unless you were one of the lucky few who could turn into a magical creature. Harry snorted at his expression, guessing what he was thinking. The Italian prince smiled ruefully. It was hard to shed their Slytherin mindset.
"It's not on his medical chart so I'm guessing he's unregistered," continued his friend. "I wonder if Remus knew. He's never mentioned it to me."
"Are you going to ask him?"
Harry shook his head. "He's very knowledgeable about legal matters and I still haven't figured out if it's because he follows the law to the letter or if it's to better circumvent it. If it's the latter – and since he was a prankster, it probably is – then I'll ask. But I have to check."
They exchanged a smirk before they left the hospital room, nodding at Blaise's bodyguard on their way out. Aurelio, who had been waiting outside the door, straightened and made to follow.
"So, how are they?" asked Blaise as they walked to the staircase, his tone cautious.
Harry didn't like taking the lift, claiming it was always too crowded. Besides, it was the best place to catch a weird magical virus.
"They were probably trained in Occlumency. I could see a mind palace in both of their mindscapes. They're in bad shape and they've probably retreated too far into it for me to reach, but it still holds."
"That's… that's good."
They reached the second floor of St Mungo's. Blaise watched as Harry pressed an absent-minded hand next to the name of Peregrine Potter, who had given its name to the Magical Ailments and Diseases ward. He smiled wryly. His friend had some legacy to live up to.
"Shall we go visit Ginny? The Artefacts Incident ward is on the ground floor, isn't it?" he proposed.
He knew his friend had contemplated the idea, though he hadn't been sure of his welcome. They weren't friends with the first-year after all. They had spoken with her a bit the previous summer when they visited the twins at the Burrow, but the conversation had never gone beyond the superficial. Then she'd been possessed for most of the school year and the Dark Lord wouldn't have risked her getting too close to Slytherins when everyone suspected them of opening the Chamber. The added scrutiny wouldn't have done him good, he supposed.
It was a mix of compassion for a student who'd had it rough, common courtesy towards their friends' little sister and a healer's misplaced sense of guilt that made Harry want to visit her. That, and the fact that he was all too aware of how depressing St Mungo's could be.
In Blaise's case, it was mostly pity and curiosity that motivated him, though he'd never say it to the girl's face. He thought it was very unfortunate that she had to pay such a hard price for her ignorance, but he also really wanted to know more about the artefact that did this to her. Of course, he had enough tact to keep it to himself.
Harry nodded in agreement, his expression growing even more solemn.
It took them a few minutes to get down and find the appropriate room. Unlike most of the patients of the ground floor's healing ward who suffered from relatively benign backlash from otherwise relatively harmless magical objects like wands or cauldrons, Ginny was staying in a more private area dedicated to repairing the damage done by cursed artefacts.
When they got there, the first year Gryffindor was staring glumly at an assortment of muggle textbooks.
"Ah," said Harry from the ajar door. "Hi, Ginny. We were around so we thought we'd come by and say hello. How have you been?"
"How do you think?" she snapped before flinching. "Sorry, sorry. Come in. It's a bit lonely today. My family's usually visiting but I'm gonna be discharged soon and after that we're going to Egypt to visit Bill – Dad won the lottery or something —, he hasn't been able to come here in ages and, anyway. They're packing today so I'm on my own. Sorry again, I didn't mean to snap at you. It's very nice of you to visit, and I know it could have been way worse and I kinda deserved it anyway, it's just…"
Blaise shook his head as they let themselves in. He interrupted the redhead before she could ramble herself into self-flagellation. "You didn't deserve any of that."
Ginny's eyes watered.
"But I was so stupid! Dad said, if you don't know where it keeps its brain —"
"And where does a magical painting keep its brain exactly?" asked Harry, his eyes flashing. "The Homorphus charm mimics people well enough that it's really not as straight-forward as that. Even if you'd known the dangers, there was no guarantee you could have detected ill intent from the diary. Neville had it too and he didn't notice anything wrong with it either."
Blaise nodded. "You should have been more careful, yes, but you're not to blame for being duped by someone who was older and cleverer than you. From what everyone's said, your British Dark Lord was an expert manipulator and very charismatic. It's no surprise you fell for it. Besides, I don't know what that artefact was but it wasn't anything I've heard of before." He paused. "Have the healers said anything about it?"
Ginny hiccuped, holding back tears, before shaking her head. "Professor Dumbledore kept it."
Blaise blinked in surprise. At the same time, Harry frowned.
"Why?" he asked, more to himself than to the poor girl. "The Artefact Incident ward specialises in studying cursed objects, it's necessary to design treatment plans."
The red-head shrugged.
"They already know what's wrong with me, though," she pointed out, sounding heartbroken. "And it's not something that can be healed. That's why I have all this," she said, pointing at all the muggle books in her lap.
Blaise grimaced. They had heard from the twins that the diary's magic was so fundamentally incompatible with hers that it was impossible to make them merge, and dual cores were unusable as the conflicting natures clashed and tried to cannibalise the other rather than coexist.
He had been horrified when his healer friend had explained the problem to their court after he'd researched the condition.
"Think of Light and Dark cores like a cluster of magical particles that are constantly moving," had said Harry, his expression grave. "This is all very simplified but technically, they coalesce into what looks vaguely like a sphere. A Light core whirls in one direction, a Dark core whirls in the other because the particles within them do so as well. This movement is the reason why they're understood to be opposing forces, no matter what different cultures call them. It's only possible to use Dark magic with a Light core if you draw on natural magic, which is more exhausting than using what you already have. A completely balanced core — what people call True Grey, though it happens very rarely — is one sphere so perfectly balanced that the Light and Dark particles seem to have merged." At that, he'd traced one swirl of red lights and another of deep blue lights with his wand and let them spin until they took the look of small suns. The first went clockwise, the other spinned counter-clockwise. Then he made a third one. The Grey core was represented by a purple sphere. Upon closer inspection, it had been evident that both blue and red lights swirled in opposite directions inside of it yet maintained a complete harmony, as if completely in sync.
"A more common Grey core – like mine — would be more like this." He materialised a core that was not entirely purple, rather going from blue to red with a harmonious purple ring at the centre.
"What we call a Light-Grey core works like this," and he'd made a sphere of red lights surrounded by unevenly-distributed blue lights that whirled counter-clockwise. "And a Grey-Light core like that", he had said as he showed a purple sphere ending in a red gradient. "Then Dark-Grey and Grey-Dark cores are the opposite but it's the same principle, see?"
He had materialised a blue sphere with orbiting red lights and a purple one ending with a blue gradient. Then his expression had turned sombre. "A dual-layered core doesn't occur naturally. It's always the consequence of corruption. This," he had summoned a red sun, "is what is happening to Ginny." And he had materialised blue lights that slowly spinned around the already formed core. They had watched with sickened fascination as the representation of Riddle's magic encased the young girl's like a cage made of light. "If Riddle had used Light magic, integrating it into Ginny's core would have been difficult but possible. Doing so as it is is not."
"She can't control his magic, and she can't draw out hers. The more she tries," had explained Harry grimly, "the greater the risk of crippling injury."
Not only was Ginny no longer able to attend Hogwarts, had explained Harry, she also had to be careful to avoid putting herself in situations where her magic might release accidentally.
Harry softened. "Have you been enrolled at a school yet?"
"Not yet. There's a squib in our family — on my dad's side, he's an accountant —, and we were hoping he might be able to help, but he hasn't answered any of our owls," she said, looking miserable and angry.
Blaise and Harry exchanged a look.
The Italian prince pulled out his wand and cast a privacy spell, one of the first charms he'd learnt from the Zabini grimoires.
"Terence – you know, my cousin Gemma's boyfriend? —, his dad is a squib and his mum a muggle. They're sponsoring another kid who's in a similar situation right now," said Harry cautiously. "I won't tell you his name because the situation with his parents is a bit complicated, but I'll talk to them and ask if they can help you out too, if you're okay with it?"
The relief in her eyes was a little hard to watch even for a heartless bastard like Blaise. Even if it took years, they would try to help her, he resolved, and saw the same thought reflected in his best friend's eyes. After all, Hagrid's life had been ruined by the very same Heir of Slytherin who had messed up Ginny's core and he'd finally been vindicated, his innocence proven after fifty years. There was no reason for Ginny not to be able to learn magic later if she was healed.
Lazzaro Zabini didn't come alone. His younger sister Crescenzia was there with him.
Harry was surprised he came at all.
Though the third prince of Mezzogiorno had previously told Blaise he had things to see in Diagon, he had also told his older sister he didn't intend to leave the palace until the caladrii he cared for had reached adulthood. Harry could tell his best friend wanted to ask about it, but they had some formalities to go through first.
Lazzaro looked less wild than Harry had imagined, influenced as he was by the image of the other creature-lovers he knew, namely Hagrid and Charlie Weasley. By contrast, the Zabini prince looked the most like Blaise out of all of his siblings, though his nose was hooked and he kept his hair long and braided at his back. He wore gold and amber jewelery. His robes were close-fitting, with a conservative cut reminiscent of muggle priests robes, though the modesty was offset by the rich burgundy silk they were made of and the gold sash at his waist encrested with House Zabini's symbol.
Crescenzia wore muggle-inspired clothing, a black poodle skirt dress with embroidered sigils Harry didn't recognise. The only jewelery she wore was in her hair, a diamond-encrusted pin keeping her hair out of her face and nape. He noted that she was also wearing white silk gloves and inwardly grimaced, remembering Antea's tale. Crescenzia's face was rounder than the other Zabinis he had met, whose sharp features were their most distinguishable trait outside of their colouring. It didn't make her look softer.
Both siblings walked with the feline grace Harry had come to associate with the family and stopped to exchange formal greetings with Ulrich as he invited them into the house.
Harry and Blaise watched as Lazzaro made his Vow of Protection to Ulrich in accented English. Harry's guardian accepted it and returned a formal declaration of trust.
Crescenzia stayed silent, though that wasn't particularly surprising. Blaise had told him she had rarely spoken to anyone outside of the family since the love potion incident.
Then it was Harry's turn to play his part in the formal handover, so he bowed as he was taught and told Blaise's cousin he was in his care. The man inclined his head with a small smile.
"It's nice to meet you, Harry. We've heard some interesting things about you."
"Likewise," said Harry with a shy grin.
"Why don't you boys go get your things so the servants can pack them away? We'll have tea in the meantime, if that suits you, Prince Lazzaro? Or do you prefer coffee?" proposed Ulrich.
"Tea sounds perfect," he said, inviting his younger sister to sit down first.
"Delightful. I have this great Russian blend I've been meaning to try…"
Harry and Blaise obediently went to fetch their things, leaving the adults to their conversation. When they came back after handing their luggage over to the Zabini attendants, Ulrich and Lazzaro were discussing the prince's plan to visit Diagon before taking a portkey to Aeris, the island where the residence of the royal family was located.
"... I was hoping to talk to the new head of the Snidget Reservation in Somerset since their conservation efforts are very similar to what I'm attempting with the caladrii. Owls aren't allowed into the sanctuary so I needed an alternative route, and I heard that the best way to get in contact with her was to enquire after her son who works as a creature healer for the Magical Menagerie. Brian Clagg, his name was."
"Ah, that fellow," said Ulrich with a wince.
Lazzaro leaned forward.
"You know him?" he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.
"Young mister Clagg has become rather infamous. My friend Garrick, who owns a little store in Alley," Harry repressed a smile. He didn't think anyone but Ulrich could be so flippant when describing the most famous wand shop in Britain, "has written me frequently about young Brian's recent attempts to tame a demiguise — he's a big fan of Mr Scamander, like many lads his age — and the creature's frequent escapes from the store. It doesn't get along with the crups, you see," he said with a chuckle.
Lazzaro's lips twitched like he was trying to repress a smile. "I see. His efforts are commendable. I will have to ask him about it when I meet him."
"If you have time after stopping by his store, I would recommend that you visit the goblin district's creature sanctuary. Lady Darkclaw, the Potter accounts' manager told me that there would be a prickle of — ah, it seems I forgot the name. It's some sort of magical hedgehog that grows tourmalines out of its back. They also have those glowing mushroom crabs that sell at quite a high price as potion ingredients. None of their creatures can survive on the surface so I doubt they're found anywhere outside of the Northern Goblin nation's territory. The entry to the district is in Knockturn Alley so you'll have to be careful not to let the children out of your sight but once you're in you'll be fine."
It was evident that the prince was very willing to go and see magical creatures he had never encountered before but the possible danger of bringing his sister and cousin in unfamiliar territory had him hesitating.
"Harry is a goblin friend, cousin," said Blaise to reassure him. "About half of the British clans are allied to his family, and the other half are at worst neutral to him. As long as we're with him, it's probably the safest place we could find in Britain."
Harry wrinkled his nose but nodded.
Although what Blaise said was not exactly wrong, it was an over-simplification. It was true that his family had acquired a lot of goodwill from the goblin nation and both their House's official naming as kho'bl-bal — goblin friends — and their alliance with the royal clan went a long way to give them good standing among the kho'bl population, but political dissidents would always be hostile towards him because of that very alliance and some warmongering goblins resented the Potter family's involvement in the drafting of the last kho'bl-wizard treaty.
But none of those dissenters would do anything against him and his guests when the number of allies he had in the British clans outnumbered them so overwhelmingly. In that sense, Blaise was essentially correct.
Besides, Harry wasn't about to nitpick at what his best friend said when he was well aware that Blaise understood the politics of his alliance with the Northern Goblin nation as well as he himself did. The youngest Zabini prince probably had a reason to frame things the way he did.
"What do you think, Zia?" asked Lazzaro, turning to his little sister.
The Zabini princess narrowed her eyes in thought before nodding her approval. Blaise's eyes crinkled. Harry watched his best friend sidle up to his cousin, catching her gaze before exchanging what seemed to be an entire silent conversation.
Harry blinked incredulously. Was she doing wandless and wordless Legilimency?
"We will pass by after I've talked to mister Clagg then," said Lazzaro with a satisfied smile. He stood up slowly and turned to the youngest in the room. "Are you ready to go?" he asked Harry and Blaise.
Harry nodded while Blaise replied in Italian. They both said their goodbyes to Harry's guardian before they made their way out of the property, bodyguards and attendants following behind them. The Potter heir stayed half a step behind his best friend, letting him catch up with his cousins. After the last few months of practice, he had gotten good enough at the language to follow the cousins' conversation, though a few words still escaped him. Blaise was talking about his encounter with Aragog, Hagrid's pet spider and his acromantula brood. Harry chuckled along with Lazzaro and Crescenzia at the animated retelling, although he had heard the story before. Blaise had ranted about Hermione's stupid idea many times.
"I thought you wouldn't come," said Blaise as they arrived at the edge of the property, where a magical carriage was waiting for them, pulled by Aetnaian, a Sicilian breed of winged horses very popular in Mezzogiorno. Recognisable by their manes of lava, they grazed on the floating island that sat on top of the Etna volcano. The carriage bore the crest of House Zabini, a demon's head in a five-pointed star encircled in gold. "The new clutch of caladrii has been your main preoccupation for months now."
"Hm, their first year of life is a delicate time," said Lazzaro as he directed his attendants with a few gestures.
The ivory carriage had two doors, leading to two expanded rooms. One was located at the back and only appeared after an attendant knocked on the smooth ivory surface. Although it was intended for the servants and their bags, the glimpse Harry caught of the room was as lavish as a muggle queen's sitting room. The other was on the side and opened into a tasteful rococo apartment with a ceiling painted to look like a clouded blue sky whose serenity was intermittently interrupted by flying creatures of all sorts.
"And since the species is endangered to the point of near-extinction, it is vital to take as many precautions as possible when rearing them. But Zia pointed out that I could only stay hidden in the magical menagerie for so long before people would start talking. It's already bad enough that she can't— ah, nevermind." At his sister's look, he smoothly redirected. "I could have made a presence at a banquet, I suppose, but you know how people at court are. You give them a finger and they'll take your wand hand. So I decided to make sure I was seen coming out to get you, since I'd been wanting to come either way. And I brought the caladrii with me," he said with a conspiratorial smile, tapping at the briefcase he was holding.
Harry blinked. He hadn't noticed it before. There must have been a notice-me-not rune carved into the leather, he thought.
"Speaking of caladrii. Harry, do you mind if I take a look at your owl?" he added in English, eyes fixed on the cage he had just taken from the attendant before he followed Blaise inside the carriage. While the rest of the luggage went in the expanded room at the back, Blaise had warned him Lazzaro would likely want to see Hedwig up close and it would be good to take her with him on the trip.
"I don't mind," he said, opening the cage slowly. "Will you come out, love? Prince Lazzaro wants to look at you."
Hedwig sent him a haughty look, preening as if to say it was par for the course for royalty to want to admire her. She hopped onto Harry's outstretched arm and stayed obediently still as he let his friend's cousin look at her.
"Fascinating," said Lazzaro after a moment of examination. "Did you know your owl was a hybrid?"
Harry's eyes widened. He shook his head. "No, I had no idea."
Crescenzia and Blaise looked just as surprised.
Lazzaro hummed. "I am not surprised. To the untrained eye, she looks like an ordinary owl. Where did you buy her, if I may ask?"
"She was a gift from a family friend. He bought her at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Ulrich went to pick her up when we shopped for school supplies before my first year. So she is half-caladrius, you think?"
"I believe we'll have to pay them a visit too, then. And yes, though I do wonder how that came to be. There are few occasions for a snowy owl to encounter a Mediterranean bird and if it had been the breeder's doing, your family friend probably would have had to sell an arm and a leg to acquire her. I hope you'll let me study her once we're at the palace. I'm quite curious to see how much of a caladrius' magical power she has inherited and how being raised solely as a post owl has affected her. I'd also like to look at your familiar bond. That she has chosen you despite the caladrii's general preference for royalty is intriguing."
"Of course I'll let you study her. I'd love to know what you find. I didn't know we already had a familiar bond," Harry said faintly. "I thought I felt… something but I rarely get time with her at Hogwarts so I thought it would take more time."
"It's not fully formed yet, but it's pretty strong considering how little time you've had with her."
Blaise grinned. "Man, Hagrid's gonna be thrilled. You should write to him about it."
The mention of the Hogwarts groundskeeper brought a questioning noise out of Crescenzia, which prompted Harry and Blaise to describe the various creature-related misadventures of the man, leading Lazzaro to understand Hagrid and him were kindred spirits. It got them a few considering looks from the princess though, who seemed less interested in the creatures they mentioned and more concerned about what they were doing in their school in the first place.
Harry knew that Blaise had been less than forthcoming on the details in his letters as he had no intention to tell his family about Voldemort but he ultimately decided it was harmless to mention certain things without revealing their connexion to the British Dark Lord's attempts to resurrect himself. The Potter heir thought the lie of omission would probably come back to bite them, but the very real possibility that his best friend would be pulled out of school if they said anything made him selfishly keep his silence. They would argue their case when they were older, he reasoned, nothing indicated that Voldemort was any closer to regaining his power. And it was Blaise's choice anyway, he wouldn't break his friend's trust by telling his family when the Zabini prince had no intention to do so. He ignored the guilty feeling that told him it was up to Blaise's family to decide if the risk was worth taking.
The trip to Diagon Alley was pretty short and they only spent a little time there. Crescenzia, Blaise and Harry left Lazzaro at the Magical Menagerie to eat some of Florean Fortescue's ice cream. The sight of the opulent carriage drew some attention but the forbidding looks of the Zabini family's guards prevented them from being accosted. Harry and Blaise did wave at Eddie Carmichael, a member of one of the Longbottom Alliance families who seemed to be doing some shopping.
Lazzaro came back with a contented expression and the Floo address of Madame Clagg, whom he would contact later in the week. The visit to the Owl Emporium wasn't as fruitful. The clerks at the store seemed to have no record of Hedwig whatsoever, and none of them remembered the name of the trainer who sold her. The only thing they could tell them was that she had come with a younger parliament of snowy owls born from the same mother, but that she had been the only owl of her clutch.
"I'll write to Hagrid and see if he remembers anything," said Harry as they left the store, hoping to ease the prince's discontent.
"Let's go to the goblin district now," suggested Blaise. "We can even have lunch there before visiting the sanctuary. That restaurant we tried last time was pretty good."
"Lead the way then," said Lazzaro, the corners of his lips lifting in reaction to his cousin's enthusiasm. He signalled to his attendant to move the carriage to a side street so it wouldn't bother passers-by.
They made their way into Knockturn Alley, ignoring the wary looks of the cloaked figures they passed by. When Harry glanced back, the Zabinis looked perfectly composed in the shabby district, keeping their heads high and never making eye contact with the distrustful citizens. He himself offered a blandly polite smile at a few hags and a vampire he crossed gazes with.
Despite the disreputable reputation of the district, Harry knew that most of the residents were part of the marginalised communities of magical Britain, who often struggled to find employment and lodgings in the more "acceptable" quarters due to their poverty, magical creature status or the curses they were affected by. While it was true that black markets and illegal stores were set up in Knockturn, it was mostly a refuge for the downtrodden and the Northern goblin nation had made a loud statement when they had moved the entrypoint of their British district into the Alley rather than leaving it at the side of Gringotts. This was a recent choice, made a few years before the first war with Voldemort in response to the ministry passing a bill that would allow them to claim goblin artefacts in the possession of deceased ministry workers who did not write a will if they did not bear the crests of the clan that crafted them.
That the ministry presumed to claim goblin artefacts at all was already insulting but that the bill disregarded goblin laws by implying that their crafts could be willed in the first place when such practice was forbidden by the treaty made it doubly so. They hoped to take advantage of the fact that Beatrice Potter's treaty was written on behalf of goblin clans, leaving room for manoeuvre to prey on clanless goblins and anonymous crafters. Moving the district's wixen entry to Knockturn, a place where wixen were known to sometimes disappear without trace made it very easy to dispose of ministry workers stocking up on goblin goods on behalf of the ministry without breaking the treaty.
This little tidbit of information explained the terrifying looks of the goblin sentries placed by the district's entrance, who were just as intimidating if not more than those who guarded Gringotts bank.
Harry greeted them in kho'bl-guk, noting that both guards bore the crest of an allied clan. They returned his salute with a friendly baring of teeth that had the Zabini guards tensing.
"They're happy to see you," noted Lazzaro with interest. Harry grinned. He could expect a creature lover to differentiate a grin from a threat, no matter how pointy the teeth that showed it were.
"Goblins like kids and they like House Potter," said Blaise, "so Harry's generally treated as one of them, especially since he's making the effort to learn their language."
"I don't have a choice, do I? I'll have to present myself before their king in two years for the name bestowal ceremony. I certainly won't show up speaking English."
Harry started his way down the stares leading to the goblin district, smiling softly at the way the steps lit a fluorescent blue when he stepped onto them. In no time at all, they reached a bustling goblin street where artisans of all sorts worked at their craft and presented their wares. There were no goblin children so close to the surface, but workers and buyers chattered amiably in kho'bl-guk, the harsh sounds of the language echoing melodically in the cave entrance. Further along, a river ran illuminated by glowing mushrooms and stones imbued with goblin magic.
Crescenzia's soft gasp and Lazzaro's pleased hum had him smiling proudly.
"It didn't take long to get down but we're actually pretty deep, aren't we?" murmured the older Zabini prince.
Harry confirmed with a hum. "They use space distortion magic on the stairway. Come on, the sanctuary is by the river."
Ulrich's suggestion was a good one; the Zabini cousins were visibly delighted by their experience, and Lazzaro even made friends with one of the carers who recommended a few books with information on the Northern goblin territory's wildlife. When it came time to eat, they were ravenous and barely paused to speak. The Mezzorgionese royals found goblin cuisine peculiar but quite rich, and they finished their meal with a tale from Lazzaro, who recounted some of his experiences during his year in Brazil.
As they got up from their seats — low cushions on the floor surrounded a table carved from a beautiful marbled stone — sated and ready to leave, Harry's gaze caught onto that of a child who was staring intensely at him. He offered her a smile and a salute, the latter of which she returned before tugging at her mother's sleeve. They had a short discussion before they both stood up. His eyebrows raised as they made their way to him. The Zabini guards straightened. Crescenzia's guard in particular seemed ready to pull out his wand, but Harry shook his head at him before taking a step forward so he could meet the family a distance away from the twitchy protectors of the family.
"You are Mister Potter, aren't you? My apologies for disturbing your meal. My lie-name is Ironspear. I am of the Dhuk'raen clan. This is my daughter Wendy Bagnold," said the mother.
Harry pushed his glasses up, thinking. The Dhuk'raen clan weren't formal allies to House Potter. They were a clan of warriors first and foremost, but not one of the proponents for a kho'bl-wizard war. He had no idea what they wanted from him. Judging by the girl's name, he could make a guess though. Her features should have clued him in. She almost reached her mother's height despite her young age, her teeth were less sharp and her ears more rounded. Her eyes, though black from iris to sclera like her mother's, were much smaller.
"Nice to meet you. Yes, I am Harry Potter."
"As you can see, my daughter is half-kho'bl. We have recently received her Hogwarts letter."
Harry blinked in surprise. "Congratulations."
Ironspear inclined her head and Wendy smiled at him.
"I would like to request your assistance in acquiring her wand. Most of her Hogwarts supplies are sold at stores that our people can access without trouble, but wand shops are a different matter and her father is dead, he cannot advocate for her blood." She paused. "You are the only goblin friend in Britain at the moment. We can ask no one else. I know that our clans are not allied but my brother is the Rhok of Dhuk'raen clan. If you would do us this service, it would be an honour to negotiate an alliance on his behalf. I will honour our debt to you, I give you my Word," she assured him, pressing her fist against her chest and flaring her magic, giving power to her words.
Harry sucked in a sharp breath, startled.
As kin to the fae folk, the word of a goblin held a lot of magical weight. Even if she was unable to secure an alliance, her magic would bind her to find an equivalent boon to bestow upon him.
"I'll do it," he said without hesitation. He would have done it without asking for anything in exchange, but it would insult her if he said it. "I'll ask my companions if we have time to do so now, otherwise we'll arrange it for late August. I'm leaving the country for a month and a half," he explained.
The tension in both of their shoulders lessened significantly.
He went back to the Zabinis and explained the situation with a few words. Lazzaro agreed to pass by Ollivander's before they left. Crescenzia nodded, looking at him with an appraising look.
They made their way out of the goblin district and Knockturn Alley. The Zabini cousins walked behind them, bracketed by their guards and attendants while Blaise trotted up to Harry, making small talk with the Dhuk'raen-Bagnold duo.
"There hasn't been a half-kho'bl student at Hogwarts since Professor Flitwick, has there?" asked Blaise.
"That's right," said Ironspear. "We considered asking for his support but our clan and his are in conflict at the moment. We didn't wish to put him in a difficult position. And we weren't sure about the shop owner's reaction, adding another kho'bl to the mix didn't seem like it would make it easier."
"I heard Professor Flitwick's wand was made by Gregorovitch," mused Harry. "Ah, but don't worry," he hurriedly added. "Mr Ollivander is a friend of my guardian, he won't give you any trouble. Are you excited about Hogwarts, miss Bagnold?"
"Please call me Wendy," she said, her ears twitching. "I am. But I am apprehensive too. I have never spent longer than a few hours above ground. It will be an adjustment."
"I can imagine."
Their group attracted even more looks than when they entered the Alley the first time via carriage. Thankfully, no one stopped them from entering the shop, though a group of frowning wixen who were exiting a hat-selling shop seemed like they wanted to. One look at the expressionless faces of the Zabini guards had them refraining, to Harry and Blaise's amusement.
Lazzaro and Crescenzia begged off, deciding to accompany their attendants as they fetched their carriage. They had to check the Aetnaians' health and the strength of the enchantments before starting the trip, to make sure no issue would occur while they travelled back to Mezzogiorno.
"Welcome to Ollivander's… ah. Harry. And Blaise, hello. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Hi, Garrick," he greeted with a shy smile. "Since the winter holidays, I think. You had lunch with us after New Year."
"That's right, that's right. How was your second year?"
Harry's mouth twisted in a rueful smile.
"Eventful. And you? How has the shop been?"
"Uneventful," he retorted with a chuckle. "I still haven't found an apprentice, unfortunately so the shop is quiet as always."
"By the way, did you ever find out who breached the wards last year? Ulrich didn't say," he asked, remembering the issue from the year before. He had completely forgotten about it.
"Hm. As a matter of fact, I did. It was the most peculiar thing. The intrusion was made by a wild elf from the Isle of Man who befriended a family of bowtruckles. I often visit the Archagallan forest there as it has quite a wonderful selection of wand trees. It seemed that on my last visit I collected an unwitting passenger. A newborn bowtruckle had gotten tangled into my robe in its eagerness to stop me from collecting a fallen branch of elm. The wild elf came to my shop to retrieve the poor thing and left without doing any damage."
Harry grinned. He was about to comment on the strange tale when Blaise cleared his throat pointedly, reminding him what they were here for.
"Right. I brought you a client."
Ollivander pushed his glasses up. "I see. And who have you brought me here?"
"I'm Wendy, sir. Wendy Bagnold."
"Ah, Killian Bagnold's daughter. I remember his wand. Alder wood, with unicorn hair. Reasonably flexible. It was one of my smallest wands. Very appropriate for transfiguration. Do you still have it by any chance?"
Wendy's mother nodded. "We have it displayed in the living room."
Ollivander smiled approvingly. "Very good, very good. Now, let's get you sorted, shall we?" He turned and started humming, examining different wands. "Here, try this one…"