KESTREL OF A KNAVE

CHAPTER 2:

MEETING AND PARTING

Harry made an effort for the Apparition to be as quiet as possible. Peruere (he refused to think of her as the Knave or Arlecchino, and wasn't that a shock to learn?) had told him of an alley they had been to as children that was close to the Hotel Bouffes d'Ete, the new base for the House of the Hearth. Still, Peruere shook her head, as if clearing it of cobwebs. "You may teleport anywhere as long as you can visualise the destination?"

"Yeah. Apparition's more uncomfortable than a Teleport Monument, though."

"Indeed. I won't be cruel to a tube of toothpaste ever again," she said wryly. She had discarded the cloak and mask, putting it into some sort of dimensional storage, though Harry had offered the use of the Expanded Trunk to store it. She refused, even if she was interested in it.

Merlin, she was beautiful, Harry thought. The sullen, solemn girl he had known had grown into a fine beauty. True, it was a sinister-looking beauty, and he was troubled, to say the least, that she had assumed the title of Arlecchino, with all that implied. Yet he had known her from an early age, and knew that Peruere, while sullen and sorrowful from a young age, was a good girl. Yes, she was also good at killing even from a young age, but he also knew that she had been a decent person. Plus, she was cute at the time, once you got used to her eyes and the darkening of her skin at her hands, like her pale skin was burning like paper.

She'd always been somewhat tomboyish in dress while young, but now, she was dressed in an elegant silvery-white tailed coat, a waistcoat, and dark trousers, which, while almost completely covering save for her hands and head, did nothing to hide a gorgeous figure. Indeed, the tails of her coat did little to cover her tight trousers-clad derriere as she strutted ahead of him. He had to avert his gaze, partly because it was polite, and partly because this was someone he had known from an early age.

Her face was beautiful, but the cute, if strange features had morphed into a cruel beauty, haughty and proud. Her dark irises had strange crimson crosses in them, and he remembered that, if you gazed too deeply into them, you saw a vision of a blood red moon, eclipsing the sun. A frightening vision it had been once, but he actually got used to it. Her hair was silvery-white, streaked through with black, mostly boyishly short, though he noted the ponytail dangling down at the back of her head. Her voice was now a husky contralto that sent shivers down his spine.

They walked through the streets of the Court of Fontaine, those familiar stone and metal buildings, elegant and functional, patrolled by the Gardemeks and the various law enforcement groups of Fontaine. Hermione and Luna and the others who followed him were in Sumeru, where they had first ended up in Teyvat. They were getting the lay of the land, while Harry flew over to Fontaine to try and find out what happened to his friends from the House of the Hearth.

It was still disheartening to learn what he had learned. Clervie was a ray of sunshine in the House of the Hearth, and always made him feel welcomed. Peruere, while gloomy and stoic, was friendly enough. Harry counted himself lucky that he'd never had to participate in the brutal duels Crucabena mandated, partly due to his young age, but also partly because he ended up gaining a Vision. It also meant that, despite Il Dottore's desires when Harry's magical abilities showed, all the Doctor got out of him were blood samples.

But to learn, even without the whole story, that one friend had died, and the other was not only her killer, but the successor to that bitch who insisted on being called 'Mother', was depressing. Harry's happy memories at the House of the Hearth weren't numerous by any means, but they were happier than his time at the Dursleys. Dumbledore couldn't understand that. The old bastard wiped Harry's memories, thinking he'd make happier memories at Hogwarts (which he did, but that old bastard didn't believe in giving him a choice). The Weasleys couldn't understand it. It took Hermione a while to understand it. Thankfully, Luna, the Lupins, they understood.

The large building they approached was new, he noted, brought out of his thoughts when he realised they were approaching their destination. Peruere opened the door, but held up a hand to halt Harry. Out loud, she said, "Children, I am back with a guest. If you wish, you may play a game of Marelle while I entertain him."

Harry blinked. Marelle was a game not unlike Hopscotch, but in the House of the Hearth, it was played with a considerably more deadly bent. Before he could protest, Peruere turned her head to face him, and made a shushing gesture. She made another hand gesture he recognised as a hand sign used amongst House of the Hearth operatives: safe. Harry didn't quite relax, but he hoped he knew what she meant.

She led him inside. He remembered the old House of the Hearth, the warmth and such a mere façade, and yet, this place felt a little more genuine. He noted the children and teenagers poking their heads out, watching as Peruere led him down the corridor. He noted the fear and respect, but it was nowhere near as intense when Crucabena was in charge. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

A boy in his mid-teens with sandy blonde hair and freckles peered at them. "Father, who is this?" he asked in a soft, hesitant voice.

"An old friend, Freminet, I hope," Peruere said. "Any word from Lyney and Lynette?"

"Not that I know of. That means their stage show rehearsal is going well, right?"

"One should hope so," Peruere said. "Now, I need to speak with my old friend in private."

Freminet nodded, and walked back into the room he had come out of. Meanwhile, Peruere led Harry into an office, an ornate one filled with bookshelves and filing cabinets, panelled in dark wood. She sat down at the desk opposite him and steepled her blackened fingers, her fingernails like talons, painted crimson.

He sat down opposite her, before casting a spell. On her look, he explained, "Privacy Charm, so we can't be overheard. I'm sure you have many questions, but so do I. I think one of the first that comes to mind, oddly enough, was who was that kid?"

"Freminet? He joined between Clervie's death and Crucabena's," Peruere said, her face softening slightly. "He was sent to the House of the Hearth to protect him from his family's debtors. His father ran up many debts, and his mother sent Freminet here. Crucabena told him that Freminet's mother sold him to pay for debts, out of petty cruelty, and to destroy his emotions, to turn him into an emotionless assassin. He's something of a wunderkind when it comes to clockwork devices, and has been since he was only five. I've been working to repair the damage. Thankfully, Lyney and Lynette have helped in that regard. You'll meet them later if you stick around. But I'm wondering whether you will."

"I wonder what gave that impression?" Harry asked with a lilt of sarcasm.

"Before we start exchanging recriminations, I'm sure we both want to know what happened," Peruere said. "I've already told you what happened to Clervie and I, in brief. But I know nothing about what happened to you. Crucabena's files only stated that you had been kidnapped by a man claiming to be called Albus Dumbledore, a headmaster for a mage's school. However, she didn't include any details. You did claim you came from another world, though, or at least from a country I didn't know about, this…England. You spoke of films as more commonplace than they were at the time, and of something called television, similar to certain devices the Fontaine Research Institute created, and which are used in the Fortress of Meropide. So, please, you go first…"

The story that followed was one Arlecchino would have dismissed as utterly fantastical, but she had seen Harry using magic before. True, magic without Visions was far from unknown, with the Hexenzirkel being a notorious circle of mages. And other worlds, while heretical to Celestia, were still known across the world. Indeed, it was said that the bloodline from Khaenri'ah she was descended from included the blood of at least one outworlder, or at least the Crimson Moon Dynasty valued them.

But he pulled out a trading card that had a familiar face on it: Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. The man who, after being rebuffed by Crucabena, kidnapped Harry. And, if Harry was telling the truth (something she couldn't be absolutely certain of given the nature of her profession, but she could give him the benefit of the doubt), the old man took his memories away when he protested. True, he only cared about Clervie and Peruere, but Arlecchino was touched that she held enough of a place in his affections to be worth going back for. Dumbledore had also confiscated Harry's Vision, something that Arlecchino had heard was appallingly dangerous. Il Dottore had conducted experiments on rogue Vision wielders who had betrayed the Tsaritsa, and they became apathetic, listless.

As it turned out, Harry was famous back in that world, as the Boy Who Lived, for miraculously surviving a normally invariably lethal curse, fired at him by a warlock terrorist with the pretentious name of Lord Voldemort. In all likelihood, his mother found a way of sacrificing herself to fuel a special protection. Harry had been left with the Dursleys, until Harry's cousin Dudley pushed him down a crevasse in some cave system or other in England, which was somehow how he ended up in Fontaine.

Harry grew up, lauded for actions he wasn't responsible for. He felt ill at ease with his fame, though he managed to gain loyal friends. But his discontent with Dumbledore began to grow, with his fifth year marking the nadir of their relationship. After the loss of his godfather Sirius Black, Dumbledore confessed part of the truth, about a prophecy, and why he was made to stay at the Dursleys (who had been forced to keep him there again), but he did not tell Harry about the erased memories.

When Dumbledore died, however, the block on Harry's memories died with him, and so too did any regard for him. Harry nearly slaughtered Dumbledore's killer, a Professor Snape. Later, Snape sent, albeit anonymously, a letter detailing some truths, like where the Vision was, as well as the presence of a fragment of Voldemort's soul in Harry's scar. Harry managed to have that dealt with, and then, using his remembered training at the House of the Hearth and his reclaimed Vision, he went to war.

The Death Eaters were decimated, and Voldemort was killed for good, his Horcruxes destroyed and thus removing his anchors to the world of the living. Yet the fickle sheep of Magical Britain began muttering about Harry's brutal methods and unusual powers. The fact that he also rescued the infant daughter of Voldemort and gave her to one of his few remaining trusted allies, the Lupin family, didn't help matters.

But Harry wanted to find a way to return to Teyvat. Dumbledore had destroyed his notes on how he came here in the first place, and Fawkes, the man's Phoenix familiar and one of the main components of how the interdimensional travel occurred, had left, nowhere to be found. Harry spent years trying to find an alternative, working alongside the few friends he was willing to stay friends with.

Eventually, Fawkes returned, and Harry, along with a few of his friends, were able to finish the ritual, and soon departed. The ritual was imperfect, leaving them in Sumeru rather than Fontaine. And from there, Harry departed for the House of the Hearth. After seeing the devastation, he entered his Expanded Trunk to rest, and was about to try and seek her or Clervie out when Arlecchino began poking around, the wards of said trunk alerting him to her touching the trunk's latches.

Arlecchino digested this story. While she did not know how much of it was true, she saw enough in his eyes. They'd become hardened, more than they were before his abduction. "I see. A rather strange tale, but a liar would think up something less fantastical."

"You don't trust my word?"

"As the current Knave, I cannot hold anything at face value until I verify it to be so or otherwise," Arlecchino said. "In addition, technically, you are a deserter, even if it wasn't by your own will. I'm not obliged to carry out Crucabena's directives, but there are too many operatives within the Fatui who believe I am too soft, and that Crucabena died to an unworthy successor, and who would target you to get to me. What is more, the Doctor still lives, and he is more powerful than I. I am the fourth Fatui Harbinger by rank through strength and power, and he is the second. And he had an interest in you and your abilities, as you well know. Only your Vision prevented stopped Crucabena from handing you over, as you were too useful to be a mere lab rat for the Doctor."

"…You've changed, Perrie, and not for the better," he said quietly and bitterly.

"I know," she said, her own tone quiet and solemn. "After you were taken from us, Clervie and I only had each other. But…she lost hope, Harry. All hope of being able to change the House of the Hearth from within, or being able to get her mother to acknowledge her love. And one day, when we were sixteen, Crucabena pitted us against each other. Clervie fell swiftly…and in fact, I believe she effectively used me to commit suicide. Her last words were thanking me, before she died. I burned her body with my cursed flames. I spent a year seeking to get stronger to put an end to Crucabena, and in the process, I gained a Vision: a Pyro Vision. Once I was ready, I fought Crucabena, and killed her."

"That went down well with the other Harbingers, I expect," Harry snarked.

Arlecchino chuckled bitterly. "From my cell in Snezhnaya, I saw the aurorae for the first time. I wish Clervie was there to see them with me. But then, I was called to a meeting with Pierro, with Signora, the Captain, and the Balladeer present. The Tsaritsa had pardoned my crimes, but in exchange, I would take Crucabena's place as the Knave. And here I am, eight years later. A strict, unfeeling Father to the House of the Hearth, rather than a Mother who hides her monstrosity behind false love."

"I…I don't even know what to say, Perrie. It's been too long, for both of us. I can't blame you for Clervie's death, setting her up to die by your hand is something that sadistic bitch would've done, given the way she treated her own daughter in the first place, and I'm glad you killed her. But…you've just continued where she picked off."

"I've taken the House of the Hearth in a new direction, Harry. While I cannot expect you to take my word at face value any more than I would take yours, that is the truth. I am still obligated to shape Fatui operatives from orphans and abandoned children. But my methods differ. If you stay, I can show you, demonstrate to you."

But she knew he wouldn't well before he replied. To give him his due, he looked like he considered it, before he shook his head. "…Perrie, the House of the Hearth…no, the Fatui stand against everything I believe in. The Tsaritsa…why the hell would she condone something like the House of the Hearth, like Delusions, like Crucabena's cruelty or what Il Dottore did to us? I may have been shoehorned into becoming the Boy Who Lived, but…I liked being a hero. I liked stopping people like Voldemort, like the Death Eaters, who are too much like the Fatui in many regards. And for all that the idiots of Magical Britain turned on me, some people truly did praise me as a hero. And one of my oldest friends, she told me I have a 'saving people thing'. I…I need time to think first."

But as he made to cast a spell, presumably dispelling the Privacy Charm, Arlecchino held up a hand, having come to a decision. "Wait. Harry…in light of our previous friendship, I won't alert Snezhnaya to your return. The children will be silent on the matter. But…if you work against our interests in Sumeru, Fontaine, or elsewhere, then that will change. I cannot protect you. Though I am sure you can handle yourself. Before that day comes, though, you are welcome to return, even if only to visit myself and the children. I owe you that much for the kindness you showed me. That, and a warning."

"A warning?"

"The Doctor, Il Dottore, he's never forgotten you. He approached me to continue the same relationship he had with Crucabena, using the cripples from duels and missions as test subjects. I declined his request in the strongest possible terms, but he and I have a strong mutual antipathy. In addition, whatever he was doing with your blood failed, and finding you is a minor obsession of his. And he has multiple bodies, iterations of himself at differing stages of his life, but linked together through a psychic link. He is an army unto himself, and he is wholly without scruple or restraint, the only thing holding him back being scientific rigour and pragmatism. He has also disguised himself for operations previously. He also came from Sumeru centuries ago, not long after the Cataclysm unleashed by Khaenri'ah. Be careful, be vigilant, and be sure to not attract his attention."

Harry, after a moment, nodded. "…Okay. Thanks, Perrie. I…maybe I'll see you later. Bye."

She nodded back, but as he vanished with a whipcrack like noise, presumably his Apparition, she found her heart filled with sorrow. No tears glistened in her eyes, a decade of being the Knave and seeing the deaths of her children prevented that. But Arlecchino said, to the now-empty room, "…Perhaps it would be better if you did not come back, Harry…"

CHAPTER 2 ANNOTATIONS:

So, an awkward discussion, and an awkward parting. Can Harry's relationship with Arlecchino survive?

Their argument was going to be a lot heated, but Arlecchino, for all her ruthlessness, is notorious for keeping her cool, and this is a post-Hogwarts Harry, older and a little wiser, and a little less impulsive and temperamental.

Don't worry, they'll reconcile. But it'll take someone who has the right mixture of wisdom and compassion to help. Hmm, I wonder who that could be?

No numbered annotations this time.