HARRY POTTER: THE LOST LEGACY

by peverell.magic

It was on a cold October evening that this story began, an evening that, in the eyes of many people, marked the advent of a new era, an era of great upheavals, although it would affect only a certain category of individuals.

18. CHAPTER 18 : WHEN THE TROUBLES START

CHAPTER 18 : WHEN THE TROUBLES START

Dumbledore was not, in the eyes of everyone, a man who easily lost patience or could lose control of his emotions. Yet, in the early morning hours, after listening to the man's whining in front of him for over an hour, the temptation to enchant him and transform him into a dish for his lemon drops was more than enticing, if it meant finding a semblance of calm in his office. His nerves were already on edge since the previous day, and the blame for it largely rested on two of his new students: the twins Fred and George Weasley.

These two could be described in popular jargon as "troublemakers and bad seeds," and in just one evening at Hogwarts, his suspicions about their dubious activities and deviant behavior were confirmed. Molly's sons were going to give him a hard time, and that for seven years.

Having survived the Marauders for the same duration had already been challenging. James, Remus, Sirius, and Peter showed imagination and ingenuity in the misdeeds they committed against other students and the faculty. Still, the Weasley twins had outdone them: getting noticed in just one evening. The two comedians had also chosen to change identities, pretending to be each other, already causing a considerable delay in sorting new students and, incidentally, managing to make the Sorting Hat laugh, a feat rarely seen for centuries.

They had also seized the opportunity to have as vast an audience as the Hogwarts students to showcase their latest invention: the disposable mini fireworks. As soon as the dishes were served to the students, a firecracker suddenly fell into the dish offered to Dumbledore. To his great displeasure, it exploded before he could react, splattering him with sauce and potato pieces that got stuck in the long strands of his beard. The silence had been incredibly heavy, and the culprits were clear. Every student then waited to see Dumbledore's reaction to their prank, but if everyone expected the headmaster to explode and send the twins to a damp, cold dungeon for the night, they were in for a surprise. Dumbledore simply laughed and maintained his image of a friendly old man always in a good mood. But internally, he was boiling, and he deliberated for a long time on the idea of sending the two fellows into the Forbidden Forest to say hello to the Acromantulas on his behalf.

Unfortunately, making that decision would have cost him the control he had over the Weasley family. Molly, one of his most fervent supporters, probably wouldn't have appreciated seeing two of her sons end up as food for giant spiders, even if, among her seven children, the twins were undoubtedly the least likely to ever fall under the director's influence. Slapping them hard seemed, however, a better solution, at least if he was careful not to be seen and could make them forget the incident later with a simple Memory Charm. The incident from the previous day was still fresh in his memory, and after being humiliated in such a way, resorting to violence against two of his students seemed reasonable, at least to keep them from causing further trouble.

But today, once again, problems were knocking at the door of his office. While he was entangled in the troubles caused by the Weasley twins, the unexpected visit from James had only added to the current worries. Leading a school was already exhausting enough, and presiding over the Wizengamot took much of his energy and time, especially when he worked to pass laws allowing him the freedom to organize his little schemes. But now, in addition to his unruly students, he had to deal once again with the relationship problems of one of his henchmen.

At times, Dumbledore wanted to scream at James that he wasn't a marriage counselor and that couple affairs were none of his concern. However, his influence over the Potter family and his involvement in every aspect of their lives were already too significant for him to suddenly lose interest and risk losing them, especially his favorite pawn: Matthew. So, for now, he had to show a great deal of patience and self-control, listening to James rant about the latest developments in his life and the changes since the rebellion and Lily's escape.

"Absolutely unforgivable... If I ever get my hands on her, she might not understand what's about to happen..."

Such was the tedious speech that James had been repeating for an hour now, occasionally spicing up his tirade with cutting comments about his eldest son, who was responsible for all this mess. Dumbledore himself was frustrated by what was happening in this family, and Lily's disappearance along with two of her children thwarted the plans he had been carefully orchestrating for a long time. The audacity of this woman had swept away in a day everything he had undertaken, much to his dismay. Without the slightest remorse, not for a moment did he consider that Lily's decision to flee this violent and loveless home was largely his fault. The blame was entirely placed on the family's mother, who bore the full responsibility for this disaster. His favorite pawn now lived with the memory of a vanished mother, three of his puppets had freed themselves from their chains and roamed in the wild, and James was utterly incapable of reacting appropriately to the situation, constantly making mistakes while also incessantly complaining about his problems.

It wasn't for lack of trying to locate the three runaways, but as they quickly realized, Lily's escape seemed to have been orchestrated long in advance, leaving absolutely no clues behind for them to find her. Dumbledore reached this conclusion when he discovered that Lily had been lying to them from the beginning, claiming that Harry was with her sister. A simple visit to Petunia Dursley revealed the deceit of James's wife. Harry had never set foot in their home and had not shown any sign of life for three years. The possibility of his death was conceivable, but the manner remained unknown. Perhaps he was currently with the hybrid, as Dumbledore had come to call Remus, but the latter was just as discreet as the three absentees. The gears of his plan were currently turning chaotically, and he had to act quickly before seeing the entire machine he had taken time to build collapse before his eyes without being able to intervene in time.

"The Potters have ultimately given me much more trouble than Grindelwald... Merlin, this family gets on my nerves!" he internally ranted as he watched James now argue about their latest idea concerning the public outings of his little family.

Seeking any comfort in his office, Dumbledore was disappointed to find that not a single person present cared about his plight: His phoenix avoided his gaze and pretended to be interested in what was happening outside the castle from the office window, the portraits of former headmasters continued to look at him with disdain for all the dubious choices he had made since taking office at this school, and Sirius, who had come with James, seemed on the verge of collapsing into the chair where he apparently spent the night. Unfortunately, nothing could save him from Lord Potter and his endless speech, much to his regret.

"... Really, Albus, we need to change tactics; this one is showing its limits!" exclaimed James, pacing in front of his desk. "Your idea of decoys was good at first, I'll be the first to admit it, but now it's enough! These girls are as foolish as a mountain troll fallen into a vat of mead, and apart from giggling and clinging to my arm while smiling like idiots, they do nothing to try to behave like Lily! Even the biggest fool would realize that the woman I have to endure all day on Diagon Alley and during Ministry ceremonies is absolutely nothing like the one I married twelve years ago!"

"James, my boy, do you have another idea to make the public believe that everything is fine in your marriage and that you and Lily are still deeply in love? Would you prefer people to find out that your wife ran away with her other two children after yet another of your outbursts?"

"But precisely, isn't this the opportunity to launch a smear campaign against her?" he persisted, turning towards Dumbledore. "Just imagine if wizards find out that she willingly abandoned the boy who defeated Voldemort: Everyone would see her as an unworthy mother, fleeing her responsibilities! The only way for her to contradict this would be to show herself publicly with me and contradict the journalists' claims!"

Deep down, Dumbledore had to admit that James wasn't entirely wrong, but this solution, brilliant as it may be, still had its limits.

"I would gladly implement this stratagem if the risks weren't so significant. Think, James: Do you sincerely believe that Lily would suddenly reappear in our world knowing that now the entire magical community has a bad opinion of her? You would only drive her to flee even further, and I would be willing to bet with you that she could already be in another country as we speak. Knowing that she is as desired as a Blast-Ended Skrewt would only encourage her to disappear completely, and that's not what we want. My idea of decoys was primarily to lure her out of hiding by letting her know that you have the audacity to replace her so quickly with women impersonating her. Jealousy will make her lose her footing, and she will then make many mistakes that will allow us to trace her back."

"Jealousy?" James repeated incredulously. "You assume that Lily would come back to us because she thinks I've already replaced her with someone else?"

"You don't know much about female psychology, my boy," Dumbledore asserted with an amused smile. "Women don't think the same way we do and are easily influenced! Hurt her pride, and she'll come charging back to your manor to reclaim her place as a loving wife and caring mother. It's so easy to guess their thoughts and actions that it becomes almost a game! Suppose she learns that a woman, especially a courtesan, takes on her appearance and is constantly with your son: Logic would dictate that for her safety, she remains hidden until people eventually forget about her. But women often act on impulse, and her pride will take a hit when she discovers what becomes of you and your son. Believe me, James, I know what I'm doing."

James simply nodded curtly, not entirely convinced by his mentor's words. For him, the strong approach was preferable to Dumbledore's ingenious yet terribly drawn-out plans, and this way of acting and thinking horribly reminded him of the methods used by the Slytherins: His headmaster was just as cunning and sly as them when he set his mind to it.

"And how has Matthew been since her departure?" inquired Dumbledore, calmly sipping another lemon drop.

"I'm not sure...," he admitted, running his hand through his already unruly hair. "He assures me every time I ask him that he couldn't care less about his mother's fate and that the traitor deserves a good beating when we find her. But I feel like something has changed in him, as if Lily's escape has affected him more than it seems."

"That's problematic," the director mumbled thoughtfully. "I suppose he doesn't act normally in the company of the fake Lilys?"

"No, he knows perfectly well that they're not his real mother, so he has a bit of trouble getting used to them, even when they play the perfect mother towards him. It's only when they offer to buy him a gift on Diagon Alley or to have a nice ice cream that he becomes more open and affectionate. In public, we thus present the image of the family everyone would dream of having, but in the family sphere, it's a different story..."

"Hm... Perhaps you should be more selective in choosing candidates for the role of your wife," he thought distractedly. "Choosing Muggle prostitutes is certainly not the best idea you've had, James. These women are incapable of having a thought that doesn't revolve around sexual relations and possessing maternal instincts, especially since you have to constantly keep them under control so that they don't have the opportunity to regain their wits and scream about our world... Who the devil came up with that idea?"

"Sirius," James simply replied, nodding towards his best friend, who was sitting in a chair a few meters behind him and surprisingly silent for the moment. "He brings them back from each of his expeditions, and after drugging them with a potion of enslavement and mental control to condition them to their new role, they are perfectly operational for my public appearances. The only problem is the damage caused by the Memory Charm on them when we no longer need their services..."

"You wouldn't have to take so many risks and precautions if you were to choose witches," Dumbledore affirmed. "Some women in Knockturn Alley could easily accept this service in exchange for a few coins. Furthermore, I doubt that your wife's hairbrush will provide you with hair for Polyjuice Potion much longer. You will sooner or later need to think of another plan... Perhaps claim that Lily has gone abroad to rejuvenate herself?"

"Agreed," James approved. "We have a second residence on the island of Euboea, and I doubt anyone will ever go check if my dear wife is truly there: The Ottomans are particularly hostile when a foreigner dares to set foot on their land."

A sudden cough interrupted their conversation, and turning their heads towards Sirius, they both found him slumped on the sofa, terribly pale, with his hand over his mouth. At his feet, the remains of his alcohol consumption from the previous night were finishing spreading on Dumbledore's carpet, much to the director's great anger. It was definitely not his day, and Sirius even unintentionally confirmed that assessment.

"Are you unwell, Sirius?" he asked, feigning concern, while James made the vomit vanish with a wave of his wand, as it was already ingraining into the carpet fibers. "Perhaps you should lie down; I have the feeling you're not feeling well."

"No, thank you, Mr. Director, I don't think I'm sick... It must be my last outing that didn't really agree with me... but how can I say... I still feel like I'm in a fog for a few minutes, as if I'm waking up from a very long sleep," he stammered in a dull voice. "Aaarg! And this headache is coming back!"

"Again?! You must really have a problem, my poor Sirius!" James exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "You constantly suffer from headaches! You should go to St. Mungo's to check if you're not suffering from a brain disease... On the other hand, it would explain why you're so stupid, although your stupidity dates back to our first year at Hogwarts... Maybe it's an incurable disease?"

"Hey!" protested his friend, while James burst into laughter at his indignant expression. "I remind you that I've always been ahead of you in class, and only McDonald, Remus, and Lily had better grades than me in our year!"

Dumbledore, on the other hand, was already starting to tire of their umpteenth verbal sparring, especially when the subjects of contention weren't very high-flying, like the one he was witnessing. But more importantly, Sirius's behavior intrigued him. The director was aware of these sudden moments of hesitation in Sirius, as well as his headaches, for a simple reason: he was responsible for them.

Although Sirius was unwaveringly loyal to James and, consequently, to him, Dumbledore had chosen to increase his control over the former heir of the Blacks by manipulating James's best friend through various manipulations and some spells of his own making, without the concerned party or even his closest friends noticing. Taking advantage of the exchanges between the two men in front of him, Dumbledore discreetly pointed his wand under his desk in the direction of his puppet, and after a simple incantation and a few complicated gestures, the spell immediately shot out of his wand and hit the poor wretch, who recoiled at the contact. His eyes rolled back for a few seconds as he pitifully slumped into the chair for the third time, almost appearing to faint. Then just as quickly, he regained consciousness, not without shaking his head like a simpleton, as if to put his mind back in place. James watched him, eyebrows raised to the point of disappearing into his hair, and his disbelief increased even more when Sirius bounced back up from his chair, looking cheerful.

"Sirius?" he called out in a surprised voice. "What's going on with you? You've been acting really weird since a while ago..."

"Aaah, James!" he sighed with delight, stretching his arms. "I've never felt so good since... well, since yesterday!"

If he still could, James would probably have raised his eyebrows even more, seeing his friend stretch his legs in front of him and continue his stretches like an athlete preparing for the longest run of his life.

"Excuse me, James, but I fully intend to enjoy my youth!" he exclaimed, advancing decisively toward the fireplace in the headmaster's office. "I have some money to spend, and I know perfectly well how to end my night!"

"Your night?" James repeated, looking at him in surprise. "But... It's morning!"

"Merlin, I feel ready to run through all the brothels in London!" Sirius continued without paying any attention to what his friend was saying. "12 Grimmauld Square!"

And in a sudden burst of green flames, Matthew's godfather disappeared from the fireplace, leaving behind only a pile of ashes negligently thrown on Dumbledore's carpet after a first failed attempt and two men who were more than surprised by his behavior.

"It seems I may have overdone the power of the spell..." mumbled the headmaster, suppressing the urge to chuckle.

"That Sirius!" exclaimed James, shaking his head in resignation. "It's impossible to predict his behavior in advance! It's as if a fly had suddenly bitten him and restored all his joviality in a second! This man will always amaze me. Going from the silent and almost sleepy man to this foolhardy womanizer in less than five minutes is not given to everyone!"

"He'll never change," confirmed Dumbledore, thanking whoever for James's credulity bordering on idiocy. "But let's get back to our little affairs if you please, James, and the matter at hand is of the utmost importance if we want to win the war that will come sooner or later."

With his hands crossed on his desk, Dumbledore was mainly thinking of quickly cutting short this interview to get back to his business, one of which was the latest whim of Professor McGonagall, who wanted more responsibility as deputy headmistress. As if a woman could perform multiple tasks at once... And to think that the Board of Governors, the high authority of the school debating and voting on new directives to be implemented within the school and on the behavior of certain students that could harm others' integrity, had decided in the name of gender equality to give this position to their Transfiguration professor ten years ago now... He was still shaken by it.

"I think it's high time now to bring your wife back to you, James," he asserted, standing up from his chair. "It is crucial for the happiness and well-being of your son, and we must therefore encourage her to reappear. I believe I have found the solution that will allow us to achieve this..."

"Really?" James asked, looking at him with hopeful eyes. By what miracle would you achieve this result?

"It's very simple, my friend. You see, up to now, we've only focused on her and sought a strong persuasion method to see her return to us. But the solution lay elsewhere, at least I believe so now."

"What do you mean?"

Dumbledore waited for a while before responding, taking the time to grab another candy and positioning himself in front of one of the windows in his office to have a perfect view of the students lounging on the shores of the lake that bordered the North side of the castle.

"Your other two children are the key to finding her," he said, turning his back to James. "No matter how we can reach them, we must use it to achieve our goals. I care deeply about Matthew's interests and happiness, you know. If the return of his mother can make him smile again and rekindle his desire to pursue his quest, I am willing to take steps that go against my original principles."

"I still don't understand where you're going with this, Albus," admitted James, not even realizing that Dumbledore was only talking about the return of his wife and omitting his eldest son and daughter from the conversation.

"I know a way to tip the scales in our favor and bring Lily back in the blink of an eye," he asserted, turning towards him. "My idea is not very commendable, but for the greater good, we can overlook conformity and conventional thinking. Do you still have Harry and... what's your daughter's name?"

"Rosalyn," he informed him in a neutral tone, far from being offended by his mentor's ignorance. As for the certificates, they must be in the St. Mungo's records.

"Well then, bring them to me. I will use a very ancient ritual still practiced in some Aboriginal tribes, considered a part of dark magic. It requires these two elements. Although its use is dangerous and therefore prohibited by the Ministry, its antiquity and rarity work in its favor. I am confident that no one will ever hear about what we are about to do."

"Will you need anything else?" James inquired, his voice joyful at the mere thought of his wife's imminent return.

"Your blood and some ingredients to prepare the potion used for this ritual. On the latter point, I will let Severus take care of it. He is much better than me at concocting it, and the potion I desire is particularly difficult to prepare."

Even though James disliked Severus Snape, the Potions professor at Hogwarts and incidentally his rival when they were both students at the school, he didn't make any comments about his likely support in Dumbledore's schemes. On the other hand, Albus couldn't help but smile at the ingenuity of his plan, a plan that would involve the man secretly in love with Lily, who wouldn't even suspect that in his eagerness to find her, he was putting the lives of his childhood love's children in jeopardy.

"What irony," he thought. "In thinking he's doing the right thing, Severus will mainly succeed in endangering these two little ones and sending the one he loves back into the arms of a man who mistreats her. He will be the instrument of Lily's misfortune and the instrument of my personal interest. I doubt that after this, and learning that he participated in this plan, Lily will ever speak to him again!"

The headmaster was tempted to burst into laughter at the consequences of his plan on the relationship between Lily and Snape, but a glance in James' direction dissuaded him: Laughing like a madman would only make his minion question his mental health.

"Our plan will work perfectly, James," he assured him once again, approaching him. "I guarantee you complete success, and when Lily is back, we will ensure that her devotion to our cause is total and without the slightest doubt. I will personally ensure that the restriction spells are impossible to remove by any hand other than mine or yours, and in less time than it takes, your little family life will return to what it was before."

"I can't wait," affirmed James. "I could finally get explanations for all her little secrets and at the same time have the opportunity to punish her for what she dared to do... She will be so broken at that moment that she will never dare to cross my path again!"

"And in the way of my plans," Dumbledore muttered to himself, nodding his head delightedly. "I suggest we celebrate this by having a drink, what do you think, James? I happen to have an excellent mead that is just waiting to be consumed, and although Pomfrey ordered me to stop drinking alcohol to avoid further worsening the challenges of old age, I think that in such circumstances, we could possibly overlook her directives!"

"Why not," he accepted as Dumbledore conjured the said drink and two cups with a wave of his wand. "I haven't really had time to drink alcohol since July, but soon, my drinking sessions can resume, and I owe all this to you."

Dumbledore thanked him with a simple smile while handing him a crystal goblet in which a delicious golden nectar peacefully awaited to be consumed.

"To our alliance and the success of our plans! May destiny favor our designs!" exclaimed Dumbledore before clinking his glass with James's.

Both of them downed their drinks in one go, savoring both the mead and its delicious honey flavor, as well as the future success of their new plan—a success that, for them, was sure to come to fruition. Fawkes sadly shook his head, witnessing how far his master had fallen. Instead of continuing to witness this sad spectacle, the phoenix chose to disappear in a burst of flames to occupy his mind and forget the sad scheming of the one who was once a good wizard to him.

Far away, in a remote corner of eastern France, the atmosphere was just as tense and heavy as in Dumbledore's office, although the reason was quite different. With a day's delay compared to their British counterparts, young French wizards were making their entrance into the magical schools of their country. While Hogwarts took great care to ensure its students made a striking and noteworthy entrance within its walls, the various French academies made no effort to welcome their new students. They arrived one by one as time passed in front of the imposing gates of what would become their new homes. The academy where Harry stood was no exception, and, as he quickly observed, arriving at the same time and on time seemed impossible to implement.

Means of transportation, both magical and Muggle, were not lacking; however, the mix of genres ultimately caused a real disorder impossible to correct, let alone organize. Horses, carriages, and carts were side by side with Apparition, rune appearances, and simply on broomsticks. It was not uncommon to hear a Muggle family scream in terror when several individuals suddenly appeared right next to them.

Harry did not need to wonder how he would get to this establishment. The simplest and most classic means were used by his mother: the family carriage. After all, there was nothing better than appearing as normal as possible to everyone's eyes. Muggle transportation, though slow and sometimes boring, at least had the merit of dispelling any misunderstanding that could make the French doubt their true nature. Moreover, to avoid any imprudence and the risk of being discovered, both Apparition and runes were set aside. Nothing was worse than appearing in front of Muggles unaccustomed to it, as mentioned earlier. As for broomsticks, Marie-Louise hated them and preferred to keep her two feet on the ground rather than being several meters above the ground. The broomstick also required putting one's legs on either side of its handle, and according to her own words, this method of positioning was not very "ladylike" for a woman. The broomstick did not differ from the horse, and like him, a certain way of riding it was required, at least for ladies.

The way to ride a broom was, however, the least of their concerns at the moment, and the sight of the imposing building in which Harry would spend his next few months alone was enough to make them forget this subject as trivial as uninteresting. The military academy of Metz was indeed an austere structure, resembling more a prison than a school. Its gray walls, tall windows, and roof of dark tiles were both impressive and intimidating to those gathered outside. Even the lintels, pilasters, and magnificent window frames carved in stone and adorned with delightful floral representations couldn't overshadow the unsettling appearance of the academy. A gate nearly three meters high allowed access to what seemed to be an inner courtyard, following a corridor as wide as the entrance, guarded for the moment by a man in hussar uniform.

Harry himself had donned his uniform, consisting of midnight blue wool trousers in a charivari style, leather knee and back patches, a scarlet dolman with long sleeves under a reddish-brown pelisse ending in a fur collar and sleeves, all adorned with a multitude of gold buttons and laces on the chest, knee-high riding boots, white gloves providing a striking contrast with the rest of the attire, another vest with only one sleeve donned as per the school dress code, a belt encircling his waist with a hanging saber in its scabbard, and to top it off, a tall hat called a "police cap" with a pompom swaying with the air currents.

The outfit was indeed impressive, as well as beautiful, but the main concern was that it became incredibly hot, and only a cooling charm allowed him not to sweat in his clothes and avoid discomfort. He found himself particularly handsome in it, just as Daphné did. The first time she saw him dressed like that, the day he received his uniform, she couldn't help but want to examine every detail of his attire, asserting that her future husband looked absolutely stunning.

"With a husband dressed like this, no man will ever dare to harm me! You look so beautiful and impressive in this uniform, Gabriel!" she had added at that moment.

At the moment, Harry was only eleven years old, and it was hard to tell if he would wear this outfit for a long time, but if it reassured his fiancée, then he was willing to wear it for many more years. His mother, too, seemed moved that day, and to her son's great dismay, Marie-Louise had since affectionately nicknamed him "My little soldier" and enjoyed watching him parade with a disciplined step for her sole pleasure.

However, today was different, and amusement had seemingly given way to a perceptible worry in her without even needing Legilimency to be sure. His mother appeared almost sad at the mere sight of the academy in front of them, and almost unconsciously, she kept checking once again that Harry was wearing his uniform properly. She sought the slightest flaw that could allow her to delay the imminent goodbyes, absentmindedly running her hand over every corner of fabric offered to her. Harry let her, touched by these gestures akin to tenderness, but he was more preoccupied with another, even sadder issue that he had been ruminating on for more than a month now: the spoiled reunion between him and his other family.

Not a day went by without him recalling that particular and simultaneously depressing day. Each time, he wondered how this moment, which should have been the most beautiful of his life for a long time, could turn into a drama. Even after searching for hours, he couldn't truly figure out where the problem had come from, at least as far as he was concerned. By his own admission and after careful consideration, Lily was responsible for this masquerade. His mother seemed determined to take control of his life again, even if it meant appearing to others as a woman incapable of thinking properly and acting in everyone's best interest. No, Lily insisted on reclaiming command of her son's life, disregarding what he had experienced since their separation. By doing so, she had hit a wall she had erected herself—the wall of belief in the righteousness of her actions. The euphoria of the reunion might have contributed, but her jealousy and stubbornness also played against her. From the loving and warm mother he had known, the image that emerged from this confrontation was more that of a selfish woman thinking only of her pleasure and personal interest.

In short, these spoiled reunions had disappointed him, just like his mother's behavior, and the moment he had eagerly awaited had turned into a fiasco. Lily's inability to accept this situation and conform to it remained the only thought he had for her—a negative thought, of course, that also affected his mood and made him particularly gloomy and bitter during the following month. Not even Daphné and their magical bond could cheer him up a bit, nor could life's little pleasures like horseback rides and billiard games. Harry preferred to cocoon himself in a world of books and magical exercises to occupy his mind, and the castle's library had become the room he occupied the most since then.

Even Marie-Louise, who knew her son like the back of her hand now and knew exactly what was bothering him, couldn't bring back his desire to enjoy games, and getting a few words from him about that fateful birthday was akin to running a marathon. Lily's melancholy had certainly rubbed off on him, and only the prospect of entering the academy soon could make him completely forget the reason he persisted in withdrawing alone and staying away from others.

Even today, Harry had his birthday party in mind, and to make matters worse, the few days they spent in their carriage during their journey to Metz only served to remind him of those with Lily and Rosie three years ago. The only difference was that his son thought it appropriate to become, for a few days, the joyful and endearing boy he used to be. A somewhat forced smile had not left him for three days now. The journey was indeed very pleasant, filled with many laughs and lively discussions.

Their journey also allowed them to make a slight detour along the banks of the Loire, and for the first time since his arrival in France, Harry had the opportunity to discover, albeit briefly most of the time, the fabulous heritage of this country, especially its castles: Chambord, one of King François 1er's favorite residences with more than 400 rooms, created by Leonardo da Vinci himself and a jewel of Renaissance architecture; Blois, the residence of kings until the construction of Versailles; Chenonceau and its gallery built over the Cher River by Catherine de Medici; and Chinon with its medieval appearance... So many gems of French heritage that Harry made it a point to explore one day. Even the Valençay Castle, currently inhabited by the Minister of Foreign Relations Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand with his famous clubfoot, intrigued him greatly for the simple reason that it strangely resembled the Lamballe Castle in its layout and overall appearance. However, even when questioning his mother about this strange similarity, she preferred to keep the mystery to herself, simply saying that the designer of their residence might have found inspiration in that castle.

"Daphné would undoubtedly have liked to admire these castles," he thought sadly that day, thinking of the fiancée he was leaving behind.

The farewells had indeed been tearful, at least for Daphné, and the specter of months without news, as was the case when Harry left for France three years earlier, resurfaced in his mind, even though Harry had assured her that he would write to her continuously. His fiancée had wanted to accompany him to his new school, but unfortunately for her, Harry's aunt had decided to train her more intensively in her future roles as a wife and mother. Not a day had passed in the two weeks since Daphné had to walk for hours in front of her before Louise-Elisabeth judged her gait suitable.

Her future enrollment at Beauxbâtons was also the reason why Daphné had to continually train. In addition to being an exclusively female school, the teaching at this institution was incredibly strict and rigorous. If she wanted to establish herself and become an important figure among the young girls of the school, creating her future circle of intimates and friends, her conditioning and skills in both magical and physical aspects, her intellectual abilities, and her decorum had to be impeccable. The training she underwent went beyond the simple lessons learned from a book and recited mindlessly; practice took up a lot of her time and energy, and a break in her training, such as accompanying Harry to Metz, was therefore not feasible.

The only positive point that Daphné managed to find in this sad situation was that Astoria was also undergoing the same training as her, and despite being seven years old, her little sister suffered just as much from the long hours of learning. Her sister would also make her entrance at Beauxbâtons, although with an additional two years of waiting for her. At this rate, Astoria risked becoming the perfect little student, not allowing her future teachers to find the slightest flaw. Her classmates had better watch out; the youngest of the Greengrass sisters would be a force to be reckoned with.

"Merlin, can't they stop looking at me like that?" her mother sighed, breaking the thread of her thoughts.

Harry didn't need to ask her what she meant. A simple glance into the crowd gathering around them was enough to understand her words. Many curious and disappointed looks from onlookers were turned toward them, and some, recognizing Marie-Louise, allowed themselves to whisper injurious remarks, falsely believing that they were discreet enough not to be heard, most of them, of course, concerning her ties to the French monarchy.

"How foolish people can be sometimes," Harry thought sadly, hearing a woman dressed like a peasant grumble against Marie-Louise and "the Austrian" who was her friend.

Others preferred to focus their attention on him and were mainly wondering about the possibility that Harry was the result of an incestuous union between his mother and a member of his family. The Prince of Lamballe had the unfortunate reputation in his life of being unable to give life, even among the many prostitutes he had in his bed. Stupidity knew no bounds, and hurtful rumors were common, much to the chagrin of those most affected. Fortunately, no press coverage was currently dealing with the morals of figures in the French or European high society. Still, perhaps one day, the common people would reach that extreme, given the speed with which rumors could spread. Harry was convinced of this, and deep down, he hoped not to see his name splashed across newspapers for an unfortunate misstep or a hastily spoken word.

"I left Archimedes for you so you can write to me whenever you want," she said, unnecessarily dusting off her scarlet uniform for the fifth time and pretending not to hear what people were saying about them. "I don't ask you to correspond with me constantly, but I would still like to hear from you and be informed of the progress you might make during your classes."

"I suppose I'll probably talk to you more about physical training than magic classes," Harry argued, knowing full well that he was far ahead compared to other future classmates. "I just hope I'll be in a state to write to you after training for hours…"

His mother smiled tenderly at him without taking her eyes off him, and he found it hard to tear himself away from her. His imminent entry into this academy made him realize that he wouldn't see this wonderful lady for several weeks, if not months, and after living with her for nearly three years without being apart for more than a few hours, the farewells were more than challenging. Marie-Louise easily understood his turmoil without even needing to use Legilimency. She herself had difficulty coming to terms with the idea of leaving her son in this place and, at the same time, leaving him alone without any familiar face to support and assist him in the challenging ordeal of separation. So, without further ado, she opened her arms and allowed him to snuggle against her, which he did the very moment he had permission. Without caring about possible comments from people around them who might mock his attitude, Harry tightly embraced his mother and let a single tear escape, falling into Marie-Louise's corset.

"I will miss you, mother..." he muttered in a small voice.

"You too, Gabriel," she said tenderly. "I never thought I would grow so attached to you in such a short time, but now I will have to learn to live without you, and it seems to be a trial I will have to face, which seems much more difficult to overcome than a duel against Dumbledore. I just hope that we will have the opportunity to meet again for Christmas vacation and under circumstances, let's say... more open to compromise and dialogue."

Harry didn't need to look up at her to know what she was talking about, and without her asking again, he decided to open his heart to her and tell her what had been troubling him since that sad episode.

"Do you think she will forgive my decision?" he asked in a small voice, looking at her timidly. "I mean, she's a wonderful mother who has always taken care of me, even when James insisted on wanting me to disappear from their lives, and I have the unpleasant feeling that I have somehow betrayed her by refusing to accompany her to London. If only we could have discussed these things more at length, she wouldn't have left as if the devil were chasing her..."

"Exactly, it's not you who is to blame for her behavior, Gabriel," she assured him, placing her hands on his shoulders to face him. "Your mother acted impulsively and without taking the time to think and push her reflection beyond what she wanted. Her narrow-mindedness could have cost her a lot, and I'm not just talking about your love because I know that despite everything, you still love her deeply. You know, I've always thought that love is a powerful emotion that can make us act in both good and bad ways, and I think it's this emotion that allows your mother to continue living and moving forward. Her love for you is so strong that it has allowed her to continue enduring your father and accepting his blows without a murmur, and without that, she would have long abandoned the idea of continuing her journey on the path of life. Remember that this woman raised you, Gabriel, and even if you make decisions that go against what she hoped for you, she will continue to love you because a mother loves her children unconditionally, no matter what they do. So, she will eventually accept your choice to stay here and maybe get used to it sooner than you think."

"Do you really think so?" he inquired in a small voice.

"Absolutely, otherwise I wouldn't have told you like this," she said, smiling.

Harry returned her smile, reassured by her words and at the same time happy with this new perspective on events. From this point of view, everything seemed clearer to him, especially the complexity of women in expressing their feelings.

"Now, let's move on to the final recommendations," she continued, adopting a more serious tone. "Remember what I asked you, Gabriel: Be respectful to your superiors, don't do anything against the school rules that could jeopardize your integrity, eat healthily, show diligence in your exercises and lessons, don't..."

"Don't meddle in what doesn't concern me, keep in mind that this school is not a playground, and that war is even less so, and write to you every time a problem arises that would require your presence," he finished, suppressing the urge to sigh. "Really, mother, you've repeated this to me so many times that I'm sure I could recite it even in my sleep!"

"It's better to be cautious, don't you think?"

"It's not caution anymore, it's persistence at this point!"

The sound of a bugle suddenly sounded beyond the school gate, and at that sound, all heads turned towards the school. This first signal instructed the students to enter as quickly as possible, while the parents, unfortunately for them, were invited to stay outside and bid farewell.

"I think it's time for us to say goodbye now," Marie-Louise said in an emotional voice, turning her attention back to him.

They looked into each other's eyes for long seconds, and like before, his mother quickly opened her arms for him to snuggle against her once again.

"Come," she simply invited him.

Her son didn't hesitate a second time, and again, he allowed himself to enjoy the maternal warmth that Marie-Louise provided.

"I love you, Gabriel...," she said softly, closing her arms around him, her head on his shoulder. "You can't imagine how proud I am to be your mother, and in a way, I understand your mother's reaction a bit. Like her, I feel like I'm abandoning you, and not knowing what might happen to you and not being there to help you is really unbearable..."

"Come now, mother, we'll see each other again soon, and unlike before, I can write to you and give you updates without worrying about the dangers it might cause. We might be separated for a while, but it will be a matter of a few months at most."

"What will I do without my little soldier?" she said, feigning concern.

"Mother! You know I hate that silly nickname!"

"It's perfectly normal, and just like Daphné, I find you absolutely elegant in that uniform. I might even become jealous of my own daughter-in-law... She is, in a way, very lucky to have you."

"As lucky as I am to have you, mother," Harry assured.

Marie-Louise then gave him the longest kiss on the forehead she had ever given in her life, and after a final embrace and a last look, a farewell exchange, and a final appropriate smile, she finally turned her back and headed towards her carriage. Antoine, who had been standing next to the door all this time, opened it as soon as she approached, and without further ado, offered her his hand to help her up. However, Marie-Louise stopped on the step to look at her son one last time and keep in her mind this last image she would have of him for a long time. Then, after a nod in his direction, she disappeared into her carriage as Antoine closed the door behind her. He then approached Harry, quickly extending his hand to bid his farewells.

"Be wise, Monseigneur," he said as they shook hands. "We'll all eagerly await news from you and learn more about your studies."

"Watch over mother for me, please, Antoine," he nervously asked. "I prefer to know her surrounded and reassured than languishing alone on my behalf. I've already lost one mother, and I don't want to lose the other..."

"Everything will work out, my prince," he assured confidently. "And when you return for the holidays, you'll have a big surprise discovering your entire family gathered to spend the festivities with you."

"May God hear you, my friend, yes, may God hear you."

Their exchange ended there, and a few seconds later, Antoine quickly climbed onto the bench reserved for the coachman. With a crack of the whip on the backs of his two horses, their carriage started and entered the paved path leading them this time to their final destination: the family castle. Harry had the chance to briefly catch a glimpse of his mother through one of the windows as the carriage passed by, and even though he was too far to be sure, he was almost certain to see a tear rolling down her cheek. The handkerchief she waved, however, was perfectly visible, and her son responded to her farewell until the moment she disappeared at the end of the street, not really knowing what else to do.

Then reality caught up with him, and he realized he was alone again, left to himself in a city he didn't know, surrounded by people whose identities were unknown to him. This situation made him uncomfortable and reminded him of the eight-year-old boy he once was, who had experienced the same situation before. The difference, however, between them was that he had undergone three years of intensive training and had lived the best years of his life in the meantime. He was also prepared for what was about to happen and no longer had the apprehension of the future as he did before, a future that seemed much less sad than the few months spent in the orphanage. He was ready to face whatever was coming and much more confident in his abilities and skills. His mother had done a good job, and not an ounce of fear ran through him as he headed towards the school gate. Firmly gripping the handle of his trunk and the cage containing his faithful falcon, Harry moved towards the school entrance, ignoring the increasingly curious glances of the people around him. Even the guard at the entrance, a man in his forties with a particularly unpleasant look, did not take his eyes off him, and the piercing and cold look he gave him did not overly impress him.

"Name?" he asked, dryly looking him up and down.

"Gabriel de Bourbon," he replied in a sweet voice, sporting a mocking grin.

The man continued to observe him for a few seconds, and Harry thought for a moment that he was going to hit him for the way he had addressed him. But the soldier merely shifted his attention to the list he had in his hand, and after a final glance, he pointed with a sharp nod of his head to the schoolyard, silently inviting him to enter.

"I hope we'll have the opportunity to converse again later. You're quite likable and pleasant company," he couldn't help but say as he walked away.

Not expecting a response from him, Harry was surprised to hear him mutter "brat," but he preferred not to push his teasing too far and instead focused on observing the schoolyard, which he now had an excellent view of. It was completely delimited by the school that surrounded it entirely, and only two paths allowed entry or exit: the one he was currently taking, and another that seemed to lead to an orchard where he thought he saw several piles of wood resembling obstacles to overcome. There were also several doors providing access to the different wings of the academy and a slightly recessed shelter allowing students to take cover in case of rain. Besides two immense poplars planted in a seemingly random fashion, it couldn't be said that the place was very welcoming. Everything was gray, dull, and sad, and Harry, who had never had the opportunity to see Hogwarts with his own eyes, strongly doubted that the British school could ever appear as cold and austere as this one.

The education, however, differed, and Hogwarts, which provided its students with a general and more classical education to allow them to choose their own career later on, could not be compared to the Metz academy, which focused exclusively on military education. Making a school warm and welcoming at first glance was evidently not desirable for the French, and using such austere facilities probably allowed them to impress or intimidate their new students, unlike Dumbledore's wizarding school. The effect was, in any case, very successful, and for someone lacking any sense of courage and having no desire to become a recognized wizard and military officer, fleeing was probably preferable.

But Harry wasn't like that, and his years of training weren't going to end like this, he was sure of it. Seeing the twenty or so students of his age already present, the idea of turning back seemed incongruous and completely out of place. It was at this moment that he realized there were only eleven-year-old boys around him, each already wearing his uniform and nervously looking at his future classmates, hoping to find a possible old acquaintance with whom to get through the daunting start of the school year. Not a single boy of twelve or older was there, as if all had taken off for the day, allowing them to acclimate to this new environment without having to endure the mockery and jokes of the older ones who would undoubtedly delight in mistreating the newcomers.

Harry could see that apprehension was visible in each of them, and internally, he wondered how these boys would react when they faced the curious gazes of their elders for the first time. He himself felt anxious at the thought, but with complete confidence in his dueling abilities and the range of spells he knew, he felt ready to face anyone, whoever they were and wherever they came from. If he had to earn the respect of others by fighting and without having to use his name or his wealth, then he was ready to do so, while still respecting the customary rules and ensuring not to violate the school regulations.

However, preferring to quickly dismiss this thought from his mind, Harry turned his attention back to his new school and examined every nook and cranny of his new environment more carefully, paying no attention to the others.

"It's quite big, isn't it?" someone said just behind him.

Turning his head, Harry then came across a young boy his age with short brown hair and a cheerful demeanor. His skin was surprisingly tan, as if he had spent the entire summer in the sun for some reason, and Harry quickly deduced that this boy was probably the son of a peasant or a wandering merchant: Having tanned skin was not advisable for a certain category of the population, and only the common folk indulged in it, especially when their work involved being constantly outdoors. Like him, he wore the standard school uniform, although his seemed slightly worn in places, but unlike Harry, his belongings were not stored in a heavy trunk but casually thrown into a bundle tied to a thick piece of wood that he held on his shoulder. The boy was slightly taller than him but much leaner, almost skinny. However, there was a kind of magnetism about him that made him immediately likable to everyone, and without even knowing him, Harry felt comfortable in his presence and ready to reveal anything and everything to him.

"I had the same look as you when I came here in July," the boy added, briefly looking at the imposing academy. "I had never had the opportunity to discover such a strange place, let alone set foot in it. The inside is just as intimidating, almost like a prison..."

"Have you been here before?" Harry asked, looking at him curiously. "The first-year entrance is today."

"Oh, but the academy provided support classes in writing and reading for those who aren't capable yet, and believe me, there are many who couldn't read a book! Well, I have to admit that I still can't read a line very well, and my writing leaves much to be desired, but according to the instructors, I'm progressing very quickly!"

"It will be useful, I think; all our classes require reading and writing. We'll also have assignments to do, I assume, and I doubt the teachers will be understanding if we use this excuse not to do them. I could help you if you want; I've been able to read since I was very young."

"Really!? Oh, that would be really kind!" the other rejoiced, smiling delightedly. "Ah, but I forget my manners... My mother would pull my ears for not introducing myself earlier. I'm Nicolas Fleury, but my friends call me Nick for short."

"Pleased to meet you, then, Nick," he declared, shaking hands with Nicolas, who promptly returned the handshake. "I'm Gabriel de Bourbon, and like you, my friends tend to call me by my nickname, which is Gabi. Between us, I find it sounds rather effeminate, but I can't expect better when I spend most of my time with girls..."

But his new friend wasn't paying attention to what he was saying anymore, and Harry could feel his hand stiffen in his while his eyes widened in surprise.

"B-Bourbon?" he stammered. "Like... like the Bourbon family?"

"The one and only," Harry confirmed, inwardly thinking it was strange to bear the name of a man he had never met and who was his father according to the French administration.

"By the holy pope's knickers!" he exclaimed, while Harry raised his eyebrows, shocked by his exclamation. "If I ever expected to meet a noble one day! It feels so strange, considering I usually only get to meet country bumpkins all day... When I tell my parents about this, they won't believe it!"

"You know, despite my name, I'm just a boy like any other," Harry indicated, glancing from the corner of his eye at the reactions of the students around to see if anyone else had heard of his name. "I'm not trying to take advantage of what my parents have left me to boast or to think myself superior to others. I simply wish to be treated like any human being created by the good Lord and to be seen for who I really am, not who people think I am. So, there's no need to be amazed by me because of my belonging to one family or another."

"Oh, very well," he replied, nervously running his hand through his brown mop. "It's really funny to see someone like you join a simple cavalry regiment," he added conversationally. "I thought nobles got direct access to the highest ranks with a snap of their fingers."

"It used to be the norm, but now we have to prove ourselves like any other man. I hope they won't be hostile towards me because of my parents' background."

"No risk, they'll be too busy yelling at me. Maybe I'm jumping the gun, but I'm already convinced that I'll be one of the most unruly students they'll have. I can't sit still for more than an hour!"

No need to boast, Fleury," interrupted another student approaching. "In your place, I'd even make myself scarce. I don't think Professor Duchesne has forgiven you for your silly feather headdress stunt. What an idea, thinking of making yourself an American Indian hat!"

"Rivelli," grumbled Nick, turning to face him, "I was hoping not to have the pleasure of seeing you again, but I see that God didn't listen to my prayers."

The one called Rivelli glared at him before turning his attention to Harry, scrutinizing him carefully. Harry did the same, and the boy's small stature surprised him greatly. Daphné, who was still two years younger than him, was almost the same height as the newcomer. Strangely, Harry found that he had very gentle features for a boy, almost feminine, and if he hadn't had his blond hair cut so short and this uniform, Harry would have very likely taken him for a representative of the opposite sex.

"I hope this fool didn't bother you too much; he's the type to annoy everyone he meets, and I had the bitter experience when I came here in July. I'm Jules Rivelli, by the way, but don't trust my last name: I'm absolutely not Italian."

"Except maybe for the ability to talk nonsense and patronize people," Nick asserted before suddenly shrinking into himself when Jules turned to him, eyes blazing with anger.

Harry introduced himself to him afterward, and unlike Nick, Jules made no comments about his last name, for which he was very grateful. He barely even raised an eyebrow. In a few minutes, Harry managed to get a clearer idea about his two new acquaintances, and the least one could say about them was that they were the exact opposite of each other. If Nick was naturally joking and talkative, Jules seemed much more mysterious and serious in his demeanor. The feeling of being analyzed even in his words was palpable, and Jules apparently preferred listening rather than participating in conversations. Anyway, it was hard to insert a sentence into the stream of Nicolas's words.

"Are you not from a wizarding family, then?" Harry asked, sitting on his trunk.

"I don't know, my father left shortly after my birth with another woman, and we never heard from him again," Jules told him, not seeming saddened by the absence of his father in his life. "He might have been a wizard, but my mom didn't know."

"As for me, they're... what's the word you use again? Ah, yes, Muggles! Both of them, and they were shocked to learn that I was a wizard! I thought they were going to burn me at the stake when they found out, but they quickly accepted my situation. They even said it must be a gift from God, like a blessing! 'Jesus performed miracles, so why not you?' my mother would say when she learned about it... It also explained why I had the annoying habit of shattering the windows of the house when I was little."

"I made objects levitate toward me, like my diapers, my bottle, children's books... My mom said I was very talented for my age and that I would surely do wonders with a little training."

Harry continued to narrate his childhood and his early experiences in accidental magic under the attentive gazes of his two companions, who took advantage of this moment to learn more about the world of magic and its members. Afterwards, each of them began to recount various anecdotes from their past lives, between lessons in good manners and magic for Harry and work in the fields for the other two. At least, the three of them agreed on one thing: learning more about the other was very instructive, not to mention that a bond was slowly beginning to form between them. Speaking of friendship might have been a bit premature, but it was, in any case, the beginning of what looked like a beautiful encounter that they hoped would be long and full of surprises. Their conversation was also interrupted by numerous laughs, especially when Harry introduced them to Chocolate Frogs, strange chocolate candies shaped like frogs that leaped if not eaten quickly.

"Oh my God, they look real!" Nicolas exclaimed joyfully, watching his jump toward the gate. "It's... Well, it's magical!"

"Fool..." muttered Jules, shaking his head in dismay as he stuffed his Chocolate Frog directly into his mouth. "Who is Albus Dumbledore?" he suddenly asked, grabbing the description card of the old wizard added to the box containing his previously escaping frog. "It's a shame it's written in English; I don't understand a word of what's written."

"He's the headmaster of a magic school called Hogwarts in Scotland," Harry informed him, frowning at the sight of the old man smiling beatifically at them on the image. "His greatest dream is to surpass the famous Merlin, and he thinks he can achieve that by copying his appearance."

"It's successful, anyway. I pictured Merlin looking exactly like this. But... Wow! The picture moves!"

Jules and Nicolas then began to admire the headmaster of Hogwarts picking his nose, under Harry's amused eyes. Watching Muggles discover magic and its many facets was a spectacle he never tired of.

The atmosphere was, in any case, very relaxed, and the three of them almost forgot that they were in a military academy on the first day of school, and soon, their first classes would begin. The other students were also beginning to get to know each other, and with a simple glance, Harry could see the first groups forming among the thirty students now in the courtyard. The long wait was not a problem, as it allowed them to bond with those who would become their dormitory companions.

"You shouldn't eat that one," Harry told Nick as they now opened a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"Why not?" Nick wondered, looking curiously at the pale yellow candy he held between his fingers. "Is it poisoned?"

"No, but each of these beans has a different flavor, ranging from lemon to mint. There's also strawberry, cherry, blackcurrant, chocolate, but also coffee, grass, pepper, and even booger. There are even rumors that there are ones with troll vomit, but since I don't know what troll vomit tastes like, I don't know if those stories are true. Still, I've always avoided taking the yellow ones since I heard about it."

However, Nicolas didn't have time to swallow his bean before a bugle sounded in the courtyard. The man causing the commotion stood in the center of the courtyard, dressed in the regulation uniform and holding what seemed to be a long scroll of parchment. Immediately, conversations stopped, and those who, like Harry, had taken advantage of the long wait to eat sweets began to make them disappear into the depths of their trunks. The heir to the de Savoie fortune also took the opportunity to brush off the few sugar grains that had landed on his jacket. While cleaning himself, Harry could also satisfy his curiosity by spotting the entire teaching staff and Lieutenant Colonel Pajol standing on one side of the courtyard, all standing stiffly and dressed in their finest clothes.

"Good morning, everyone!" greeted the man with the bugle. "When I call your name, come forward, leaving two meters of space between each of you. I want to see three rows of twelve students in front of me when I finish my roll call, and no talking or messing around! Maurice Ambroise!"

A particularly frail boy with blond hair reaching his shoulders quickly stepped forward to stand in front of him, looking particularly anxious and keeping his eyes constantly lowered to his boots.

"Auguste Boulanger!"

"Already the 'B'... my turn will come soon, and along with it, the comments about me. Nothing better than being the center of attention to start my schooling," Harry grumbled inwardly as the aforementioned Boulanger took his place in the center of the courtyard.

"Gabriel de Bourbon!"

As he had suspected, the mention of his name immediately sparked whispers among both students and the few teachers present. Being the center of attention was really unpleasant, especially because of his last name, and the few comments he could hear on his way to the center of the courtyard were enough to confirm his apprehensions: His school life would be very complicated.

"A Bourbon!? How on earth is that possible!?" "My parents told me that this family gathered the worst traitors that could exist." "Weren't the Bourbons supposed to be forced to leave the country since 1797?" "Let's cut off his head like the king before he deceives us!"

This small sample of disparaging comments about him, however, had the merit of making him raise his head and confidently advance until he faced the officer announcing the names of the new students. The officer, in fact, looked at him curiously, without a trace of anger on his face, like his future classmates. Glancing briefly behind him, Harry also noted that most of the teachers did not seem hostile towards him in the least. Some even looked at him with undisguised respect, much to his surprise.

"Nicolas Fleury!"

Surprisingly, his new companion was the next to approach, and he gave Harry a reassuring smile as he arrived at his side, a gesture that Harry reciprocated. Being supported by another in this adventure was much more reassuring than he would have thought. The roll call continued for long minutes, and soon three perfectly ordered rows faced the teaching staff.

"Attention!"

Suddenly, the officer ordered, putting away his list of students.

Even though Harry had practiced this movement extensively with Philippe Delacour, he still felt particularly clumsy and awkward. Nevertheless, the result was much better than that of his other classmates. Some even came close to falling, even though the exercise primarily involved squeezing the legs together and placing the arms along the body. It was hard to imagine these clumsy students parading with precision like any military personnel. Some teachers suppressed the urge to laugh at the pitiful performances of their new students.

"Gentlemen, the director of the Metz academy, Lieutenant Colonel Pajol!" exclaimed the officer, finally giving way to his superior.

Just like on his birthday, Pajol seemed to Harry as cold as possible, and his dark and intimidating eyes meticulously surveyed each one of them as if to analyze and discover every bit of their secrets.

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the Military Academy of the 4th Regiment of Hussars in Metz," he began with the same deep, gravelly voice he had at the birthday party. "For those of you who don't know me yet, I am Lieutenant Colonel Pajol in charge of this regiment, and therefore your superior for the coming years. Know in advance that it is better not to cross me and be in my good graces; otherwise, your training will stop immediately, and you can return to your families without the possibility of rejoining this corps."

The announcement was met with a resounding silence, though a few students allowed audible gulps to escape.

"The 4th Regiment of Hussars is one of the most prestigious of its time, and a great history written over the centuries, despite the numerous name changes this unit has undergone, accompanies it and will endure as long as we exist. I will not allow anyone to tarnish its reputation, nor to upset the foundations on which we stand. Work, discipline, and diligence are the key principles of our academy, and I expect you to respect that."

Their director then began pacing in front of them without even giving them a glance. The sound of his boots on the gravel of the courtyard was the only audible sound.

"Also, know that despite your status as a wizard, you are not above the laws of this country and are subject to the same rules as Muggles. Our society and theirs are closely linked, and it is only the national amendment of magical secrecy that allows us to maintain our independence from them. The highest authorities in France are aware of our existence and agree to keep this secret in exchange for our services in the conflicts of interest and finances they encounter. So, make sure that our little peculiarity is not discovered by a third party not belonging to our world; otherwise, it is not just a reprimand you will receive from us, but an immediate appearance before the authorities responsible for these issues."

His march suddenly stopped, and ironically, when he faced his new students, the one standing right in front of him was none other than Harry, and the topic he was about to address now concerned him more or less.

"I am well aware that you all come from different backgrounds, and each has not lived the same life as the other. Some of you come from the oldest families in our society and are therefore as respected as Pure-bloods in Great Britain, while others have never heard of magic or our world until now, and their families have no relatives with magical abilities. Others differ from their new classmates by their social status, and the rich mingle here with the poorest among you. But I want to tell you this: Here, there is no difference; no one is above others, and no one can claim to have more privileges than another by mistakenly thinking that their status is enough to allow them that. For me, as well as for your teachers and trainers, you will only be eleven-year-old young men trained to become good French citizens and excellent soldiers to defend the cause and honor of our country. The boy standing to your left or right will have no more rights than yours, and, like you, he will attend the same classes, obey the same orders, and adhere to the same regulations that you will need to know."

Without warning, their director suddenly conjured a stack of papers with a wave of his magic wand, sending them flying towards each new student with a brisk gesture. Harry quickly caught the parchment approaching him, and the title "Regulations of the Academy for New Students" left little doubt about the content of the sheet. A quick glance at the various points named in the regulations assured him that he would certainly not have the opportunity to laugh very often.

"Your days will begin at six in the morning to the sound of the bugle, and rest assured that the lazy and idle will be awakened in a much more radical way if they decide to stay in bed. Thirty minutes will then be granted to you to wash, dress, and clean your quarters. Everything must be impeccable, both on yourself and in the place where you live..."

"This will be quite a change from Martine and Françoise's gentle wake-ups," Harry bitterly thought, suppressing the urge to sigh.

"At seven o'clock, physical training in the courtyard and in the orchard adjacent to the academy," continued Lieutenant Pajol. "I reserve the right to shorten or extend this training based on the degree of satisfaction you give me during your exercise... Yes?" he suddenly said, looking at a new recruit two rows behind Harry.

"Excuse me, sir..."

"My colonel," he interrupted with a grave voice. "When you address me, you will use my rank, just as you will address your trainers by theirs."

"My colonel," the boy corrected in a timid voice, "don't we eat before doing these physical exercises?"

"You will eat when I decide, and the first training I give you at seven in the morning is precisely a way for you to build up an appetite. If your training goes well, you can go to the mess hall at eight. Otherwise, I will gradually reduce your mealtime, knowing that at nine, your training truly begins."

The announcement was met with new gasps, while the teachers merely smiled slightly at the dismayed expressions of the new recruits.

"The morning is dedicated to military training, including learning firearms, saber, horseback riding, close combat, developing your physical abilities, and various survival techniques in times of war. Advanced courses will also be offered, during which you will learn to use logic, cunning, and strategy to design and develop your military strategies and enhance your decision-making skills. Curiosity and research are highly encouraged within our unit, and the most enlightened minds may well see their genius put to use on a battlefield one day."

Lieutenant Colonel Pajol paused again, taking the opportunity to pull out, to the surprise of his students, his flintlock pistol hanging from his hip, which he placed right in front of his face, as if examining it. A few seconds later, and without Harry understanding how he had achieved this result, his director suddenly made a thin piece of wood resembling a wand emerge from a small oval hole just above the barrel.

"When you know how to use this weapon properly, you will have the opportunity to slide your magic wand into it, as you can see," he explained, taking hold of the emerging wand. "Magic and Muggle technology can combine to form a weapon that combines both our communities and the advantages of each. Until you can use this pistol, you are not allowed to participate in a war, just as it is out of the question for you to go to war without knowing a few spells. You will quickly realize that one cannot go without the other, and you will have to redouble your efforts to one day accompany me and your elders in a new battle."

Putting his wand back inside his pistol, Pajol quickly reattached his weapon to his belt before letting it disappear again under his long midnight blue frock coat.

"The afternoon is dedicated to classes and magical learning," he continued, starting to walk slowly in front of them again. "You will only learn the essentials, which means that you will not be given anything superfluous. Transfiguration, spells, potions, runology, dueling, and the assimilation of defensive and offensive spells, the history of magic and of France, and finally, the study of Muggles for those who have not yet had the chance to interact with them. Other support classes will also be offered to students, especially for those struggling with reading and writing, but the choice will also extend to more anecdotal subjects such as mathematics, sciences, French, foreign languages, literature, and various art-related fields. Twenty options will be proposed, and each of you will be obliged to choose at least three."

From what little he had learned, Harry was already thinking of choosing a few foreign languages to perfect his training and, at the same time, prepare for possible travels abroad when he would be old enough to make decisions about his fortune and already formulate his own policy of alliances with Western powers, both financially and politically.

Finally, know that each of your courses will be graded based on your progress and the results obtained during your exams. The best students will be offered permissions allowing them to return home during the holidays and spend the vacations with their families. The less proficient ones will be required to stay and work harder to catch up with the others...

"Oh dear," mumbled Nicolas quietly. "I feel like I won't see my parents for a long time."

The next few minutes were dedicated to the introduction of the teachers, and to the great surprise of the students, among them was a woman. This greatly disturbed the young recruits: How could a woman thrive in a world exclusively composed of men? This peculiarity was rather surprising, especially considering that she didn't seem particularly strong or agile. In fact, she gave the impression of being fragile, as if a simple gust of wind could break her in two. However, her frail and delicate appearance was compensated by a lovely figure and a charming face. Several boys even trembled upon hearing her introduce herself, and the sound of her voice resembled the irresistible song of a siren, luring sailors into her trap. Harry doubted that any of them understood a single word she said, and he himself had to strain to be sure he heard her say that she was their charms professor, named Marguerite Riva.

"I leave you now in the hands of our caretaker, Gaston Rocheteau, who I think will be happy to take you to your quarters. We will discuss the school regulations and your rights within these walls more extensively during tonight's dinner. The older students in higher classes than yours will arrive tomorrow morning, so make the most of the last moments of relaxation you have. Dismissed, gentlemen!"

To Harry's great surprise, the aforementioned Gaston was none other than the man he had openly mocked upon entering the school, and it seemed that he had not forgotten their little verbal exchange. His cruel smile and the perceptible madness in his gaze were aimed solely at him, and Harry doubted that this man would let him off easily.

"Go get your belongings, young people!" he ordered as the teachers and the headmaster entered one of the buildings. "And don't dawdle, or the sanctions will rain down! Move your lazy bottoms!"

"What a rude character!" protested Harry as he quickly grabbed the handle of his trunk. "My mother would wash my mouth out with soap if I dared to speak like that!"

"My parents don't care," admitted Jules, shrugging his shoulders. "And actually, now that I think about it, we say even worse things when we're with family!"

"Same here," confirmed Nicolas, adjusting his bundle on his shoulder. "I might be jumping the gun, but I'm willing to bet that between Gaston and you, it won't be a friendly relationship!"

"Oh, I have that feeling as well," confirmed Harry with a sigh.

Armed with their belongings, the thirty or so new students hurried to join the caretaker, who was literally tapping his foot on the gravel courtyard. Gaston apparently was not a patient person, and his anger-strained face was enough to order them never to make him wait again.

"Worse than girls," he grumbled as the group gathered around him. "Even my mother and her clubfoot would move faster than you! It gets worse every year... In my time, we knew how to handle things to avoid getting on the bad side of our superiors! Follow me, brats!"

In a brisk pace, Gaston led them to a large door that provided access to the building where their dormitory was supposed to be. The cathedral-like silence that all the recruits decided to respect during their march was only disturbed by the anger rumblings of the caretaker that apparently nothing could satisfy. His favorite target of reproach was notably the students under his charge, and a stream of curses poured against them without them having done anything to explain it.

"We're going to make you suffer, my lads," he said mockingly. "The weaklings and the whiners won't last long within these walls, and the gate is wide open if you want to go complain to your mothers about how you're treated within our unit."

"Is he trying to be intimidating by acting like this?" Harry wondered to himself, losing patience. "Goodness, I'm almost wetting my pants..."

Nicolas and Jules discreetly chuckled at these words, but unfortunately for Harry, Gaston had apparently heard what he had said. He suddenly stopped walking, and turning around to face the small crowd of students following him, his gaze immediately landed on Harry, who suppressed the urge to gulp.

"Problem, Bourbon?" he asked, approaching him. "Does sir already feel like he's growing wings in less than an hour? Does His Majesty the prince perhaps think he's already safe from sanctions and dares to criticize a staff member?"

"I was just saying that you..."

"Silence!" he interrupted, raising his hand to silence him. "You only speak when you're given permission! I feel you're going to cause us a lot of trouble, and your social status won't help you escape my disciplinary measures..."

His index tapping his chin at a steady pace, the caretaker was now pretending to think, but his eyes kept scanning the courtyard without the others understanding why. Harry's classmates, on the other hand, held their breath, waiting with more or less impatience for the punishment to fall to get a glimpse of the school staff's punishments.

"Do you see those bags, Bourbon?" he suddenly asked, pointing with his finger to two small bags placed in a corner of the courtyard. "Each contains several pieces of rock weighing several pounds and usually serves to develop the muscles of your arms. I think you won't mind me assuming that, unable to use your tongue properly, you will make better use of your other limbs. So when we've finished setting up your installation and that of your new regiment mates, you'll do five laps around this courtyard holding these bags. Needless to say, each time you stop, an additional lap will be added."

Gaston was disappointed, however, to find that his words didn't affect him, and Harry maintained his impassive and totally emotionless look, even though internally, Lily and Marie-Louise's son was groaning. Occlumency had its advantages sometimes...

"Fleury!" the caretaker suddenly exclaimed, turning his attention to Harry's new friend. "Where's your trunk!?"

"I don't have one, sir!"

"And you leave your belongings in that old, musty bag!? Weren't you told to get yourself a trunk to keep your clothes neatly organized!? Yours will be completely ruined!"

"My parents don't have enough money to buy me one, sir!" he replied without even looking ashamed.

"Very well, clever lad, same punishment as Bourbon! And you'll go ask the headmaster if there's a possibility of getting one by working here to finance this purchase! The kitchens are short of hands right now!"

Nicolas let out a deep sigh of resignation, eliciting a satisfied smile from his interlocutor. If he couldn't exert influence over Harry, he was forced to admit that it was quite different with the others. A quick glance at the remaining students was enough for him to observe that everyone was trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible to avoid punishment like the two others.

"Move along, you troublemakers!" he exclaimed, taking the lead of the group. "I'll bring you to heel... You'll understand how we work here!"

"We couldn't have asked for a better first day," sighed Nicolas as they entered the academy. "It's not my fault if I don't have money to afford all the necessary equipment!"

As they ventured through the corridors of their new school, Harry could only agree with his friend's words. Gaston resumed threatening them with the worst reprisals and hurling insults at them in every conceivable way. Yes, they couldn't have asked for a better first day, but Harry hoped that the days ahead would be much better.

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