Chapter 4
Summer 2003 - Twenty-two years after Sirius' emprisonnent
The Burrow, United Kingdom.
In the bustling kitchen of the Burrow, Molly Weasley moved about with practiced ease. The aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the chatter and laughter of the gathered occupants. Ron, his mouth full and cheeks flushed with excitement, was seated at the table, hungrily devouring a brioche. Beside him, Harry and Hermione exchanged amused glances as they savored their breakfast. The two friends of Molly's son had arrived a few days earlier, juste before the start of the Quidditch World Cup, eager to enjoy a bit of freedom before the start of the new year at Hogwarts.
Ignoring Percy's request for silence, the conversation continued to flow around the table. As Ron reached for the marmalade, a voice interrupted from the doorway. Bill emerged, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Morning, everyone. Mind passing the marmalade my way?" he called out with a sleepy grin. His mother rushed over to embrace him. With his rather time-consuming job as a cursebreaker, it was rare for her eldest son to visit them at home, and she savored every moment with him.
"And, look at that!" Ron exclaimed between bites, pointing excitedly at an article in the newspaper.
Hermione, her brow furrowed in disapproval, quickly interjected, "Swallow before you speak! And since when do you read the newspaper, Ron?"
Ron didn't care about the pique, and his voice cut through the air with excitement. "Hey, listen to this! The journal says Fenrir Greyback is dead!"
His announcement triggered a ripple of reactions around the table. Most faces showed a mix of surprise and relief, but Harry's puzzled expression stood out. "Fenrir Greyback? Who's that?" he queried, turning to Hermione for answers. Hermione, always ready with a wealth of knowledge, didn't hesitate to explain. "Fenrir Greyback was an infamous werewolf, Harry. He was known for his vicious attacks and his loyalty to You-Know-Who during the Second Wizarding War."
Harry felt a mix of conflicting emotions. The news held a semblance of relief: Voldemort had made attempts on his life during his first and second years at Hogwarts, through Quirrell and the diary. Only his third year had been somewhat normal, discounting an incident involving the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, some guy named Albatar, who had tried to kiss him at a drunken Christmas party, and a…let's say, peculiar incident that had turned out to be very positive. Despite knowing Voldemort remained a threat, any setback for his followers was welcome. Fenrir Greyback's demise was a form of justice for his crimes. Yet, underlying it all, Harry couldn't shake a sense of sadness at the loss of life, no matter how villainous.
Ron cleared his throat and began to read the newspaper article.
Dear readers,
Prepare to be swept off your feet by the latest sensational news to hit the wizarding world! Yes, you heard it right - Fenrir Greyback, the infamous werewolf known for his heinous crimes, has met his end! But that's not even the most jaw-dropping part of this incredible tale. Let's dive right in, shall we?
Fenrir Greyback, the very name sends shivers down our spines, doesn't it? This werewolf terrorized the wizarding community for years with his brutal attacks and allegiance to the dark forces. Kidnappings, attacks, and chaos followed in his wake, leaving a trail of fear and destruction wherever he roamed.
But fear not, dear readers, for justice has finally been served! Reports have emerged that Fenrir Greyback met his demise in Italy, of all places. Can you believe it? The notorious werewolf, brought down in a foreign land, far from his usual haunts. It's like something out of a thrilling novel! So, how did Fenrir Greyback meet his untimely demise, you ask?
Well, it all started with a rather ill-conceived plan to kidnap the daughter of an English nobleman vacationing in Italy - we kept her name anonymous for obvious reasons. And it seems a dashing nobleman called the Count of Caerwin swooped in to save the day! We managed to secure an exclusive interview with the rescued young lady. According to her, the Count is a vision of nobility and mystery, with opulent quarters that would make even the most discerning aristocrat swoon. Rumor has it, he even possesses treasures once owned by Roman emperors! Our brave interviewee revealed the breathtaking details of her rescue. Picture this: the Count, standing tall and regal, facing down not one, not two, but five ferocious werewolves with nothing but his courage and skill. And did he break a sweat? Not even close! With the grace of a knight rescuing a princess, he single-handedly defeated the werewolves and whisked her away to safety.
But here's where it gets even juicier, dear readers. We conducted a thorough inquiry into the mysterious Count of Caerwin and unearthed some intriguing findings. Some claim he hails from France, others say he's from India or Japan. Is he a crime lord, or perhaps a knight in charming armor? Only one thing is certain: he is incredibly wealthy and infinitely mysterious. Isn't it simply thrilling? We can't wait to see what other adventures await us in the captivating saga of the Count of Caerwin - as rumor has it that he will come in England in a few months…or weeks?
Ron's excitement practically bubbled over as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes glued to the article. "Bloody amazing, isn't it?"
Percy, adjusted his glasses with a thoughtful expression, while Hermion chimed in. "Well, it's all very thrilling, but shouldn't they have contacted the Aurors instead of relying on this mysterious Count?"
Bill, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. "You know, I think I might actually know who this Count of Caerwin is…"
Bill's revelation sparked a flurry of questions from everyone around the table. Ron, ever the curious one, bombarded his brother with inquiries about the mysterious Count. "Come on, Bill, spill the beans! Who is he? What's he like?" Bill raised a hand, attempting to quell the onslaught of questions. "I'm sorry, but I can't divulge too much. The Count of Caerwin is a client of Gringotts, I met him there, and as such, I'm bound by a confidentiality contract."
Ron persisted, undeterred. "But surely you can give us some hints, Bill! Is he a wizard? Is he really as rich as they say?"
"That's enough, Ron. Bill has already said he can't tell us more. We must respect his client's privacy.", interjected their mother, before giving a cup of coffee to her eldest boy.
Bill sipped his coffee, recalling his strange encounter with the Count a few years earlier. It hadn't been the most complicated job of his career - that dubious honor belonged to the tombs of the pharaohs - but the affair had left its mark on him. What struck Bill as peculiar was the cloak of secrecy surrounding the Count's commission. Ordinarily, when working with goblins, the cursebreaker team received exhaustive details about their clients. This ensured they were adequately prepared for any twists or betrayals. However, with the Count, the goblins remained frustratingly elusive. When Bill's boss asked why, the goblins simply insisted on the importance of the customer and the need to satisfy him no matter what. The whole situation had raised eyebrows among the cursebreaker team. It was clear that this Count held significant sway with the goblins—either as a powerful client or, perhaps, as an important partner for some shady business.
So, there they had been, accompanied by the Count and his retainer, a platinum-haired young man named Marcus, with a scar on the throat, who saved the life of one of his colleague by demonstrating remarkable reflexes. Their mission led them to a decrepit old shack, where they unearthed a large box containing a rather unassuming ring—the object of the Count's pursuit. As fate would have it, one of the cursebreakers, the youngest member of the team, made a grave mistake. Succumbing to a fucking compulsion, he slipped the ring onto his finger, triggering a malevolent spell that caused his arm to visibly necrose. Marcus's lightning-quick reflexes spared his colleague from further harm by severing the afflicted arm before the curse could spread any further. In a display of calm efficiency, the Count swiftly wrapped the severed limb in cloth and tucked it into the magically enlarged pocket of his coat.
It wasn't so much the scene that had shocked Bill - after all, it was the daily grind of their profession, and not even one of them had died. No, it was the rigor with which the Count, for a sum equivalent to a year's salary, had made them sign magical contracts of incredible severity to ensure their silence. After that, he'd never heard from them again. And here he was, mysteriously resurfacing…
Bill's thoughts got derailed by Harry's throat-clearing, snapping him back to reality. Oh yeah, his little brother's mate needed help getting to London via side-along apparition this afternoon. Something about needing to see his uncle one last time before going to Hogwarts. It took some serious talking to convince Molly to let him go solo, but he finally pulled it off after a bunch of back-and-forths.
Summer 2003 - Twenty-two years after Sirius' emprisonnent
Greengrass Manor, United Kingdom.
As Daphne gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she carefully brushed her hair, smoothing out the last stray strand with a practiced motion. It had been a few days since their return from Rome, and the memories of that harrowing night still lingered fresh in her mind.
Despite the exhaustion that weighed heavily on the two sisters, they had remained in Rome for one more morning after their ordeal, to give their thanks. It was the least they could do to express their gratitude to the Count for his invaluable assistance. They had treated him to a lavish lunch at one of the city's finest restaurants, a small token of appreciation for the immense debt they owed him. Of course, the gesture paled in comparison to the services the Count had rendered. He had not only saved them from the clutches of Fenrir Greyback but had also graciously informed them that he had no intention of reclaiming the ransom he had lend to them. As it turned out, he had recovered it from Greyback's lifeless body.
Following a luncheon where Astoria blushed every time her eyes met Marcus' or the Count's, and where the typically exuberant and gossipy girl remained unusually quiet, Daphne could at last express her overwhelming gratitude. She profusely thanked the Count, promising him any favor House Greengrass could provide. Her sincerity was genuine this time; she was determined to repay the Count for his invaluable assistance.
However, because of her earnest intentions, Daphne couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. With his fortune, titles, and fame—that was still growing thanks to the rumors swirling around Rome about the mysterious Count of Caerwin's defeat of the most notorious werewolf in Europe—she realized it would be challenging to offer the Count the services he truly needed or to help him solve problems he could not face by himself.
As they discussed the matter further, the Count simply asked them to reiterate their promise to introduce him to londonien high society during his upcoming trip to England. It was an offer they couldn't refuse; not only did they owe it to the Count, but it also presented a mutually advantageous opportunity. After all, normally, being introduced to London high society by the Greengrasses—a wealthy, noble family with extensive connections in England and the rest of Western Europe—was a coveted opportunity. Daphne's mother, before marrying Alexander Greengrass and assuming his name, had been the second-born of a prestigious and influential French family, adding to their social network in mainland Europe.
However, the Count's circumstances were anything but typical. He himself was anything but ordinary. With his considerable wealth, his noble status and burgeoning reputation in England—thanks in part to the tales spreading there mere days after their return due to the efforts of their father, who proudly recounted to his numerous friends and business partners how the enigmatic noble had bravely vanquished the fearsome beast in his quest to save the Greengrass daughters - introducing the Count to London society was advantageous for the very ones who would present him. It would signal their status as an indispensable intermediary for those— and Daphne anticipated there would be many—who sought to know, do business with or be presented to the Count.
"Girls! Hurry up, we'll be late! The portkey leaves in an hour, and we don't want to miss the beginning of the cup!" Daphne heard her mother's call, punctuated by Astoria's surprised cry. It seemed her younger sister, who likely wake up later, hadn't quite finished getting ready.
Daphne rose from her seat, smoothing out her skirt with a mechanical and useless gesture - since she was delighted not to wrinkle herself - and went downstair. Descending the stairs, she found her father had already departed, as was often the case. Despite his numerous assurances, he rarely accompanied them, even on important occasions. If it weren't for the fact organizing their anniversary ball was an occasion for networking, he might even forget their birthday altogether. As Daphne reached the bottom of the stairs, she spotted her mother, Ysée Greengrass, née Martelle, waiting patiently in an armchair. She was engrossed in a magazine, sipping tea prepared by their house elf. Daphne greeted her with a quick kiss on the forehead before deciding to check on Astoria.