CHAPTER: 9 NEWS OF THE MISSING FIANCE
The Greengrass cottage was lovely, to say the least, this season, and the little one-story house, covered with a thick snow coat, would give the impression to anyone who passed by of having a huge chocolate cake covered with a thick cloud of Chantilly underneath. The small stream in front of their house had long since frozen, and the trees surrounding the estate had also long since become clothed with their leaves. The end of November had finally brought with it a slight snowstorm large enough to prevent the battle-hungry and snowman-sick children from being able to put their noses outside, and seeing this significant amount of snow from his window without being able to enjoy it made Daphne long sigh. The urge to go outside kept pulling her, but on the other hand, she didn't want to end up like her little sister Astoria, who had the brilliant idea of staying a whole after lunch outside to fight for a long time with her best friend, Rosie Potter. The result was that today, Astoria was bedridden with a high fever and a bad cough, but nothing too bad, as her mother reminded her at this very moment.
"... An irresponsible, Belvina Greengrass. What idea did she have there of wanting to go play outside? As if we didn't have enough worries like that right now! Did I raise a fool?"
"Mom, it's been ten minutes since you told me the same thing all the time," Daphne said while her mother combed her hair.
"Really? Sorry, Daphne. It would be high time that I stop doing this, but your father's situation is already painful enough as it is about people's opinion of us. We really don't need a sick child on top of all this. Did you give her your cough remedy?" inquired her daughter with a concerned voice, looking at her reflection from the mirror in front of her.
"The chili peppers? Of course, yes! Fortunately, this Glover Hipworth discovered this potion recently; otherwise, we should have made her undergo a new bleeding. Merlin, I hate this practice," muttered her mother, repressing a shiver.
Daphne could only approve of her words; she herself did not appreciate this medical method to treat patients suffering from an unknown disease. The human body was still complex and escaped the many doctors, both Muggles and wizards. Daphne, for her part, was certain that this idea of the moods having to be of the same level in relation to each other to keep an individual healthy was nothing but rubbish. Using astronomy and astrology in medicine was also silly, and many times she doubted that stars could have any influence on a person's health, except for the werewolves. Although only six years old, Harry's fiancée was still very mature for her age and philosophized at length on topics that even most adults preferred not to give an opinion on; medicine was part of it. A career in this field was not exactly what she wanted, but helping people in trouble and suffering from the worst evils on Earth was more about her than another child her age.
"You are very beautiful today," her mother tenderly launched, looking at her from the mirror in front of them. "Why did you wear that dress? A special occasion perhaps?"
"No, I had nothing else to wear. It's pretty, and it matches my doll's dress!"
"Isn't it more for Harry that you wear it?" Belvina asked her with a slight hint of sadness.
Her daughter did not answer, but the slight redness on her cheeks already meant a lot. Wednesday was usually the day Harry came to have fun with her all day, but that was before a few months ago, before the disappearance of her daughter's fiancé. The reason for this absence had long been known to her, and indeed she would have gladly accepted to welcome home this boy whom she already considered her stepson, but the reason given to her by Lily for not having left her son seemed justified despite everything. Daphne knew nothing; she just knew that Harry had left his house for a while, and her mother had found nothing but to assure her that he was in good hands. Her daughter was far from stupid though, and Daphne must have known that something more serious was going on, but so far, she didn't discuss this with her or even her husband. Only her melancholy air and the moments when she walked alone in the garden showed that Harry's absence weighed heavily on her conscience and mood. The date of his return is unknown to her; Daphne would dress every Wednesday in the same green robe voluntarily resembling the emerald of Harry's eyes in hopes of seeing him again to meet and spend time together.
"You are so cute, Daphne," Belvina cooed, thinking about this routine she had in recent months.
A strange noise similar to a gust of wind coming from the floor below made them both jump. Daphne's mother immediately took her wand out of her dress pocket and suddenly rose up, taking a defensive posture as if she expected an imminent attack. Daphne sat in her chair, intrigued by the scene taking place before her eyes.
"Mom? What is going on?" she asked her in an anxious voice.
"I don't know, Daphne. This sound was very similar to the one the fireplace makes when someone uses it to move around, but I'm not sure. Your father can't have come home from work already, and I wasn't expecting any visits…"
Belvina stepped out of the room in a hurry, wand still in hand, and disappeared into the hallway, leaving her daughter to style herself with resignation. Unlike her, Daphne wasn't really the type to worry about anything and everything, she said, and a sudden appearance by chimney in her living room was part of the category of minor incidents according to her. Sudden screams spilled into her eardrums, but due to the distance separating her from the living room and the floor under her feet, Daphne could not clearly discern the meaning of the words spoken by her mother, or even to whom they were addressed. The only thing she was certain of was that the newcomer was reprimanded without daring to raise her voice as well, like a child caught at fault and not daring to defend himself.
"Who can it be?" she wondered aloud as the same noise caused by the railway was heard again.
Believing that the incident was closed, Daphne turned her attention to her hairstyle, brushing strands falling behind her ears, without ignoring the sounds she could hear in the house. Footsteps were approaching her room, but the noise and rhythm with which she heard them suggested that the person arriving was literally running down the hall, something her mother would never do. However, she did not have long to wonder about her new visitor because a few seconds later, her door was almost propelled against the wall as a brown tornado burst into her room.
"Hey! Daphy!" joyfully exclaimed the new entrant, who turned out to be a new entrant.
Turning her head in that direction, Daphne frowned slightly as she recognized her best friend, Tracey Davis. Her stage entrances were always as burlesque and noisy, one can too even to her taste. Her presence, however, did not bother her at all, but the nickname she did not cease to give her when she saw her displeased her enormously. "Daphy" looked so much like an animal name; even a duck could be called that, and it's right there or the stick: She was not an animal and let her know every time. Her friend did not seem to notice her slight hostility, or she quietly savored it because she did not show in the least the slightest sign demonstrating it.
"Tracey, I already told you to stop calling me that!" Daphne launched, crossing her arms with a sulky air.
"But it's so cute!" smiled her friend while approaching her. "And then, Harry calls you 'Daph' when he sees you! Why would he have the right and not me?"
"Because I prefer his nickname, and he, at least, doesn't call me that to make fun of me."
"Pff, you really can't, Daphy! You ride on your big horses for nothing!"
Preferring to sigh in frustration to avoid continuing to belittle her, Daphne stood up nonchalantly from her office chair and walked towards her bed, on which she sat, taking in the passage her wax doll, which she immediately pressed against her. Tracey quickly came to join her, holding her own doll, which, unlike Daphne's, seemed to have lived many adventures.
"You almost made my mother die of fear just now," she rebuked her while she carelessly styled the English of her doll. "What an idea to come here without warning!"
"I was bored at home, so I thought I could come here and have fun with you! Your mother was really not happy to see me; she was almost about to cast a spell on me when she arrived in the living room before I could even warn her of my identity!"
"It is quite her that," said Belvina's daughter, shaking her head in spite of herself. "First, I attack and then I ask questions. Dad often says she's a Gryffindor at heart."
"Is that an insult in your opinion?" asked Tracey. "Brrr, just to imagine being compared to them, I have chills!"
"They are not all idiots," Daphne replied thoughtfully. "Some are even very nice."
Tracey did not answer her remark but knew exactly who her best friend could talk about. A certain boy with brown hair and green eyes made his way into her mind, while a slightly mocking smile appeared on her face, a detail that Daphne did not notice by chance, who was too busy now to smooth the dress of her doll.
"Speaking of my mother, where is she?"
"She said she was going to visit Ms. Potter to inquire about Harry's little sister's condition. Apparently, she would be sick."
"Tory is also," Daphne sighed. "Lucie's dress begins to tear," she added, pointing to a slight tear in the fabric. "I'd like to stitch it up, but I'm bad at it…"
"How did it happen? You are very careful with your toys!"
"It's NOT just a toy; it's my daughter!" Daphne suddenly exclaimed, looking at her with an upset air.
"Ok ok!" temporized Tracey by moving away very slightly from her. "Mine's all stained, but I don't have time to buy her a new one," she added, piteously holding with her fingertips the little torn and dirty dress of her own doll.
"I could give you one; I have so many!"
Her proposal was accompanied by a wide movement of her arm to show the many other wax dolls stored on the shelves of her room. It was necessary to admit that with about thirty of these small figurines, Daphne must probably have one of the largest collections in Great Britain. Her favorites were placed on either side of her desk and held a special place in her heart: they had been offered by none other than Harry, and strangely, they were the ones she preferred, and from afar.
"Regarding this hole in Lucie's dress, well, Astoria and Rosie thought yesterday that it would be fun to play with her outside and bury her in the snow. Fortunately, I took them on the fact before they buried her completely; her hairstyle would have been completely ruined! I would almost say that they were punished properly for their stupidity; it will teach them to go play outside when it snows!"
"You're so mean today, Daphy! Is your sister's health any less important than a hole in a doll's dress?"
Daphne grimaced as an answer before resting her doll and lying on her bed, joined moments later by Tracey. The two of them remained silent for a few minutes, looking at the white ceiling of the room with little thought of anything, unless we excepted the case of Tracey, who wondered about the decoration of her best friend's room.
"How's your mom doing?" Daphne suddenly asked her, looking at her with a worried air. "My mother was planning on coming to see her soon to bring her some Swiss chocolates. Your mom seems to like it."
Tracey was, for the first time since her arrival, slightly scowled, and took her time to answer her. Daphne could perfectly understand her: The case of her sick mother was a sensitive subject for her, and her friend spoke of it so to speak only with her.
"She's better, I think. The doctor told me she looked better than the last time he came, but I didn't see any improvement. He knows his work, right? So if he says that my mom is getting better, is that it must be the case?"
"I hope for you," Daphne replied sincerely.
"Maybe if my dad got out of jail, she'd be completely healed. I'd really like to know what he did to go to Azkaban. Mom never wants to talk to me about it, but I hope it's not too bad and he'll be back soon!"
Daphne refrained from confessing to her that if her father were in this horrible prison, the cause must most certainly be serious. Here is one thing she liked about her: her carelessness. Tracey was unaware of the actions her father had committed during the reign of the dark lord and continued to live in her little world all pink and without the slightest cloud. Daphne, she knew full well that the people imprisoned there were overwhelmingly supporters of Lord Voldemort, and to know that her parents had been able to finish in this sinister place had for a long time horrified her. The discovery of the true nature of her husband had already plunged Tracey's mother into a deep depression in which she was moping, so Daphne preferred not to reveal anything she had discovered about Lord Davis so that her best friend would not end up the same way.
"Mom got up just now," started the tone of the conversation Tracey. "She told me that she needed to move and that she would eventually take root if she stayed one more day in bed. You think she was telling the truth? Can people really have roots like trees?"
"It is an image!" taught her Daphne by giggling. "Of course not! Can you imagine if everyone had roots in place of their feet? We could not even move anymore!"
Once their little moment of laughter was over, both spent the next hour having fun with the many dolls of Daphne in games where the boys would certainly not have had their place. Drinking imaginary tea from porcelain figures was not really what could be considered a fun pastime for representatives of the male sex. It was only Harry, even reluctantly, who bowed to their insistence that he should have fun with them. Even though she was not as close to him as Daphne, Tracey still found his absence heavy and made their play suddenly less distracting than usual.
"I wish Harry was there," Tracey told her in a slightly sad voice. "It's fun, and I like it. He constantly had game ideas so that we do not get bored and in addition he taught us a lot of things! Didn't you hear from him?"
"Still nothing," sighed sadly Daphne, lowering her eyes. "His mom told me he couldn't write to us anyway, let alone try to get in touch with us for our safety and his."
"Really, this story is complicated!" whispered Tracey, offering the doll sitting next to her an empty biscuit box. "I don't understand at all why he had to leave like that overnight and to a place where he would be safe. To believe that he was wanted by an enemy and that his life was threatened!"
"Yes, but I think it must have had something to do with his dad. Mr. Potter really isn't a very nice person..."
Small blows against a window interrupted their conversation, while Tracey and Daphne immediately turned their heads towards the two windows of the room, in search of the origin of this noise. What was not their surprise to see beyond the window a bird with magnificent black and white plumage peering at them with its small piercing eyes.
"Is it not a peregrine falcon?" Tracey looked at the bird with an intrigued air.
"Looks good, but I've never seen one so far. You think he's here to deliver a message to my parents?"
"In this case, he made a mistake of the window! The poor, let's open it quickly otherwise it will die of cold!"
Without even asking permission, Tracey rushed to the window, which she quickly opened. The bird immediately rushed into the room and landed on the corner of Daphne's desk, continuing to observe her attentively. Curious, Daphne advanced cautiously to him, her hand already stretched out to caress his back. The hawk did not seem to be frightened by her little swirl and even let himself be docilely manipulated by the girl without even being threatening.
"Tell me, little bird, would you not have deceived yourself as a recipient?" Daphne asked him, scratching his head.
As if to answer his question, the bird held out its paw at the end of which was hung a closed envelope with a seal made of wax. The symbol depicted on the seal was completely unknown to her, and in her opinion, it was only the wealthy families who allowed themselves to do this. Seeking in her memory a moment when she could have met a family with a similar coat of arms, nothing came to her mind, despite the book she had been able to read about all the magical families of Great Britain, and the story is similar to each.
"Apparently, this letter is addressed to you," launched Tracey, watching her remove the envelope from the bird's paw.
"It looks like," she answered distractedly. "You can go, sweet bird. Your mission is over!"
The hawk, however, did not seem to want to leave, and better still, he merely spread his wings and flew away towards the bed of Daphne on which he landed. As if to taunt her more, the bird began to utter sharp little cries resembling sniggering.
"Out! You're gonna put dirt everywhere! Mommy's gonna scold me!"
Daphne tried as hard as she could to chase the hawk by shaking her blankets and threatening him with a pillow, but the bird continued to make sharp little screams giving her the impression of openly making fun of her. Vexed, Daphne literally threw herself at him and narrowly failed to catch him, but the hawk had planned his blow and flew away. Leaving the letter she held in her hand, Daphne, with the support of Tracey, began to run across the room, shouting to scare the bird and scare it away, but after ten minutes, the truth caught up with them: The hawk did not want to leave her room.
"I give up," blew Daphne while taking her breath, "while the bird was going to land at the top of her cupboard."
"Well, what if you opened this letter so we could find out who your mystery correspondent is?" Tracey got impatient in a clearly excited voice.
At first intrigued by her remark, Daphne finally remembered that she was holding a letter between the fingers of her left hand, and not without some apprehension, she returned it to see if an address had been put on it. But nothing was written, nothing could tell her who was the person who wrote her this message, nothing except maybe...
"Whoever wrote this to you might have been careful," Tracey said, noticing an ink stain on the paper. "In addition, it allows itself to make drawings!"
But Daphne did not listen to her, shocked by what she saw. Where Tracey saw only a simple drawing almost resembling an inkblot, her friend saw a pattern she did not think she would ever see again, a motive she had waited for so long that she was desperate to receive news from her author before months or years. This task actually had a hidden meaning, and its shape making it look very slightly like a lightning bolt could only come from one person: Harry.
"What has?" she asked Tracey with a concerned air, noticing that Daphne's eyes were beginning to become bright. "Is there a problem?"
"N-no, on the contrary," she muttered in a very small voice.
Taken of an immense feeling of happiness as strong as her strange moments of fullness that she could not explain, Daphne tore off almost like an enraged the envelope containing the message of her fiancé. Shared between apprehension and excitement, she feverishly removed the parchment leaf inside and unfolded it as soon as she had it in her hand. The first thing that struck her in the eye was that since the last time, Harry's writing seemed different. The very idea that this letter was a forgery briefly crossed her mind before she thought of first reading this message to form an opinion. The words themselves were written in a much more refined, almost graceful way, as if the pen having written them had slipped on the surface of the parchment in the same way as an artist painting a canvas. The loops of the letters were perfectly rounded and without the slightest trace of erasures or trembling, while the words once spaced apart from each other unevenly now followed each other in an orderly fashion. Merlin, if this letter really came from Harry, then he'd made some great strides in his writing.
"Dear Daphne,
You must certainly be surprised by what you hold in your hands, but know that I am just as much: I never thought I could write to you so early, and so far, it would have been difficult for me to do so.
I don't know what my mother and sister could have told you and your parents about my sudden absence, but if that's any reassurance, I can tell you, now I'm going for the best. I would even say that I have rarely done so well in my entire life, but let's go into the details.
To tell you what happened to me would be too long to explain and especially in a letter, but I look forward to being able to find you and tell you all this directly face to face. However, I am obliged for the moment to remain silent for fear of what James Potter and Dumbledore could do. My mother took a lot of risks to protect me, and I don't want to destroy everything she's done for me."
At that moment, Daphne understood that her suspicions were finally right: Dumbledore and James Potter were the sponsors of his disappearance. A sudden feeling of anger crept into her as the face of the "old owl" as she nicknamed him and that of Harry's father invited themselves into her mind. Although only six years old, Daphne swore to make them pay in some way: Whether today or ten years from now, her revenge would take place. Nevertheless, she could not help but wonder why Harry did not call James Potter "dad" or even "father" in his letter. Did he consider it unworthy to carry this title? There was something after all, and she herself would be openly hostile to him if she had been in her fiance's place.
"I can only tell you that now, I am in the company of absolutely wonderful people with whom I learn every day a little more than it is about magic or about the things of life. You won't even recognize me when we meet again!
Speaking of which, I can't see you at the moment because I'm currently very busy, and coming to your house is out of the question for the moment. The person caring for me was clear on this: Our meeting will be a reward for the efforts I make for her. I will simply ask you not to tell your parents, let alone my mother, about this letter: It will be our little secret!
I don't know if you feel the same way I do, but the last few months without seeing you have been very hard, and I miss you very much, especially the times when we both read new books and then discuss the moral of the stories. I miss Mom and Rosie a lot too, and not being able to write to them is really the hardest thing for me to live with. I don't want to take the risk that James will discover my correspondence with them. I just hope I can talk to them as soon as possible.
I will send you more letters thanks to Archimedes. It is an excellent bird to deliver mail, although it can sometimes be a little teasing with people. Use it to answer me because I doubt that a bird can enter the area where I am located.
Kiss my mom and Rosie please, as well as your parents and your sister of course: Just look for a pretext to explain your gesture, I know you're very good at making up sensible excuses, your little Snake side maybe. Burn this letter also as a precaution so that it does not fall into the wrong hands.
A thousand kisses for you from your angel, G. D. S.
Ps: in the future, I will write to you in French. I will explain why over time, but I would advise you to do the same on your side and also learn this language. This will allow us to converse much more quietly. No one would suspect that it was I who wrote you in that language. Also beware of Dumbledore and James Potter: Both are capable of the worst, and I don't want anything to happen to you."
To say that this letter was a blessing would be an understatement for Daphne: This sudden reappearance of Harry was more of a miracle than anything else. No words could even describe how she felt right now: Joy? Happiness? No, it was even stronger than that. Despite her few bases in occlumency, Daphne could not help but shed a few tears at the end of her reading, tears of happiness obviously. His letter, however, only further deepened the mystery surrounding his absence, but strangely so, the mere fact that he showed her a sign of life through this message left little time to question all these problems. Harry was alive, obviously healthy, happy, and most importantly: he hadn't forgotten about it; it was the main one for her.
"Haha!" Tracey suddenly exclaimed right next to her. "To put you in this state, it can only be Harry! How's he?!"
"G-good..." stammered Daphne without taking her eyes from the letter she held in her little hands. "He says he's safe in a secret place and he's thinking about me and his family."
"Ah yes? Not even a word for me?! You see me greatly disappointed! Could I check it out?"
"NO!" she suddenly exclaimed, hiding the sheet of paper behind her back. "I mean... He said that I should not tell anyone about this letter, and that all this should remain a secret. You normally didn't have to know…"
"I see," muttered Tracey with a sad air.
Faced with her distraught air, Daphne was momentarily taken aback. Tracey knew about it now, so why did she have to hide the conversations she would have with Harry? Her best friend was a trustworthy person and wasn't likely to reveal her secrets to James Potter and Dumbledore since she didn't have the opportunity to cross paths with them. Her mother, on the other hand, probably did not care about the love affairs of two children.
"All right, you can know everything Harry's telling me, but you'll have to keep quiet!" she warned, handing her the letter. "You're lucky I don't have a wand; otherwise, I would have ordered you to take an Unbreakable Vow! You won't say anything, will you?"
"I swear on the grave of the great Merlin!"
"Sworn spit?"
To Daphne's great surprise, Tracey applied to the letter the oath she asked of her. She didn't expect her friend to really start spitting in her room at all.
"Tracey!" she became indignant as she peeked at the tiny pool of saliva on the floor. "You didn't need to do it!"
"But you told me to do it!" she replied without taking her eyes off the sheet she was reading.
"Let's go. You are incorrigible!"
It took Tracey more time to finish her reading, but it had to be admitted that she did not have the opportunity to read much, much less to benefit from an education like that of Daphne. Harry was already very nice to have allowed her to reach her current level; it was just necessary that Tracey now find a new teacher. In one corner of her head, Daphne imagined herself giving lessons to her best friend, and with great hindsight, she found this idea brilliant.
"I did not understand everything, but for the most part, it looks like a charm! I wonder what he can do right now?" wondered Daphne. "At least he doesn't seem bored!"
"Well, what if you wrote to him now?" joyfully launched Tracey as she searched her desk for a sheet of parchment.
"Now? But... I have not yet thought about what I was going to say to him!"
"Oh come on, just tell him about what you've done in recent months, his absence, and ask him about what he's doing!? And then, this hawk is not going to stay there all day anyway?"
Archimedes from the top of his perch approved Tracey's words by uttering a small piercing cry while flapping his wings. Daphne sighed and resigned herself to writing her letter to Harry now. Even though outwardly, she didn't seem particularly thrilled to spend her time applying herself to writing legibly on a sheet of parchment instead of spending her afternoon playing with her dolls, inside she was already looking forward to Harry answering her. So, she quickly grabbed a pen and began writing an answer she hoped would be long and instructive in Harry's eyes, under the eyes of a certain hawk who, even if he could not smile, nevertheless gave the strange impression of sketching one.
Far away, in a castle just as snow-covered as the Greengrass cottage, Harry was not as lucky as his fiancée, and the possibility of being able to play was very far from being acquired. In truth, Harry was rather busy at the moment going back and forth continuously through the room where his mother, Pauline, and Aunt Louise were also. It was also for the latter that he made these trips because for three days now, Louise-Elisabeth had been thinking of teaching him to walk properly. For lack of being able to make Harry wear a dress to teach him this ancestral knowledge, her nephew had to be content to walk with a pile of books on his head without dropping one. Harry never thought it was so difficult to walk with elegance; he thought that this way of moving was as easy as learning to count, and from this day on, he promised to have more consideration for these people.
"I still believe that we should at least use ribbons or pieces of cloth to teach him to walk at a proper pace," sighed his aunt, watching him pass in front of her again.
"Oh mother, let him! It has only been three days now that he has learned to walk in this way! Don't hope to make a gentleman of him so quickly! Don't you agree with me, Aunt Marie?"
Harry's mother, distractedly watching the table in front of her, merely breathed a light sigh to approve her words, although it was clear to the other three that she had not paid any attention to what she was saying. Her behavior had been strange for more than half an hour, and it was not uncommon to see her smile mysteriously or sneer briefly for some reason that eluded them. Her gaze itself seemed distant, as if it were elsewhere, at least her mind seemed to be.
"Being confined in this castle seems to have made her lose her spirits," muttered Pauline. Marie-Louise, hear me?" she asked, shaking her shoulder slightly.
"Hm? You said, my dear?" Harry's mother asked her, looking at her with a confused look.
"We thought that enrolling Gabriel in the convent of the church of Val-De-Grace to make a nun would be a good career choice for him. What do you think?"
"Very well, yes. I would not have thought of a better profession for him," she said absent-mindedly before suddenly opening her eyes. "What did you say!?"
The other two chuckled as Harry looked at them in a disconcerted air, the pile of books on his head threatening to wobble at any moment.
"Oh, I see. Have you found nothing more distracting to do than to make fun of me?" scolded his mother in a falsely furious tone. "Is it too much to ask you to let me go about my business without being interrupted?"
"And what were you doing that was so important to claim tranquility, my aunt?" asked Pauline, smiling mockingly. "Have you not thought of bringing back some memories of your stay on the Moon?"
Marie-Louise did not answer and simply asked the two servants who were present in the room, none other than Martine and Francoise, to provide them with a cup of coffee.
"Your gait improves, Gabriel," she said, watching him walk in front of them. "You are already starting to glimpse the first sketches of your new status!"
"Really? Yet I feel more like I'm moving like a lame…"
"It is not perfect yet, but it will still improve over time," assured his mother, taking a sip of her cup. "Have you started learning the gestures to perform your spells?"
"Yes, but I still have trouble assimilating all these graphs concerning the curves to be made for the movements," he confessed as the pile of books on his head began to wobble. "I would never have thought that it was necessary to be so precise in the movement of his wand and in the way of holding it. I also have to transpose these movements to my accidental magic, which greatly complicates the difficulty."
"That's why assimilating a spell takes so long, and correctly performing the moves to cast a spell is certainly the most difficult. Everything must be perfect so that the power of the spell is at its peak, which can be blamed on academic teaching that is particularly evasive on this subject. All the details count, both the angle of the arm and the arrangement of the fingers on the stick. You are particularly unlucky for your part because you have to find your lairs without having to rest on a wand."
Harry sighed as he imagined the mountain of extra homework waiting for him, but his gesture of frustration immediately dropped the textbooks on his feet. Mumbling as silently as possible all the rudeness that came to his mind, his mother, his aunt, Pauline, and even the two servants giggled at this spectacle.
"You are still easily dissipated, Gabriel," said his mother while he was massaging his foot. "I suspected that conversing without you dropping your books is still a step you will have to take."
"Was it a test?" he asked her.
"Yes and no. I really wanted to know if you were making progress in your readings, but I thought using the training you are currently doing would also be a good thing to see if you are progressing quickly."
Sighing, she turned her attention to the huge clock on the shelf of the fireplace. The hour she posted suddenly startled her, much to the surprise of others.
"Divine goodness! My guest must arrive any minute!" she exclaimed as she got up from her chair. "Ladies, I…"
"And a young lady!" Pauline rebelled as she frowned.
"And my lady," Harry's mother continued, "if you'll bother to step out of this room for a few moments, Gabriel and I must inquire about an important task."
"What kind of task, if I may?" he asked the Marquise de Tourzel.
"A case dealing with our world," informed her friend while she made disappear with a magic wand the many porcelain cups on the table.
Harry picked up the books scattered around him in a hurry to store them in one of the shelves in the room, but Martine came to his aid and took from his hands the manuals which he had already picked up.
"Let me do it, Master," she said, lowering herself to take the last books on the ground.
"Thank you, my good Martine," replied Harry, gratifying her with a smile.
"Your meal will be served in less than an hour," said Francoise, opening the door of the living room to let Louise-Elisabeth and Pauline out. "In which room would you like to dine?"
"Diane's salon will do. Tell the kitchens I'd like a hearty meal for tonight, preferably some good poultry."
"Very well, madam."
The room was finally empty of almost all its occupants in less than a minute, leaving only Marie-Louise and Harry in a calm only disturbed by the crackling of flames in the fireplace. Harry had taken the opportunity to sit next to his mother while nibbling on a few cookies he had noticed on the table in front of them. His mother was surprisingly silent, she who usually did not miss an opportunity to question him on this or that subject, preferably on the courses he took with his aunt.
"Why did you ask them to leave us alone?" he asked, looking at her in a troubled air.
"I wanted to give you a little surprise that I think should make you very happy," she replied, sketching a smile that Harry found mysterious.
"What kind of surprise?" he inquired impatiently.
"If I told you now, it wouldn't be called a surprise anymore, don't you believe, Gabriel?"
"It is true," he confessed, not giving up his haste to discover what she was hiding.
The hearth of the fireplace was suddenly invaded by gigantic green flames, letting out a few seconds later an old man with a neglected look and a face studded with wrinkles. His clothes were old and patched, and the gray beard he had deserved a little razor. It was, however, the look of the man that intrigued Harry. His pale gray eyes shone like two moons and gave him the impression that a certain madness animated him. Harry was strangely convinced that he had met this old man somewhere before, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
Mr. Ollivander welcomed Marie-Louise as she rose from her seat to head towards him. "What a joy to see you again," he exclaimed.
Repressing the sudden urge to bang his head against a wall for not recognizing the old wandmaker he had already had the opportunity to see repeatedly over the years while in London, Harry understood immediately that Ollivander's arrival at his home and the fact that this appointment concerned him could only mean one thing: He was finally going to need a wand.
"Your Highness," greeted Ollivander in perfect French, "and gave her a kiss. Know that pleasure is shared. I was pleasantly surprised by your request, I who thought I would never have the immense honor to serve you again."
"I would need your services for a rather special request. I could only turn to the best wand maker in Europe for such an important task."
"What is it?" the old man inquired, looking at her in a curious manner. "Would your wand fail you?"
"No, of course not! In truth, it would rather be to design a new wand for my son. Come near, Gabriel, don't be shy!"
Harry, who had already risen from his seat when Ollivander appeared, obeyed and did as Marie-Louise asked. He could not, however, ignore the astonished or shocked look that the old wandmaker threw at him by scrutinizing him in every detail as if he were a fairground beast. No wonder after all, his mother had until less than a month ago no children, let alone an eight-year-old boy. Fortunately, the few transformations she had made on his face were still present, otherwise Ollivander would have no trouble guessing the trickery. Despite everything, his calculating air added to his gray eyes giving goosebumps still gave him the impression that Ollivander managed to see through the spells used on him.
"Mr. Ollivander, I am absolutely delighted to meet you," said Harry, bowing his head slightly.
By the way, Harry was inwardly congratulating himself for the way he spoke without an accent. His diction and French classes apparently already had an effect on him, and he promised to go and talk to his aunt. The old man in front of him showed no sign of suspicion about his real affiliation.
"All the pleasure is for me, Monsieur," Ollivander replied to him by doing the same. "Merlin be praised, I was absolutely not aware that you had a child! How old is he?"
"Eight years old," his mother answered him by placing her hand on Harry's shoulder in a protective manner.
"Eight years... And you wish he already has a wand? You, therefore, intend to make him follow a particular training and outside the educational framework of our institutions? Well, I guess you don't intend to get him into a school of witchcraft, therefore…"
"I have not yet made a decision on this subject," Marie-Louise told him. "The choice will come back to him. I myself have never had the opportunity to integrate one, and that has not stopped me from becoming the woman I am today."
Ollivander politely nodded before pulling his magic wand out of his case to point at the floor of the room. A brief stroke later, and a huge black trunk appeared at his feet. This one was so big that Harry was convinced he could slip inside easily.
"As usual, I assume?" he exclaimed, opening it, as Harry watched him come out of the little wooden cubes in an astonished air. "Your family is one of the few who wants custom wands, but at least it saves me from having to search my shop from top to bottom in search of one of my creations adapting perfectly to you."
"I'll let you prepare what you need, time for me to explain to Gabriel the course of what we're going to do today."
Driving Harry away from the room, the Princess of Lamballe waited until there was enough gap between them to explain as best as possible the steps that will follow to obtain his wand by taking care in passing to place some spells to make their conversation private.
"All right, Gabriel, now I have to explain a few things about how my family members get a magic wand. Sit down, it may take time."
"You do not just try the wands until one of them suits you?" he asked her, taking a seat in the seat behind her.
"No, it is traditional in our family to have a wand that perfectly matches us by choosing the materials that make it up. You will see that this is very easy; it will be enough simply to designate the wood and the core that will attract you more than others."
"How could I recognize them? One piece of wood is no different from another."
"Your magic will feel it, and it is she who will tell you which type of wood and which core for your wand is the best companion."
Harry opined at the chef and looked for a brief moment at the cup of fruit on the table in front of him before a new question emerged in his mind.
"Why do I need a wand?" he asked, looking into her eyes. "Didn't you tell me that I could just do magic without needing one of them?"
"You will need a wand for some branches of magic, especially for Transfiguration. Turning one object into another requires magic, but not only: The core of your wand plays an essential role in modifying an object because it has special attributes depending on the nature of the creature from which it was taken. This also explains why some wands are more useful for Transfiguration than others. By the way, wandless magic requires a lot of effort on the part of the person using it, and before you even realize it, you will have used all the energy present in you. The magic wand serves as a channeler and allows you to use your abilities reasonably without abusing them."
Harry nodded and rose from his seat to join Ollivander, believing the interview was over, but his mother held him back from her hand to prevent him from moving.
"I also wanted to tell you that the moment you get your wand, I will ask you to learn not only the gestures to perform with your fingers to cast a spell but also perform them. Therefore, you will need to work harder to perfect yourself in both of these areas."
"I do not understand... Why do I have to do it if I can already achieve this result through my fingers?" he interrogated her carefully.
"During a duel, it is always a good omen to hide your abilities from an opponent by surprising him at the right time. Therefore, do not show him that you are able to use your magic without the need for a wand from the start in order to keep a surprise effect on him. You will also notice that the way to move a wand differs from the movement of your finger, especially in relation to the angles to be reached, the degree of inclination to be used, or the speed of movement and pronunciation. The time between the formulation and the movement of the finger is notably faster than for a stick, for example. The use of a wand is also mandatory during a duel since often, it is intended to disarm his opponent. You must, therefore, know spells to perform with yours."
One of the many other reasons why Marie-Louise wanted him to have a magic wand was also about an idea she had had some time ago that was more specifically about training Harry and his integration into the magical and muggle society. The choice was obviously his, but if the desire one day took him to want to become a recognized man in these two communities, this wand would have all its importance.
"It is time now," she said, removing the spells placed a few moments earlier.
Almost mechanically taking the hand of his son, Marie-Louise led him to Ollivander before retreating a few meters from them to attend this very important moment in the life of each lord of Savoy: the choice of the components of his wand. Several dozen small wooden cubes of different colors had been placed on the table in front of Harry, as well as small jars containing what appeared to be skin samples, hair, feathers, or pieces of flesh.
"Let us begin with the wood that will serve for your wand, Monseigneur," announced Ollivander by seizing a small notebook and a feather. "Put your hand just above each of them and stop when you feel a strange sensation running through your body."
Harry nodded even though he didn't fully understand his sentence, but his instinct had already blown him from the start how to find what would suit him. Placing his right hand a few centimeters from the first wooden cube, nothing happened, not even the slightest feeling of numbness at the fingertips. The minutes followed one another in the same way, Harry chaining the wooden cubes and Ollivander scribbling on his sheet mumbling incomprehensible words under the eyes of Marie-Louise who followed the scene in silence. Then, when he was about to lose hope, Harry felt a wind of fresh air between the palm of his hand and the piece of wood just below her as well as tingling all over the surface of his skin going up to his shoulder. Seizing the cube, Harry handed it to Ollivander, who had stopped writing and was curiously observing the piece of wood Harry had in his hands.
"Arolle pine?" he exclaimed curiously while taking it. "You are amazing, Monseigneur; this type of wood is very rarely used in the manufacture of wands. This one was also taken from a very beautiful tree in the valley of the alleys in Savoie. It is strange that you chose this wood knowing that your family lived and still lives in this area. Perhaps the place in which we live can have an influence on the wand that is intended for us."
The Princess of Lamballe strongly doubted the words of the wand maker for the simple reason that Harry had never set foot there, but the fact that he could have a wand from a tree she had been around when she was younger gave her a strange sense of pride.
"Let us see now what will be the core of your wand," decreed Ollivander by leading him to the other table where stood the different jars in which the future core of his wand was.
Doing the same as for the wood of his wand, Harry reached out over the boxes and passed them one after the other, staying a few seconds above each one. Internally, he hoped that the core of his wand would come from an impressive creature, and why not even a dragon, but he quickly discovered that envy was not everything, and it was with a hint of disappointment that he found that the dragon heartstring would not be for him.
"The unicorn hair is not for you," muttered beside him Ollivander, quickly barring his sheet of parchment.
Phoenix and hippogriff feathers quickly succeeded the unicorn, as did acromantula venom and manticore bile, with which Harry was no more successful. Finally, the choice was made on one of the last jars containing black hair and rather long. The same sensation as for the pine arolle immediately assailed him, and nodding his head towards Ollivander, he pointed to him with his finger what would become the core of his wand.
"A dark hair... Decidedly, Monseigneur, your wand will be very special. I do not think I have had the opportunity to combine these two elements together."
"Is it common to use thestral hair in a wand?" Marie-Louise questioned him with curiosity.
"Not really, but do not believe that it means that your son has a bad background. Thestrals are not evil creatures, and owning a wand containing the hair of one of these creatures does not mean you are evil. In truth, the nature of the animal from which the hair, scale, or flesh is taken represents the similarities you have with it. For example, a person with warm blood and easily climbing on his large hippogriffs has a high chance of having a dragon heartstring or manticore bile as the core of his wand. The core simply reflects your personality. The thestral is a rather mysterious creature, knowing how to remain secret, discreet, and very loyal to the people she deems trustworthy. Your son is, in a way, a person of the same nature as her."
Their exchange totally escaped Harry, but he really had nothing to do with it: He finally had both elements for his wand, he thought, and the desire to have it already in his hands was felt deep inside him. His brother had a wand for a long time now, and Harry had always been jealous of the luck he had had. But now he could make up for the delay he had on him: There were no major differences between them until now, given Matthew's weakness in understanding and applying the spells that James and Dumbledore wanted to teach him.
"Well, I will leave you now," announced Ollivander, putting all his belongings in his trunk with a magic wand. "Your wand should be finished around the Christmas holidays, if I add to that the case and the necessary to keep it in good condition."
"How much will it cost me?" he questioned the Princess of Lamballe.
"I would say thirty Galleons, but since your family has always been among my favorite clients, I could very well drop to twenty-five."
"It's so nice of you, Mr. Ollivander!" she thanked him by walking him to the fireplace. "Would it be too much to ask you to bring Gabriel's wand by yourself? I'd rather have it by hand than by your postal service. It would be a shame to lose this wand because of a snowstorm."
"Of course," he said, bowing before her. "I will be happy to come back here. My tributes to your Highness, Monseigneur."
A moment later, Ollivander disappeared from the hearth of the fireplace. Without further ado, and especially after hearing a slight gurgling sound from Harry's belly, Marie-Louise led him to the exit in silence. Though still questioning the strange combination of her son's wand, she could not help but rethink what she had seen earlier in the day. Her son had to be made aware of what she had discovered since it concerned him, but... better to be evasive to be able to take advantage of the confusion in which she would leave Harry.
"Oh, I was going to forget, Gabriel…"
"Yes, mother?"
"Your letter arrived at its destination," she informed him smiling. "Your fiancée is exactly as you described her: charming."
With these words, Marie-Louise walked away, leaving behind a Harry who was intrigued to say the least. At that precise moment, only one question crossed his mind: How could she know about it?
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