Chapter 2

Summer 2003 - Twenty-two years after Sirius' emprisonnent

Rome, Italy

"An invitation?" echoed Daphne, her surprise evident despite her best efforts to maintain composure. An invitation from the Count himself? The mysterious figure who commanded the attention of all, yet remained elusive to most? The same Count who held sway over her sister's crush, Marcus? The man who was the talk of all Rome? And why them?

The beautiful newcomer nodded solemnly. "Indeed, ladies," she affirmed. "The Count has been informed by our gracious host of your intended lodgings and regrets any inconvenience caused by his prior occupancy of the suite you desired. As a gesture of apology, he extends an invitation for lunch in his apartments this very day or on another of your choosing."

Astoria, who had been gazing at the elegant woman with wide-eyed wonder, suddenly turned to her sister, urging her to accept. With no other plans in mind, Daphne had to admit she found herself intrigued by the prospect. The Count seemed to wield considerable influence, making him a valuable addition to her network. And there was something about him—his enigmatic presence, his reputation, the mysteries shrouding him, and the way he had looked at her yesterday, with a lingering gaze she couldn't shake, a gaze she doubted had happened at all, one she thought she might have dreamt—that piqued her curiosity, leaving her unable to resist the allure of the invitation.

"Madame, we would be grateful if you could kindly inform the Count that we are most appreciative of his invitation and that we would be delighted to accept it. Could you please let us know at what time we should arrive?"

Daphne ignored Astoria's wild speculations about the Count's origins. Her younger sister's imagination was in overdrive: a descendant of a mage-pirate, an ancient necromancer, or even a Greek god in disguise.

"Or... maybe he's not the priest of an ancient cult, but a Greek god himself? I can't remember if he's handsome; I didn't examine him closely enough last night, and with his mask...".

Daphne calmed her with a nudge of her elbow as they reached the wide door leading to the Count's quarters. She swallowed—feeling uncharacteristically nervous—and prepared to knock. Before she could, the door swung open on its own, revealing Isabella's welcoming smile.

"Ladies, we've been expecting you!" she announced graciously. "If you'd like to follow me, the Count awaits in the parlor." With a graceful gesture, she motioned for them to proceed, leading the way with effortless grace.

As Isabella guided them through the Count's sumptuous apartment, Daphne couldn't help but be awestruck by the opulence that surrounded them. Every detail seemed meticulously chosen to create an atmosphere of refined luxury. Oriental-themed decor adorned the space, from intricately embroidered tapestries depicting scenes of mythical creatures to finely carved wooden furnishings that exuded an air of timeless elegance. Soft carpets lined the floors, their plush fibers inviting guests to sink their feet into their luxurious depths, while the subtle scent of exotic spices lingered in the air, adding an extra layer of sensory delight.

Despite the overwhelming opulence of the space, there was an understated elegance that spoke of timeless sophistication. Isabella offered a brief explanation of their surroundings. "The Count has recently returned from India," she began, her voice tinged with a hint of intrigue. "Many of the objects you see here were acquired during his travels."

Astoria's curiosity was piqued. "What about that carpet?" she inquired, gesturing towards a particularly ornate rug.

Isabella's smile held a knowing quality as she began to speak. "That carpet isn't from India," she explained, her tone carrying a sense of significance. "It hails from what is now Turkey, once part of the personal collection of the late Justinian, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire."

As they continued their tour, Astoria's eyes searched for Marcus, the duelist from the previous night, but he was nowhere to be seen. Finally arriving at the main reception room, the atmosphere shifted to a distinctly Roman theme. Marble pillars lined the walls, and intricate mosaics depicted scenes of ancient battles and triumphs. At the room's center, a living lion lounged regally on a cushioned platform, a surprising but regal presence in the opulent space. However, to their astonishment, the Count was nowhere to be seen. The room lay empty, save for the majestic beast.

Daphne's senses heightened as she heard the distinctive voice of the Count greeting them from behind. "Mesdemoiselles Greengrass, I am delighted that you have accepted my invitation."

Turning around, she found herself face-to-face with the enigmatic figure, now unmasked. He appeared to be around thirty, though his age seemed to possess an elusive quality that defied easy definition. His complexion was strikingly pale, accentuating the intensity of his dark, almost obsidian-like hair that framed his face with an air of mystery. Despite the simplicity of his attire, there was an undeniable elegance to his regal bearing. His clothing, though understated, exuded an aura of refinement and sophistication. He wore a gold ring on his left hand set with a large black stone, featuring a symbol of a triangle containing a circle bisected by a line. But it was his gaze that captured her attention the most, a magnetic pull that left her feeling both mesmerized and unsettled. It was the most intense gaze she had ever experienced.

As Daphne felt herself blush, she noticed Astoria, head held high, already offering a graceful bow. Quickly composing herself, Daphne followed suit, imitating her sister's gesture.

The Count approached with a regal grace, his presence commanding the room. "Please, Mesdemoiselles Greengrass, there is no need for formality," he said with a faint smile, his voice smooth and melodic. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am known simply as the Count of Caerwin."

With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the luxurious seats arranged nearby. "Please, make yourselves comfortable," he continued, his tone warm and inviting. "I trust Isabella has already made you feel welcome. Now, allow me to extend my sincerest apologies for any inconvenience my occupancy may have caused. It would be my pleasure to host you for lunch."

As soon as they were seated, Isabella returned, gracefully pouring wine for them. Daphne noticed Astoria's eyes widen with surprise, and she couldn't help but share in her sister's astonishment. The Count wasn't employing a house-elf for their service, but rather a witch—or at least, a human. The notion left Daphne pondering. Was Isabella a squib, perhaps? That would explain her manual service, but it seemed unlikely for someone so poised and confident. Her beauty and commanding presence spoke of something more, something inherently magical. Could it be that the Count's travels had broadened his perspective on magical servants? Or perhaps his encounters in distant lands had influenced his attitudes toward tradition and convention?

As the Count raised his glass, as if to propose a toast, Daphne and Astoria followed suit, mirroring his gesture. As they lifted their glasses, Daphne caught a whiff of the wine's aroma, finding it to be exquisite. And she was something of a wine expert herself, considering the familial business.

"Well, ladies, if you'd allow me, I must confess my invitation was driven also by self-interest: I am a curious person. May I ask what brings two young English witches to Italy?"

Astoria's eyes sparkled with excitement as she eagerly responded, "Oh, it's quite simple, really. England can be so stifling with all its protocols and stuffiness. We simply needed a break, a chance to let loose and experience life beyond the confines of our homeland. So here we are, ready to party and meet new people!"

Daphne chimed in with a more measured tone, "Indeed, we also have a more practical reason for our visit. We're here to visit an old aunt and to take in the sights of this beautiful city."

The Count nodded, acknowledging their explanations with a gracious smile. "A commendable pursuit, indeed. Rome has much to offer to those seeking respite from the rigors of tradition. And I trust you'll find the company here quite stimulating," he added, his gaze lingering thoughtfully on Astoria.

Daphne found herself caught in the intensity of the Count's gaze, unlike any she had experienced before. It was neither lecherous nor predatory, as she had often encountered in the company of older men during her father's business trips. Instead, his eyes seemed to delve into the depths of their beings, as if unraveling hidden truths that even they were unaware of. Yet, beneath the penetrating gaze, there lingered a hint of melancholy, casting a somber hue over the enigmatic countenance.

As Astoria eagerly indulged in the petits fours that had just been brought in, Daphne couldn't shake the unsettling impression left by the Count's gaze. In her characteristic carefree manner, Daphne's sister finally broached the question that had been lingering on her mind, though perhaps lacking the diplomatic finesse usually expected in such conversations.

"So, who are you?" she blurted out, her curiosity overcoming any semblance of tact. "Everyone seems to talk about you, but no one seems to really know who you are!"

The Count emitted a soft, courteous chuckle in response, that did not seem very sincere. "I confess, dear lady, that I find the rumors circulating about me rather entertaining. It appears that I have become something of an enigmatic figure among the youthful elite of Rome."

"Do not underestimate yourself, Count," Daphne interjected, her tone playful yet probing. "It is evident that there is an aura of mystery surrounding you, and it is only natural for wizards to be drawn to such enigmas—particularly the esteemed nobility of Rome, as rumor has it."

"A curiosity that eludes even my own understanding, Miss Greengrass," the Count replied with a subtle smile that hinted at a deeper knowledge. "I fear that reality falls far short of the elaborate tales that have woven themselves around my name. I am but a humble traveler and collector who, through fortuitous circumstance, acquired a noble title during my worldly sojourns."

Daphne could not help but disgraciously snort. With a gracious nod from Isabella, they elegantly rose from their seats and followed her to the main salon for luncheon.

"Pray, forgive my inquisitiveness, but you both appear to be of the age to attend higher education. Tell me, where do your pursuits lie?" the Count inquired.

Astoria, always effervescent and eager to share, launched into an animated account of their experiences at Hogwarts University, painting a vivid picture of life within its ancient halls. However, Daphne, still curious about the Count, interjected with a question of her own.

"Forgive my own curiosity, but are you familiar with Hogwarts, Count? Else, I'm afraid my sister's speech about Houses and Points is difficult to understand," she asked.

The Count shook his head with a small smile. "I'm afraid not, Miss Greengrass. My own education took place overseas."

Undeterred, Astoria continued, "We're both in Slytherin house, you see. Daphne here is just finishing her third year and will soon choose a major."

At the mention of majors, the Count's interest was piqued. "And what field of study do you intend to pursue, Miss Greengrass?" he inquired, his dark eyes alight with curiosity.

Daphne hesitated briefly, weighing her words before answering, "Potions, Count. It's not just a passion; it's a strategic choice. In today's magical world, the demand for skilled potion-makers is ever-growing, especially in fields like healthcare." Of course, there was also the unspoken acknowledgment that potion-making was deeply intertwined with the Greengrass family's business ventures. With no male heir to inherit the family enterprise, the responsibility would inevitably fall on her shoulders, adding significance to her decision. When dealing with haughty and ruthless potion masters, being a potion mistress was the strict minimum. And though she'd never openly acknowledge it, the prospect of her arranged marriage had begun to weigh on her mind. The image of Blaise Zabini's mother, known as the black widow, briefly flashed through her thoughts, but she quickly pushed it aside. There was no use dwelling on such matters.

The Count nodded approvingly, acknowledging Daphne's pragmatic approach. "A shrewd decision, Miss Greengrass. In a world where knowledge is power, mastery of potion-making can indeed pave the way for influence and prosperity."

Turning his attention to Astoria, he inquired, "And you, Miss Greengrass? What are your aspirations?"

Astoria hesitated for a moment before responding, "I'm not entirely sure yet, Count. At Hogwarts, we choose our majors when entering the fourth year, and I'm still weighing my options. I'm considering Transfiguration or Charms as potential majors, and perhaps a minor in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but nothing is set in stone."

As the conversation meandered through topics, the Count's curiosity snagged on a particular thread—Slytherin House. The mere mention had him intrigued, and he turned to Daphne with an inquisitive gleam in his eyes.

"And what of this Slytherin House?" he inquired, his tone laced with genuine interest.

Daphne, ever the poised conversationalist, obliged with a concise explanation. "Slytherin House," she began, "is renowned for its emphasis on ambition, cunning, and resourcefulness. Its members are often seen as leaders, driven by a relentless pursuit of success."

But Astoria, never one to mince words, interjected with her candid assessment. "Success? More like a breeding ground for egos," she quipped, her tone tinged with disdain. "Take Malfoy, for instance. He struts around like he owns the place, his arrogance palpable with every step."

Daphne, sensing the need for diplomacy, attempted to temper her sister's forthrightness. "Astoria, perhaps we shouldn't be too hasty in our judgments," she cautioned, casting a discreet glance at the Count. "Some of our classmates may have influential connections and be friends of the Count…"

But Astoria, undeterred by her sister's caution, forged ahead with her unfiltered opinions. "Oh, come off it, Daphne," she retorted, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Malfoy, Parkinson, Bulstrode—they're all cut from the same cloth. Pompous gits, the lot of them."

For the first time since their conversation began, a genuine laugh escaped the Count's lips. It was a small, subtle sound, but it carried a warmth that seemed to lighten the air around them.

"I see," he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "I'd heard about the rivalries between Hogwarts houses in passing, but I didn't realize they were also internal to the houses!"

Daphne, ever observant, couldn't help but notice the Count's reaction to the mention of the Malfoy family. Seizing the opportunity to delve deeper, she ventured to ask if he was acquainted with them. The Count's smile, though polite, held a hint of enigmatic mystery.

"Ah, the Malfoys," he mused, his voice tinged with a touch of intrigue. "Yes, their name is not unfamiliar to me. I have some business dealings with the family, dating back quite some time. However, I must confess, I've never had the pleasure of setting foot in Britain before, so I've yet to cross paths with them personally." There was something about the Count's smile that left Daphne questioning its true meaning, but she chose not to dwell on it.

As the conversation continued, the atmosphere relaxed into a pleasant exchange of small talk. Astoria regaled him with tales of their own adventures at Hogwarts, and Daphne noted that he seemed very interested at the mention of Harry Potter. Interesting.

Suddenly, the air grew tense as Marcus, the enigmatic duelist from the previous night, materialized seemingly out of nowhere. With a solemn expression, he approached the Count and whispered a few words into his ear. The Count's demeanor shifted imperceptibly as he listened to Marcus's message, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. "Thank you, Marcus," he replied in a measured tone. "I appreciate your diligence in delivering this message."

Turning to the Greengrass sisters, the Count offered a polite apology. "I'm afraid duty calls, my ladies. It seems I must attend to some pressing matters. Please forgive my abrupt departure."

As the meal drew to a close, Daphne and Astoria bid farewell to the Count, their minds buzzing with curiosity about the mysterious message and Marcus's sudden appearance. With a final exchange of pleasantries, they made their way out of the sumptuous apartment.

Later that day, Daphne and her sister found themselves strolling through the city, taking in the sights and sounds of Rome. Astoria indulged in a pistachio ice cream, her enjoyment evident from the green smudges adorning her face and clothes. The two girls had decided to spend the afternoon at the Colosseum. They had dressed as muggles: the place was infested with them, and wizards rarely visited. But, apparently, and according to Blaise, the visit was worth it, so the two girls had taken it upon themselves.

The grandeur of the Colosseum enveloped Daphne in a cocoon of historical wonder. Each informational panel held a trove of stories, from the triumphs of ancient gladiators to the whispers of emperors long gone. Daphne, ever the history enthusiast, absorbed it all with fervor, while Astoria's patience waned with each passing minute.

"I can't bear it any longer," Astoria groaned, her impatience palpable. "We've seen everything already! Even visiting Aunt Agatha was more exciting." Daphne chuckled at the exaggeration. "Come now, it's not that bad." But Astoria, ever one for a challenge, seized the moment. "Oh, really? Well, let's make a wager. I'll bet I can spend more time at Aunt Agatha's than you take to finish this tour. Anyways, we'll need to go back to her place at least once so she'll owl Dad and Mom that we really came here to see her" Daphne raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Deal?" Astoria confirmed, and the challenge was set. "We'll rendezvous at Aunt Agatha's if I finish first. But mark my words, I won't. See you at the Colosseum!", said Daphné, and her sister nodded.

As Daphne delved deeper into the Colosseum's history, she found herself lost in its past. But about ten minutes after Astoria's departure, a familiar voice pierced through the air.

"Are you certain about that?"

Instinctively, Daphne ducked her head, pulling her wide-brimmed hat lower to conceal her features, her heart quickening with a mixture of curiosity and caution. She had recognized the voice of the Count. What was he doing there? Blaise had told her that he himself came here with his dates because he was sure he wouldn't meet other people—wizards, of course—here, only muggles. So what were the odds of seeing the Count? Or maybe… Maybe the Count came here precisely because he wanted confidentiality for this meeting. And if she could hear the conversation…

Feeling strangely reckless, she decided to approach the panel where the Count was chatting among the tourists. He probably had a personal ward that prevented Muggles from overhearing his conversation. But she was far from being a Muggle.

"Yes, my lord. My boys saw him at the edge of the Bosco Macchia Grande forest. We can go and fetch him within the week, as soon as you give the order."

Who were they talking about? Daphne got an answer in the count's satisfied voice.

"Excellent. Fenrir Greyback has gone unpunished for far too long."

Daphne was thoughtful on her way back from the Colosseum. Astoria hadn't returned yet, and Daphne obviously didn't feel like continuing the tour after hearing the Count, so she decided to join her aunt. Fenrir Greyback! The name resonated with dread, conjuring images of fear and brutality. Renowned throughout Europe for his savage tendencies, Greyback was infamous for willingly spreading his lycanthropy curse, leaving a trail of violence in his wake. Despite being hunted by governments far and wide, their efforts to apprehend him proved woefully inadequate. She snorted. "Hunted," her noble, pale ass. European authorities often deferred responsibility to the British Ministry of Magic, citing Greyback's English origins, yet even they struggled to track him effectively. And, despite his pariah status, she knew of his connections within the government persisted. He had been a faithful servant of Voldemort, after all. She suspected he bartered his freedom for favors, maybe to Malfoy. The father of the one she may be forced to marry. It disgusted her.

She shook her head. Greyback's presence in Italy came as little surprise; he was known to roam freely. However, the proximity of his whereabouts to her current location made her a bit wary.

As Daphne mulled over the Count's motives, she pondered his intentions regarding Fenrir Greyback. Did he plan to confront the notorious werewolf personally, aiming to end his reign of terror once and for all? Or was his goal to strike some sort of deal with Greyback? Daphne would not have thought that a man who wanted to oppose Fenrir and his pack could prevail. But the Count didn't seem to be a man like the others. One only had to think of the skill of his retainer, who was formidable with his wand.

Turning the corner onto the last street, Daphne hastened her steps toward her aunt's house. She announced herself before entering, the protective wards recognizing her and allowing her passage without the need for keys.

"Ah, my nieces! Are you here?" her old aunt's cheerful voice greeted her.

"Nieces?" Daphne's heart skipped a beat. A plural? Wasn't Astoria already here? An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she questioned her aunt.

"No, dear, just you," her aunt replied with a warm smile.

Daphne's worry intensified. "But Astoria was supposed to be here. Did she not arrive earlier?"

Her aunt's smile faded, replaced by a furrowed brow. "No, I haven't seen her. Is something wrong?"

As the aunt's concern deepened, an owl suddenly appeared, its worn and tattered appearance matching the state of the letter it carried. With trembling hands, Daphne accepted the letter and began to read.

Greengrass girl,

Hope this letter ain't scaring ya too much, but I gotta tell ya, I got yer sister. Yeah, she in a real pickle, all thanks to yours truly. Now, before ya start hyperventilating, listen up good. You gotta show up at the Colosseum tonight. When the clock strikes midnight, don't be late. And bring fifteen grand in galleons, or else I'll have me some fun with yer sis, turning her into a fuckin' werewolf. Ain't that a laugh? And don't think ya can just ignore me, 'cause if ya do, well, let's just say Astoria'll be wishing for a quick death compared to what I'll do to 'er. So ya better do as I say, or else. Oh, 'n one more thing, this whole thing's gotta stay between us. No blabbering to anyone, or there'll be hell to pay - and I'll only accept blood.

See ya tonight,

Fenrir Greyback