Chapter 5
Summer 2003 - Twenty-two years after Sirius' emprisonnent
London, United Kingdom.
"Watch yourself, Harry! I'll be back in two hours, and don't be late - or else you'll miss the beginning of the World Cup!", Bill warned.
Harry nodded, thanking Bill for the lift, and stepped into the café, as he head the popping sound of someone appareling behind him. Guilt nipped at him for fibbing to Molly about visiting his muggle relatives before Hogwarts. But convincing her to let him go alone was already tough without adding the truth into the mix.
Inside, the café had that cozy, old-timey vibe with warm lights and the smell of fresh pastries mingling with coffee. At a corner table sat Sinbad, looking every bit the charming rogue with his tan and jet-black hair, casually flicking ash from his cigarette.
Seeing Harry, Sinbad's demeanor changed from nonchalant to warm. "Harry, brother, good to see you," he greeted with mischief in his voice.
"Hey, Sinbad," Harry replied with a smile, still amazed he actually had a cousin, even though he had known him for seven years. Harry couldn't forget the day Sinbad had tracked him down, when he was still fourteen, long before he even knew he was a wizard. At first, Harry had been cautious. But Sinbad quickly dispelled any doubts by introducing himself as Harry's second cousin and sharing his story - Harry was not alone! The Dursleys weren't his only family! In the early days of their meeting, Harry had been ecstatic. Sinbad had shown him lots of photos of his parents - they were so beautiful! They looked so happy and in love! And he looked so much like his father, with his mother's eyes. He told him much about them. For example, Sinbad had explained that the Dursleys had lied to him - his parents hadn't died in a car accident, but had been murdered by some kind of neo-Nazi (Sinbad had called him a "Blood Purist", apparently, a radical terrorist group). Their bond had deepened rapidly, especially when Sinbad fearlessly confronted - well, threatened, really - the Dursleys to ensure Harry's well-being. He did not know what his cousin told them - or did to them - but it was a moment that solidified their relationship, transforming Sinbad from a stranger to a trusted friend, a big brother figure who mentored Harry. And it only deepened when Harry discovered that he was magical.
Even though Sinbad had made numerous innuendos hinting at the existence of magic in Harry's life, including cryptic references to a letter and a chicken that would arrive on his eighteenth birthday, he had refrained from outright telling him that he was a wizard, and that wizards existed. Something about "knowledge-based" wards put as a protection ("a prison", Sinbad told him, but Harry did not see why Dumbledore would do something like that) on Privet Drive. So Harry had to wait until he received his Hogwarts letter. But when Harry had found out he was a wizard, he only got closer to Sinbad. Sinbad wasn't magical himself, being the descendent of a squib, but he knew all about the wizarding society—the ins and outs, the traditions, you name it. He became Harry's mentor, teaching him about the magical world. For example, Sinbad even told Harry he could claim a noble lineage and become a lord, but Harry wasn't interested - he had enough on his plate with Voldemort and Hogwarts without having to vote laws as it was. Even though Sinbad looked disappointed when Harry had told him he wouldn't claim his title, he did not force him to. What Harry liked about Sinbad was that he gave advice without pushing Harry into anything. He let Harry make his own choices and stay true to himself. But above all, the man he now considered his big brother had helped him to become who he really was: to learn to be more assertive, less stressed, more self-confident. Harry smiled at him, while taking a seat.
His cousin chuckled, the sound rich and full of life. "Take a seat. Coffee's on me. We've got a lot to catch up on."
Sinbad, while not Harry's cousin by blood, had a familial connection through their grandmother, Dorea Potter née Black. Dorea's Squib brother was estranged from the family after marrying a muggle, and Sinbad was their only child.
Sinbad smiled at him as he sat down.
Despite lacking magical abilities, Sinbad was deeply entrenched in the magical world, working as a smuggler known as "The Sailor." Dealing in potions and charms, sometimes illegal, he catered to wealthy people - maybe even muggles - while skillfully evading magical authorities - and the Statutes of Secrecy. Harry had learnt only recently his cousin's activity - when Sinbad explained to him why he should not tell anybody, even Dumbledore or his best friends, about him. He had found himself conflicted upon discovering Sinbad's illicit activities. Despite his reservations, he empathized with Sinbad's limited choices as a Squib in the wizarding world. Fearing the repercussions of revealing Sinbad's activities, Harry kept his cousin's existence secret. With Dumbledore as Chief Warlock and Hermione's strict adherence to rules, Harry couldn't risk implicating his friends - or force them to lie for his sake. But it did not mean he did not see his cousin often. Throughout Harry's years at Hogwarts, he and Sinbad maintained a close correspondence. Harry would tell his friends that he was writing to his muggle relatives, but in reality, he was swapping letters with Sinbad. Their friendship continued to blossom over the summer, with Harry and Sinbad spending a lot of time together, deepening their bond as buddies.
The waitress arrived with two steaming coffees, the rich aroma wafting through the air as she set them down on the table before Harry and Sinbad. Harry took a moment to inhale the fragrant scent, relishing the warmth that emanated from the cup in his hands. His cousin's knack for discovering hidden gems was evident once again, as the café exuded an inviting charm that beckoned them to linger. As they took their first sips, the conversation flowed effortlessly between them. Sinbad's genuine curiosity about Harry's summer adventures sparked a lively exchange, with Harry eagerly recounting his escapades and his last month at the Weasley's. Sinbad listened intently, his eyes alight with interest as he hung on to every word.
Quickly, the conversation veered towards the upcoming year.
"I can't wait to get back to Hogwarts," Harry enthused.
"Got your major figured out yet?"
Harry paused briefly before responding, "Definitely going with Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I'm still tossing up between Charms and Transfiguration for my minor"
Sinbad nodded thoughtfully.
"Charms would be my pick. It's more versatile, you see. It can an be useful in all sorts of situations."
"Makes sense."
Sinbad leaned in closer.
"You know, Harry, I've been hearing some interesting rumors from my clients lately. There's talk of a tournament or something at Hogwarts, and it seems like people from other schools might be coming too."
Harry's curiosity piqued. "A tournament? What kind of tournament?"
"Not sure about the details, but it sounds like it won't be a calm year at Hogwarts, that's for sure", Sinbad shrugged.
"Yeah, calm years at Hogwarts seem like a distant dream now. Who knows, maybe Voldemort will attempt to kill me for the fourth time."
Sinbad's expression remained composed, utterly unaffected by the mention of Voldemort's name.
"Well, at least Voldemort has a few less servants now," Sinbad remarked casually.
Harry nodded in agreement. "True. I heard about the death of Fenrir Greyback."
Sinbad nodded, acknowledging the news. "A small victory in the grand scheme of things, but every bit helps."
Harry's curiosity flared as he leaned forward. "Hey, Sinbad, do you happen to know the Count of Caerwin? The one who offed him?"
Sinbad hesitated for a moment, his expression thoughtful, before nodding slowly. "Yes, I know him quite well. He's a client of mine, and we've crossed paths a few times. Saved each other's lives once or twice." Sinbad paused, considering his words carefully. "He's a noble, for sure. Bit cold and distant at first glance, but fiercely loyal to those he cares about. Always keeps his word, no matter what. He's... well, let's just say he's a bit selfish, but you can trust him when it counts."
Harry nodded, thoughtful, as Sinbad ordered two more coffees. For the next hour and a half, they continued to talk and laugh, completely engrossed in each other's company. The time flew by as they exchanged stories and caught up on each other's lives, the warmth of their camaraderie filling the cozy atmosphere of the café. Eventually, Harry glanced at his watch and realized he had to go. With a reluctant smile, he bid Sinbad farewell, hugged him awkwardly - he was still not that used to physical contacts-, and promised to catch up soon before making his way out of the café.
As Harry disappeared from sight, Sinbad watched him go with a fond smile. But as soon as Harry was out of view, he stood up from his seat, a peculiar glint in his eyes, as if a hidden power stirred within him. Then, with an almost imperceptible shimmer, his features began to change. His tan skin paled, becoming as white as porcelain, while his tousled hair transformed into a sleek, jet-black mane that cascaded around his aristocratic face.
Metamorphmagi were rare, very rare - not so much among the Blacks. It was a genetic trait, more than often lying dormant, but nothing that could not be awakened by ancient rituals long thought forgotten by the world.
Summer 2003 - Twenty-two years after Sirius' emprisonnent
Quidditch Trillenium Stadium, Dartmoor, Devon, England, Great Britain
The World Cup had been a perfect day for Hermione. With Krum catching the Snitch, the atmosphere had been electric, and she reveled in the joyous celebrations alongside her two best friends.
But then, in the blink of an eye, everything descended into chaos.
The first explosion tore through the air, sending shockwaves of panic reverberating through the crowd. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as screams filled the night sky. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, another explosion echoed nearby, sending debris flying and people scrambling for cover. In the pandemonium that ensued, Hermione found herself swept away from her friends and the safety of the Weasleys. Panic surged within her as she frantically searched for any sign of familiarity amidst the chaos, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty.
As Hermione scrambled amidst the chaos, a burst of sickly yellow light streaked towards her, casting an ominous glow in its wake. Instinctively, she raised her wand and hastily conjured a Shield Charm, but she was too slow to fully deflect the spell. The impact sent her stumbling backward, her senses reeling from the residual force that seared through her defenses. She hit the ground hard, dazed but conscious, her mind racing to make sense of the nightmare unfolding before her.
As she struggled to regain her bearings, three figures emerged from the shadows, their ominous silhouettes clad in dark robes and adorned with sinister skull masks. Dread coiled in Hermione's stomach as the truth dawned upon her with chilling clarity—they were Death Eaters.
With a malicious sneer, one of the masked figures stepped forward, his voice dripping with contempt. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he taunted, his words laced with venomous disdain. "A filthy little Mudblood, lost and alone amidst the chaos. How quaint."
Another Death Eater chuckled darkly, his tone mocking as he echoed the sentiment. The third leered menacingly as he closed in on Hermione.
"No place to run, no place to hide," he jeered, his words punctuated by a chilling laughter that sent shivers down her spine. "You're ours now, Mudblood. Friend of Potter. And there's nowhere left for you to escape. Cruc…"
As Hermione braced herself for the inevitable onslaught of agony, her mind raced with a torrent of fear and desperation. The chilling incantation of the Cruciatus Curse hung in the air like a death knell. Her life flashed before her eyes—a whirlwind montage of memories, hopes, and dreams overshadowed by the specter of death. In the depths of her despair, a primal instinct surged within her—she could not die here, not yet!
But then, to her astonishment and confusion, the incantation transformed into a piercing scream. Still dazed and disoriented from the force of the spell, Hermione struggled to make sense of the chaos unfolding around her. Her vision blurred and her thoughts muddled, she could scarcely comprehend what was happening. Unnaturally large stems of roses erupted from the ground, covered in thorns glinting like steel, and ensnared the Death Eaters in their grasp. She could hear a cold, commanding voice slicing through the tumult, issuing orders to another figure clad in robes. Hermione strained to make sense of the words she heard, but the cacophony of the moment rendered comprehension an impossible task. Something about protecting Harry Potter, and a guy named Marcus…
And then, as if a curtain had been drawn, darkness descended upon her, enveloping her in its merciful embrace as unconsciousness claimed her once more.