Chapter 1
Summer 2003 - Twenty-two years after Sirius' emprisonnent
Rome, Italy
"Come on, Daphne! Pretty please," Astoria pleaded with a whimsical tone, her puppy-dog eyes imploring her older sister.
Daphne, her patience wearing thin, rolled her eyes. Despite being about to enter her third year at Hogwarts University, Astoria still retained a childlike demeanor that grated on her nerves. She knew all too well that her twenty-one-year-old sister had a knack for getting her way. Perhaps she had spoiled her too much, but she couldn't deny her little sister anything. Sighing inwardly, she begrudgingly gave in to Astoria's persistent charm once again.
"Okay, okay, I get it, we'll go," Daphne sighed, relenting to her sister's persistence once more.
For the first time, their parents had granted them permission to travel alone for vacation. It was a significant milestone, especially for Daphne, who was now considered a young adult after completing her undergraduate program and about to begin her fourth year at Hogwarts University. She relished the newfound independence, eager to cast spells without constant supervision, perks of being a fourth year. The Ministry's stringent regulations had dampened her practice for a long time, restricting young witches and wizards with less than three years of magical education from practicing magic outside of the university. And like all parents, hers worried and had not allowed them to travel before one of them could cast spells and protect themselves. But now that she was allowed to do magic alone, Daphne felt a strong sense of empowerment, confident in her ability to handle any potential trouble that might arise during their trip—though she was sure it wouldn't be necessary. They were on vacation, after all, a welcome escape from the political intrigues and rumors of arranged marriages that often plagued their life in Great Britain. Moreover, if Daphne played her cards right, she could extend her visit by a few days, taking a detour to her boyfriend's house before returning to her parents'. Of course, they were unaware of their princess's romantic entanglement, and Astoria remained oblivious as well. This concealment was necessary: after all, she was still bound by an engagement contract to a man other than her boyfriend, a man her parents had chosen for her. Daphne would need to concoct a plausible excuse to cover her tracks...
The two sisters had settled on Rome as their destination. Although they had attempted to convince their parents with the excuse of visiting an elderly aunt residing there, the ruse hadn't fooled anyone. Rome boasted one of the largest magical communities, and with carnival festivities underway, it was an irresistible draw. Furthermore, despite the Greengrass family's expansive international ventures and burgeoning business interests in recent years, Rome had remained untapped in their portfolio. Thus, neither Astoria nor Daphne had ever accompanied their father on a business trip there, leaving them unfamiliar with the city's charms. They knew London, Paris, and Berlin…but Rome? That was a city yet to be explored.
The two girls had arrived the previous night via an international Portkey, and upon arrival, they made a brief visit to their supposed elderly 'aunt'—in reality, a distant cousin of their maternal grandmother, who had departed Paris in her youth and amassed a modest fortune trading enchanted stones. After exchanging pleasantries with the relative they had used as a convenient excuse, they promptly made their way to their luxurious hotel. Finally! To them, weeks of opulence, far removed from the constraints of London's rigid etiquette of high society.
The girls had arrived at the St. Régis, a lavish hotel managed by an esteemed family of Roman purebloods, resolved to secure a suite befitting their prestigious lineage. Brimming with confidence in their status, they had furrowed their brows in dismay when the concierge informed them that a prominent mogul occupied the entire floor where their desired suite resided. Despite their attempts to sweeten the deal with generous offers—funds plentifully provided by their father—their efforts proved futile.
In her noble demeanor, Astoria had chosen to sulk like a petulant child throughout the evening, despite the fact that they were accommodated in a perfectly suitable and exquisitely luxurious suite on the penultimate floor of the St. Régis. However, the younger sister's sour mood proved fleeting: the moment they embarked on their exploration of Rome, they were captivated by the architectural and artistic marvels concealed within the city. They had visited the Trevi Fountain and marveled at the Pantheon. Naturally, they avoided the Vatican—the holy city remained rife with perilous traps for witches, and the shadow of the Inquisition loomed ominously. But the true highlights of their exploration weren't the historic landmarks; no, it was the panoramic views from the rooftops, the delectable cocktails, and the irresistibly scrumptious ice creams. For dinner, they ventured to a cozy yet delectable restaurant nestled in the magical Roman quarter. True to form, Astoria's curiosity led her to eavesdrop, and she caught wind of a semi-clandestine but highly esteemed dueling league holding its final match that very evening in the private salons beneath the St. Régis. Naturally, Astoria persuaded her sister to attend. What better opportunity to mingle with the cream of Roman youth? To forge connections for Carnival festivities…and maybe for later? They were ambitious, after all. True daughters of the Greengrass family.
The two sisters slipped into elegant evening gowns, each dress tailored. Daphne's gown, a deep sapphire blue, draped softly over her slender form, while Astoria's vibrant emerald green gown hugged her curves with understated elegance. Daphne's dark hair was styled into an intricate bun, while Astoria's golden locks cascaded in soft waves down her back. Both sisters put on their exquisite Venetian masks, adorned with intricate designs and embellishments, as they left their room.
Placing her wand delicately on one of the elevator buttons, following the concierge's instructions, the two sisters descended gracefully to the underground lounges. As the gilded doors slid open, they were transported into a scene reminiscent of 19th-century Roman grandeur. The salon was a masterpiece of elegance, with marble floors and ornate frescoes adorning the walls, while magnificent art pieces dotted the opulent space.
Stepping into the room, they were greeted by the hum of lively conversation and the soft strains of classical music, mingling with the scent of rich perfumes and fine wines. Guests, draped in elaborate baroque-inspired attire, moved gracefully through the space, their vibrant colors and intricate masks adding an aura of mystery and allure to the gathering.
Amidst the throng, the sisters recognized, under the masks, a few familiar faces from Londonian balls. They exchanged nods and smiles with a business partner of their father, Leonardo Acatti, who exported many potions to Great Britain. They even saw, in a corner of the room, standing regally amidst the crowd, Blaise Zabini's mother, the Black Widow herself. Not very surprising, as they knew she was Italian.
As Daphne's gaze swept across the room, it settled on a man standing in the opposite corner. His back was turned to her, and she could only see his hair, with hues as dark as obsidian, yet an air of intrigue surrounded him. Though she didn't recognize him, Daphne's sharp social intelligence and political training immediately made him pique her interest. If she wasn't mistaken, he was engaged in a discussion with Countess Conti, one of the most influential figures in magical Italy. All eyes were on him. The other guests kept a respectful distance, their expressions a mix of admiration and perhaps a hint of hesitation. Fascinating.
Meanwhile, Astoria's gaze wandered, drifting amidst the sea of masked faces in search of Blaise Zabini. If his mother was here, so was he. Finally, amidst the flickering candlelight and murmurs of conversation, she spotted him engaged in animated discussion with a group of individuals, all appearing to be in their late teens or early twenties. She nudged Daphne gently, distracting her from the mysterious stranger she was observing. Daphne turned to Astoria and looked in the direction her finger was pointing before she saw Blaise. A fleeting uncertainty washed over them as they hesitated, unsure whether to approach him. While they shared the same House at Hogwarts, they were hardly friends. Rome was meant to offer them a reprieve from the stifling formality of British society, and the prospect of engaging in polite small talk with someone they knew from Hogwarts didn't quite align with the goal of the trip. After a brief hesitation, they resolved to approach him. Their eagerness to connect with peers, the need to make acquaintances for the carnival with people their own age outweighed any lingering uncertainty, and they needed Blaise to be introduced to Rome's gilded youth.
"Blaise," Daphne saluted. Between the two sisters, she was the one who knew the young man best, being in the same year. It took him a few seconds to recognize them because of the masks.
"Daphne? What a surprise! Pleasant, of course!" he gave her a big, seductive smile. The girl had to admit that he was rather handsome but, after all, that was hardly surprising in view of who his mother was. Which explained why she distrusted his smile like the plague. He turned back to the three youths he was speaking to a few minutes ago.
"Allow me to introduce Astoria and Daphne Greengrass," Blaise began, his voice carrying a note of familiarity as he gestured towards the two sisters. "Daughters of the esteemed Greengrass House from England, which, over the past two decades, has risen to the top of the UK's trading houses—and they are also classmates of mine."
"Luca," he said, turning to the first of the trio, "hails from the illustrious Di Matteo family, known for their exquisite craftsmanship in fine Italian textiles, as well as their prowess in wizardry."
Blaise then nodded towards the next, "Marco, heir to the Rossi lineage, esteemed for their mastery in the art of winemaking and their skill in potion-making."
Lastly, he gestured towards the elegant young woman, "And Arabella, scion of the esteemed Conti family, renowned for their influence in the world of finance and politics, as well as their proficiency in dueling and spellcraft."
Blaise's charismatic smile lingered as he redirected his attention to the sisters. "Now, what brings you two lovely ladies to our humble gathering?" he inquired, his tone casual and interested.
Daphne, sensing the need to step in before Astoria could say something impulsive, took the lead. "We heard there was a duel happening tonight," she explained smoothly, her voice confident and poised. "And naturally, we couldn't resist the chance to meet fellow young witches and wizards and immerse ourselves in the excitement of the evening."
"Ah, I see you're also privy to the talk of Rome, the duel of the decade! It's practically impossible to escape the buzz—it's the topic of conversation among all of Roman high society. And rightfully so... it's being hailed as the match of the century! Leonardo Conti, heir to the esteemed Conti family—and the beloved brother of our very own Arabella here—will be facing off against a complete unknown guy called Marcus who has swiftly risen to prominence with unmatched speed and skill. What's more, this mystery challenger is said to be the retainer of the enigmatic Count of Caerwin." With a subtle gesture, he indicated the mysterious stranger whom Daphne had been observing just moments ago.
"The Count of Caerwin?" inquired Astoria. Arabella huffed in annoyance, but it was Marco Rossi, the son of the potion brewers, who responded.
"Indeed, in the flesh. Though his true identity remains shrouded in mystery."
"Merely an upstart," declared Arabella disdainfully, as Luca answered, "The scion of a princely Austrian lineage," and Blaise said, "A bloody rich badass."
Arabella shot him a withering glare, prompting him to feign a cough in an attempt to divert attention. Marco, however, pressed on with his explanation.
"Well, truth be told, his true identity remains a mystery, shrouded in speculation that has consumed the gossip mills of Rome for weeks now. He appeared seemingly out of nowhere about two months past, making his grand entrance into high society under the auspices of none other than the venerable Count Valerii himself. And mind you, it takes a considerable feat to impress the old coot, who wouldn't flinch in the presence of Dumbledore himself. Since then, he's been the subject of much speculation and intrigue. He appears to possess wealth that rivals that of the late King Midas himself, with seemingly bottomless pockets, and somehow he's managed to secure the entire top floor of the esteemed St. André for his lodgings. Furthermore, for reasons unknown, the veteran Baron Decii—known for his steely resolve—is struck with a palpable fear in the presence of the Count, though he remains tight-lipped as to why. Needless to say, it's become the hottest topic of conversation among the elite. And he even has a mysterious henchman, who is only a few years older than us. His retainer is a man of few words—so much so that one might mistake him for being mute, we would if we hadn't witnessed him conversing with the Count. Yet, despite his taciturn nature, his skill with a wand is unmatched, earning him a coveted spot in tonight's final duel."
Daphne was taken aback by the revelations, and she could see that with each additional sentence, Astoria's curiosity was also steadily growing. The tales were undeniably captivating, albeit incredibly extravagant. Yet, if the Count possessed even a fraction of the influence attributed to him, he would undoubtedly be a significant figure worth knowing, and Daphne had her own aspirations to expand her network. And if the Count's influence was not exaggerated, Astoria would need to be monitored closely to ensure she didn't recklessly pursue his acquaintance…and didn't create a diplomatic incident.
Just then, the host—probably the owner of the hotel—clapped his hands once, signaling for silence. The guests obediently vacated the center of the room, making way for the dueling platform that materialized before them.
As the other guests dispersed, leaving only two figures standing in the center of the room, Daphne's eyes fell upon them, and she guessed that they were the duelists.
The first was probably Leonardo Conti. He stood tall and imposing, adorned in opulent attire befitting his noble lineage. His garments, richly embellished with intricate embroidery and fine fabrics, exuded an air of aristocratic refinement. With his dark hair meticulously groomed and a confident demeanor, Conti carried himself with an unmistakable aura of authority and grace. Opposite him stood the one who had to be the retainer of Count Caerwin, a young man of about twenty to twenty-five years old. His platinum blond hair was cropped short, contrasting sharply against his tanned complexion. A prominent scar marred his face, stretching from his temple down to his jawline. His expression was stern and focused, devoid of any hint of frivolity or hesitation.
Daphne listened only with a distracted ear to the host's announcements: her gaze had just met that of the Count, on the other side of the platform. He was looking at her. His Venetian mask couldn't hide the intensity with which he stared at her, an extremely complex expression in his eyes that she couldn't identify. And, a few seconds later, as if nothing had happened, he turned his head and resumed his conversation with such naturalness that she doubted he had even looked at her. She heard someone squeal, and she turned to her sister. She saw the look Astoria sent to the retainer, and she had the urge to facepalm. Even though she could see the masculine charm of the duelist, couldn't her sister have a crush on someone more…normal?
Suddenly, the first spell went off, with a speed that startled her. The air crackled with energy as the two duelists sprang into action, their wands flashing like lightning bolts in the dimly lit room. Daphne had never seen something like that. Leonardo Conti, his movements fluid and precise, launched a barrage of spells at his opponent, each one aimed with deadly accuracy. But the retainer of the Count was equally adept, his reflexes honed to perfection as he deftly dodged and parried each incoming attack. With a fierce determination, the duelists clashed, their spells colliding in bursts of bright light and thunderous explosions. The room trembled with the force of their magic, sending shockwaves rippling through the air.
Daphne stretched, letting out a yawn that echoed through the room. With a mischievous grin, she flicked her wand, sending a cascade of sparks towards her sister, who jolted awake with a startled gasp. Once both girls were sufficiently groomed, they made their way downstairs to breakfast in the hotel's grand reception room.
"It was quite the spectacle, wasn't it? Shame about Marcus, the Count's retainer. But what a fighter! He had quite the appeal, didn't he? Do you think there's any chance of running into him again?" Astoria's words spilled forth in a torrent, her excitement palpable.
Astoria's incessant chatter threatened to overwhelm Daphne, but she couldn't deny the allure of the young duelist. Despite his eventual defeat at the hands of the seasoned Italian nobleman, it had been a battle of epic proportions, lasting minutes and involving countless spells. The young man's talent was undeniable, even intimidating. Daphne had witnessed many professional duels in her time, but the vigor and determination displayed by the young duelist reminded her of the awe-inspiring duel demonstration given by Professors Snape and Flitwick back at Hogwarts. Without having either Snape's cold concentration or Flitwick's creativity, he surpassed them both in spellcasting speed and agility.
Lost in contemplation, Daphne found herself drifting away from her sister's excited prattle, only to be brought back to reality by the approach of a stranger.
"Mesdemoiselles Greengrass?" interrupted an incredibly suave voice. Daphne turned toward the voice, finding herself face-to-face with one of the most captivating women she'd ever encountered.
Radiating an aura of icy elegance and aristocratic poise, her features were as finely sculpted as the most exquisite marble. Her piercing eyes, dark as the depths of the night, held a magnetic allure, while her flawless porcelain complexion was whiter than snow. Dark locks of hair fell in cascading waves around her shoulders, framing her face in a soft halo of shadow against her alabaster skin. Each movement she made was a study in graceful precision, her lithe form draped in a gown that hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating the curves of her hourglass figure with tantalizing allure.
"Mesdemoiselles Greengrass," she began. "I am Isabella, stewardess to Count Caerwin. My master extends an invitation for lunch in his company. Will you honor us with your presence?"