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.

23. CHAPTER 23: FROM SURPRISE TO SURPRISE

CHAPTER 23: FROM SURPRISE TO SURPRISE

On December 18th, for Harry, it felt like the last day he would have to endure the exhausting training at his school. Right until the end, his instructors seemed to have conspired to unleash all their ingenuity and sadism in the heavy tasks they were required to perform.

The latest task, and in fact the last one before the upcoming year, didn't seem, at first glance, the most painful. For an outsider observing this new activity at the school, it might even seem that the students were enjoying what they were doing. Shooting at moving targets was, after all, as simple as getting dressed in the morning or reviving a fireplace. The movements of the targeted objects added even more realism to their task, not to mention that their activity took place outdoors, far from the stifling atmosphere of the classrooms.

However, any student would have preferred attending an oratory class in a crowded but heated room rather than facing the harsh winter that had been prevailing in the region for several weeks now. The temperatures had long dropped below freezing, and the snow- and frost-covered ground, combined with violent winds whipping their faces, not only increased the difficulty of their class but also its danger.

Another notable factor partially explained why Harry's classmates did not appreciate this class, and this reason took the form of their assigned instructor for this exercise: Tiberius Bourlot. This nearly fifty-year-old man had experienced many conflicts, and while his belly had considerably rounded over time, his character remained the same: that of an angry, continuously cold, and authoritative man.

One could easily sense in the orders he gave to his recruits that he had years of experience in the field. If an unfortunate soul dared to challenge one of his directives, they would suffer the worst reprimands ever witnessed in a lifetime. It was better not to be in his bad graces. Despite pushing his students to their limits, making them work in the worst conditions and under a constantly tense climate, no one bothered to point it out.

Nevertheless, many still respected the man. In the rare moments of sympathy he was capable of, Tiberius, as a reward for his recruits' good results, would occasionally recount an anecdote that had earned him a particular scar on his body. When not narrating his heroic tales, he often spoke of battles during which he was often on the verge of death.

"He's quite the storyteller," Nicolas asserted after a remarkable class during which Instructor Bourlot certified that he had single-handedly defeated an English squadron during a battle on the American continent. "But you have to give him credit for a certain talent for imagining stories. I find them even more interesting than history lessons on the motivations of wizards to participate in the crusades in the Holy Land."

Harry couldn't help but agree with his friend's remarks. He found himself surprisingly attentive to Instructor Bourlot's ramblings, reminiscent of when he was younger, listening to Lily and then Marie-Louise. The latter remained as talkative as ever through her letters. However, amidst seemingly innocuous sentences that only revealed their significance upon re-reading, Harry reluctantly realized that his mother continued to play with him, teasing the promised surprise that he might finally get to see today.

As the last day of classes drew to a close on this cold morning, like his classmates victorious in the final exam, he eagerly anticipated going home to spend the year-end with his family. Unbeknownst to him, many things had changed. Besides the fact that Lily now lived indefinitely in Lamballe, he was not yet aware of the separation she was preparing to definitively free herself from James, nor had he heard about the trial against his former father and Dumbledore. Harry was in complete darkness regarding his family, as per Marie-Louise's decision not to disturb him in his studies. For now, his main concern was to quickly load his weapon before Bourlot scolded him for his slowness.

"Come on, gentlemen! I've never seen such softies! Do I have men in front of me or little girls!? Are you afraid of breaking a nail while holding your rifle!?" Tiberius shouted, spurring everyone on.

Stung by the words, they all immediately picked up the pace, even though most of them had already assimilated enough basics or experience in this field to be sliding the ammunition into the barrel of their weapon. Harry himself was not particularly bad at musket shooting, and his numerous hunting hours had given him some mastery in the matter. However, he had never before faced such hostile weather and unfavorable conditions for this kind of activity. The intense cold easily penetrated his thick leather gloves, freezing his fingers. What should have taken a few seconds to insert a bullet into the barrel now took a minute. The other students were not better off, and the first signs of colds began to appear among the ranks. Harry had to suppress the urge to sneeze from time to time, and by wrapping his nose in a thick woolen scarf, he managed to maintain the rhythm of his breathing.

Frowning, he looked into the distance at the target that had been his for an hour now—a kind of dummy made exclusively with a sack of potatoes sewn into a human shape and filled with grains. Until now, most of his shots had hit the mark, but with the unhelpful wind, he only hit a vital point three times; other shots typically ended up in the arms or legs. Next to him, Nicolas suffered even more from the weather conditions, and his shooting accuracy was particularly affected. Only one of his shots hit the target, but the bullet had just grazed the fabric, lodging itself in a tree trunk a few meters away. Needless to say, the result was far from the level expected by Instructor Bourlot, a fact he didn't hesitate to remind them of with each volley. His frustration was such that twice he had not hesitated to snatch the rifle from a student's hands, claiming that even his grandmother would have had more success than him in this exercise. Coupled with the fact that he subsequently ordered the said student to circle the school three times as a punishment for his failure, no one took the risk of arousing the instructor's anger afterward, and all applied themselves to achieving a result that their superior would find acceptable.

"I feel sorry for them," Jules mumbled, watching two of their comrades run through the snow along the school walls.

"Better them than us," Nick replied through gritted teeth, struggling to load his rifle.

"Faster, gentlemen!" their instructor scolded, passing behind them. "The Prussian cavalry would have had the opportunity to charge you long ago!"

"I'd rather go at my own pace and shoot correctly than rush and risk having our weapon explode in our hands!" Nicolas muttered again.

Harry had just finished packing the musket powder and was now preparing to integrate his bullet, feverishly searching in the small pouch attached to his belt. With his other hand, he removed the rod that had been used to place the powder at the end of the barrel of his weapon, placing it unceremoniously next to him on a small surface cleared of any snow. His work done, he now aimed at his target, internally dreaming of wiping that little ironic smile that some clever soul had chosen to sew onto its face.

Soon, the noises around him became less prominent, and each student was now trying to aim as accurately as possible at their target, ignoring the gusts occasionally diverting the barrel of their weapons.

"Visualize your target well before thinking about shooting! It would be regrettable to unnecessarily waste a bullet if you can't hit it. Moreover, all ammunition is provided by the school! Waste is not on the agenda, gentlemen! Find the balance between your legs and arms so you don't shake! Your body must be perfectly still, or else you will never reach your goal! Also, control your breathing..."

"Blah, blah, blah," Nick grumbled again, keeping his eyes fixed on the potato sack flying several tens of meters from his position. "He better hurry up; my arms hurt from holding this musket!"

However, Bourlot continued to give them directives for several more minutes so that everyone could achieve a result he deemed satisfactory. Everything was covered: the body's position, the musket's grip, the regulated distance between their hands, and even the duration between each breath. Their instructor was very meticulous in this matter, but the man knew his job, and even though his students complained internally, they all respected his instructions. Then, finally, as their legs began to numb, and the snow started falling heavily on the plain once again, the long-awaited command pierced their eardrums:

"Fire!"

The ensuing volley quickly muffled his shout, but not a single student had hesitated to follow his order. Harry, like the others, could feel the bullet leaving his weapon, but for now, he couldn't determine whether it had hit its mark or if his shot had simply missed. The power of the shot had, in any case, slightly destabilized him, pushing him backward. However, unlike Nicolas, he had managed to maintain his balance and avoid falling foolishly to the ground.

Blinking to try and see through the smoke released from his musket, it took him long seconds to assess the success or failure of his latest attempt when it dissipated. The least he could think about it was that he had fully accomplished his mission: The neck of the dummy had been partially torn on its right side by the bullet's impact, and the head pitifully swayed on the other shoulder, letting its entire content spill on the ground. A proud smile appeared on his face, but the sound of his instructor's boots moving behind him to examine his work and that of the others quickly made him resume a perfectly neutral attitude.

Upon seeing his result, Bourlot did not blame him for his shot, considering that even though he missed the heart by several centimeters, the bullet could still have been deadly for his opponent. No compliments were uttered, but Harry didn't mind, too happy to escape one of his instructor's reprimands that had earned him great popularity among the school's students. However, when he positioned himself behind Nicolas to admire his work, Tiberius couldn't help but raise an intrigued eyebrow as his friend looked pensively at the ground beneath his boots.

"So?" he said, tapping his foot while glaring at poor Nicolas. "Do you have an explanation for this?"

"No, sir," he admitted, stiffening. "But the target was hit!"

"Hit, indeed... That's a low blow!" exclaimed Instructor Bourlot, sighing in dismay. "Good grief, Fleury, you'll drive me crazy! Don't you realize that you should never shoot in that area!? You never wish such an injury on anyone, not even your worst enemy!"

"Well, I... I didn't mean to..."

"Thank goodness for that, or else I would seriously question the motivations that led you to hit your target here!" he declared, pointing with a nod of his head to the mannequin's crotch from which a continuous stream of grain was flowing. "Aim higher next time!"

Without any further comment, Tiberius walked away stiffly towards his next target, while Nick tried to ignore the numerous snickers that could be heard around him from the other students.

"My shot could still have been lethal," Nicolas grumbled nonetheless, as Jules next to him rolled his eyes.

"It's all about honor, Nick," Harry reminded him. "That's what makes us men, regardless of our blood or nationality. A man can't be who he is without what he has there, and taking it away also takes away his identity, his humanity, and all the respect we have for him."

"Hmpf... All I'm saying is that during a battle, we don't care where we shoot as long as we eliminate an opponent."

Harry found the remark not without merit, but it was better to avoid wishing such an injury on someone than receiving it oneself. However, a newcomer on his left made him change his mind when he recognized him as Gaston, the irascible and unpleasant caretaker: at least someone who truly deserved such an injury for his tyrannical behavior towards all the students. Gaston took advantage of the situation to lightly shove him, careful not to be seen by Bourlot while intentionally mistreating a student. However, Harry did absolutely nothing to retaliate, too busy wondering what this idiot could want from his teacher to intervene in the middle of the class. The two men briefly shook hands as soon as Gaston approached him, and their discussion came to an end in a matter of seconds, just enough time for them to occasionally glance in Harry's direction. Then, after a nod from Tiberius, Gaston retraced his steps and quickly positioned himself in front of him, his gaze particularly menacing as soon as he laid eyes on Harry.

"Bourbon!" growled Gaston. "The director wishes to see you as soon as possible and has tasked me with fetching you to take you to him."

Harry listened without saying anything, noting nonetheless that the tone used by the caretaker clearly indicated that he would have much preferred not to be burdened with this chore.

"Are you going to stand there for much longer, or will you decide to pick up your gear and follow me?" he bellowed when he saw that Harry wasn't reacting.

"Do you ever manage to be pleasant, or are you naturally bitter?" Harry asked mockingly while quickly stowing his musket in the designated bag.

"What business is it of yours, insolent?" the caretaker retorted, glaring at him.

"I was just wondering about this subject," Harry simply replied, throwing a fleeting wink at Nicolas. "See you later, Nick, Jules..."

His friends nodded as they watched him leave while Harry followed Auguste like his shadow back to the school. The other students also watched them leave, eyebrows raised for some as they wondered about the nature of the meeting between Harry and Director Pajol, while others simply wondered if Harry had somehow displeased their superior without them being aware. The caretaker didn't even bother to look back to check if he was behind him, preferring to grumble about what seemed to be "the impoliteness of the young" and "the arrogance of the nobles," two subjects he was very fond of, and of which Harry was most often the source.

Perhaps as a challenge or simply to take advantage of the situation, Gaston didn't help him at all with his heavy gear, despite the slippery and occasionally obstructed terrain due to the abundant snowfall in the region. Consequently, Harry had to carry his heavy equipment for several hundred meters, almost half his weight, while suppressing the urge to cast a spell on his guide. Even when he had to return his rifle and ammunition to the academy's armorer, Gaston simply stayed at the entrance, leaning against the door he had left open, which earned him a few seconds later reproaches from the owner.

"If I really wanted to kill him, I wouldn't wait for him to freeze to death. There are much simpler ways to eliminate someone," he muttered once they were both outside.

His eye lingered for a few seconds on Harry, and although the latter pretended not to have noticed anything, he couldn't shake the idea that Gaston might be capable of causing him harm. Their relationship was certainly not on good terms, but could the caretaker go to such extremes? That was the question he asked himself as he ventured now in his company into the schoolyard. Some older students were already there, probably latecomers or benefiting from a rare moment of free time between classes. Most of them stared at him as soon as he appeared before their eyes, and while two or three looked at him with open hostility, Harry noticed that the vast majority showed compassion towards him, probably for having to endure the presence of the decidedly unwelcome caretaker in this school.

Later, both of them entered a wing of the school that Harry had never seen up close, the administrative part gathering most of the offices and living spaces of the instructors and staff of the institution. Everything was absolutely quiet, except perhaps for the sound of a pen scratching the surface of a sheet behind one of the doors he passed, but nothing but the echo of their footsteps could be heard.

"I certainly hope the director will straighten you out, my little lad!" Gaston suddenly threw at him in a malicious tone while bursting into a loud laugh. "It's extremely rare for Lieutenant Colonel Pajol to ask me to bring a student to his office unless that student is expelled within the next minute! Maybe we'll finally get rid of a parasite like you!"

"Or maybe he'll suddenly realize your uselessness in this academy and decide it's time for you to spend your old age in a nursing home!" Harry couldn't help but retort in a similar tone.

Perhaps he had gone too far, in which case he didn't even regret it, but Gaston had immediately seen red and finally turned around to face him. What Harry hadn't anticipated, however, was that the caretaker would suddenly grab his collar to bring his face closer, his face burning with anger as he stared intensely at him. Harry was so close now that he could see every detail of Gaston's rough, time-marked skin, and he could even smell, without even trying, his breath, which was alcohol-laden from the rum he consumed every day to withstand the harsh climate.

"I would give anything to have a little tête-à-tête with you, Bourbon," he muttered maliciously. "I would make you pay for your insolence and arrogance if I ever had the chance. Count yourself lucky to be born under a lucky star because unfortunately for us, that lucky star allowed your cursed family and your mother, that whore, to survive the revolution. If the Montagnards were still alive, they would surely vote for your death and the death of all the parasites affiliated with you, and I would delight in witnessing your execution."

"Unfortunately, they're all dead without having had the chance," Harry replied, holding his gaze. "Danton, Marat, Robespierre... What fine tyrants you seem to appreciate! But what are you waiting for to revive their party? I'm sure that from where he is, Robespierre would be delighted that someone takes up the torch he left behind on the guillotine. But don't be surprised if, just like him, you end up under the blade of the guillotine after abusing your power..."

For a moment, Harry thought Gaston was going to kill him on the spot, but just as he was already preparing to use magic in case his intuition proved correct, he was somewhat surprised to receive a particularly large spit in the face.

"There you go, my good sir," mocked the caretaker, bowing low.

However, far from being furious at this gesture, Harry simply took out his wand and made the spit disappear from his face, a smile, admittedly forced but present, on his face.

"Your gift fills me with joy, Gaston," he mocked while putting away his wand. "However, in the future, please content yourself with thanking me for the chance to tread the ground on which I walk by making a few bows, that will be more than enough for me."

Gaston seemed to give the impression once again that he wanted to physically attack him, but as Harry could see his fists opening and closing at regular intervals as if he hoped to twist his neck, he ultimately chose not to "damage" the future interlocutor of Director Pajol. So he abruptly turned on his heel and continued on his way, a frozen smile on his face and teeth clenched as he tried in vain to control his anger.

Their little expedition finally stopped in front of a door that Harry had never crossed before. In fact, the corridor he was in was also unknown to him, just like the administrative wing he was in now. It was not accessible to everyone, and as Gaston had mentioned before, the few people who had the displeasure of being in his position were now no longer there to testify. No one could, therefore, attest to the fact that the place was perfectly identical to the rest of the academy, and that, like the other wings of the school, this one was relatively cold and unwelcoming in winter.

"Are we done boasting now, eh?" mocked Gaston, noticing Harry's silence. "I appreciate you much more when you shut your pretty little mouth, Bourbon!"

And with these words, the caretaker knocked heavily on the door, waiting for a signal from the other side to open it. It didn't take long, and with a final mocking smile at Harry, Gaston opened the door. Harry remained motionless in the entrance for a few seconds, unable, unwittingly, to enter. Dozens of ideas swirled in his head to explain this meeting between him and his superior, but each one inevitably ended with an immediate dismissal. His mother would be terribly disappointed if that happened, she who so much wanted him to join this magical school and see him become a brilliant military and political leader... A feeling of guilt overcame him at that moment, a feeling that did not disappear even when he heard Gaston inform Lieutenant Colonel Pajol of his presence.

"Here he is, sir!" he announced, glaring at Harry to make him enter more quickly. "As promised, I made relatively quick work of bringing him to you! I hope you didn't have to wait too long!?"

"It wasn't urgent, Gaston," reminded the director as Harry crossed the threshold of the door. "This little meeting could have waited a bit longer..."

Harry, on the other hand, only half-listened to the conversation between the two men, now too occupied with curiously observing the office he was entering. It was exactly as he had imagined it: large, nicely decorated, but also very simple in its decoration and the arrangement of the various furniture. The character of his director was easily felt in this room, although the cold and authoritative aspect was nevertheless quite minimized to give a semblance of warmth and closeness between Pajol and his guests. The furniture was rudimentary and did not exude wealth, as he had noticed in Dumbledore's office the only time he had the opportunity to enter it. The furniture was certainly beautiful and carved from exotic woods, the window immense and half-hidden by a curtain of green velvet, and the stained glass filled with objects that certainly did not belong to the local folklore, like the curious papyrus sheets covered with hieroglyphs that he could see through them. However, the general appearance of the room made him think more of a public tax assessor's office than that of a great army general.

"Bourbon," his director suddenly called, staring at him. "It is customary to greet a superior when presenting oneself to him..."

"Forgive me, sir," Harry apologized, slightly tilting his torso to greet him properly. "I was momentarily taken aback admiring your office, and it made me forget where I was and who was in it..."

"Very well," he said, heading towards the window to observe the schoolyard on which he had an unobstructed view. "But in the future, I expect more attention from you, otherwise I won't be able to tolerate your lapse as well as I did now."

"Understood, sir."

"Leave us, Gaston," Pajol added in an unquestionable tone without even turning away from the window.

"Of course, sir! Right away, sir!" the caretaker agreed, bowing respectfully. "If you still need me, please don't hesitate to tell me! I'll be delighted to render you even the smallest service!"

"Out, Gaston," his superior invited him again, pointing to the exit with a hand gesture.

Perhaps disappointed to see that his honeyed maneuvers apparently had not had the desired effect, or perhaps not having the opportunity to see Harry expelled from school as he hoped, Gaston finally left the office by slamming the door more violently than necessary. One of the trinkets on the table just beside it began to dangerously tremble as soon as it was closed, and seeing this, Harry immediately hastened to prevent the imminent fall of an object that might have some sentimental value to his director.

"This man doesn't seem to realize that his hypocritical attitude causes him much more harm than it gives him credit in my eyes," sighed the director, while Harry put the small ivory figurine back in place, saving it from a potentially fatal fall. "Thank you for saving this little statuette," he added, looking at Harry. "It's one of the many souvenirs I keep from my travels to Egypt, and I am particularly fond of it."

"Have you really been to Egypt, sir?" Harry couldn't help but ask before realizing his misplaced curiosity. "Sorry, it's none of my business..."

"Yes," the director cut him off, settling behind his desk and gesturing for Harry to do the same. "In a purely personal capacity related to research I was conducting on ancient civilizations and, in particular, the role of magical populations at that time. The consul also gave me the opportunity to thoroughly search the pyramids of Giza during the last Egyptian campaign to refine these studies, and I was able to admire the magnificent Egyptian frescoes on these millennium-old monuments in detail, in the company of the current administrator of the Museum of French Monuments, my friend Alexandre Lenoir. This man is convinced that he can one day decipher these hieroglyphs, and although I am dubious about the mission he attributes to himself, I hope that we will also be able to understand them to eventually learn more about the customs and practices of wizards of that time. After all, they are the pioneers of ancient magic, and although the Greeks were also very good wizards, we cannot ignore the fact that ancient Egypt contributed significantly to the dissemination of knowledge that is ours today. But we are not here to talk about that, Gabriel."

Pajol then took out his magic wand, and as a stupid idea emerged in Harry's mind about the possibility that he was the target of the spell he was about to cast, his director aimed, on the contrary, at the entrance door, muttering a multitude of spells accompanied by wrist movements that he recognized as mostly spells allowing complete privacy and security for the occupants of the room.

"Do you know why I summoned you to my office, Gabriel?" the director asked, his tone almost concerned, while Harry repositioned the small ivory statuette he had just saved from a deadly fall.

"I... Have I done something wrong, sir?" he immediately inquired, recalling Gaston's words.

"Rest assured, if you had done something that displeased me, I think you wouldn't be here discussing with me but rather accompanying Gaston in his daily tasks, and I know perfectly well that due to the animosity between you, that should be a punishment painful enough to prevent you from repeating it."

Harry just smiled timidly without daring to look up at his director, but he did not take offense as indicated by the stoic look.

"No, if I summoned you here, Gabriel, it would be more for discussion..."

"Discussion?" he repeated, raising his eyes in confusion.

"Yes. I am very interested in you, Gabriel, especially since you joined this academy. There is no need to go back to the reasons for your presence among us; I think your mother's motivations, which you probably share in your ascent in the political world, are certainly a plausible explanation for that. In a sense, your mother had the foresight to assume that a man forges a much greater reputation in the eyes of his contemporaries by shining on the battlefields and climbing the ranks of the long hierarchy of military titles than by confining himself to establishing strategic ties with the most eminent personalities of our time, and I can only agree with her. I am also satisfied with this decision because it has allowed us to have among us one of the best hopes I have seen in recent years..."

Harry, in the face of so much praise, could not help but blush very slightly, but the still stoic look of his superior made him understand in a few seconds that there was certainly a less pleasant part to hear in his speech.

"However," Pajol continued while Harry suppressed a sigh, "I cannot yet determine whether or not you would make an excellent leader of men until I know more about the personality that surrounds you, Gabriel. The wizard is now known to most of the staff of this school, but the boy hiding under the uniform is still a mystery to most of your peers. I cannot, after all, recommend a young man to my superiors in Paris as a safe bet for our army if behind the mask is a bellicose spirit contrary to the principles and values of our country's institutions. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry affirmed, nodding his head.

"Know that the answers you give to the questions I am about to ask you will determine the course of this interview and will influence its outcome," he continued in a decisive tone. "I am putting my name and credibility on the line with my superiors every time I present a recruit on whom I pin all my hopes, and failure is not acceptable. I advise you to choose your answers wisely if you ever want the privilege of riding alongside generals Davout, Murat, Moreau, or Ney."

Harry now felt much more pressure on his shoulders than before entering the office. The idea of being expelled, which occupied his mind just a few minutes ago, now seemed so trivial in comparison. However, he showed nothing to his director and maintained a perfectly smooth and cold demeanor.

"I would like to know first what you thought of your exam. Do you consider it successful, or do you think there is still considerable room for improvement? I am referring, of course, to yourself and not your classmates. I want to know if you think you were impeccable..."

Harry immediately knew that this question was likely the most important of their interview from the moment the director asked it. Moreover, it was also the most difficult in his opinion because two choices lay before him: Should he value himself by claiming that his exam was just a trifle and that he deserved to face much more difficult challenges, or, conversely, should he admit to having faced some difficulties and thereby show his superior that, despite everything he had been taught, he, like everyone else, had shortcomings in certain areas? The choice was difficult, oscillating between lying and telling the truth, and each of these choices could be fatal...

"I have not been impeccable," he finally said, choosing the noblest and most sincere option in his view. Otherwise, we would not have lost teammates in this test, and I will probably have to work on some of my shortcomings to achieve better results in the future. Success can only be total when the enemy is cornered without the possibility of defending itself or even reversing the trend in its favor. However, we were surprised by Boulanger, as you read in my report, and it was not easy to overcome this sudden attack. I think I did not make the best decisions regarding my teammates, but I still made enough good decisions to ensure our victory. However, I do not agree with you about my teammates. It is essential to talk about them as well because nothing could have been done without them. This exam was very complicated, and no one can deny it, but overall, I think my troop did very well, and the personal qualities of each played a significant role. I could not have achieved what we have accomplished without the precious help of my friends, and delegating tasks that are mine to some of them also allowed me to see who could be an excellent assistant and who had enough authority to be obeyed. I think beyond individual qualities, the collective is essential to ensure a clear and complete victory. So, if I had to highlight one thing from this exam, I would choose the collective work of the entire team."

"Hm..." Pajol murmured, jotting down some brief notes on a sheet. "If I believe what you are telling me and your account of this test, you would suggest that your shortcomings would be more a lack of concentration and a certain complacency in your decision-making, that you would lack enough distance in each of your analyses and that it could have harmed you? Do you not think that you might also have difficulties in learning your magic, spells that could possibly have been useful to you and that you did not take care to use, for example?"

"No, sir," Harry asserted firmly. "I used absolutely all my knowledge to guard against danger, and that even extended to employing advanced uses of runes and blood magic. Our camp was practically undetectable to any opponent, and I would have been easily informed by my protections if it turned out that an enemy had somehow passed my barriers. As for our multiple assaults, my spells were able to save many of my comrades. Only concentration and, as you said, a certain complacency, which I would rather call carelessness, were detrimental to us."

Again, Pajol muttered some remarks to himself that Harry could not grasp, and the sheet on which he seemed to record his student's answers soon became sprinkled with ink and scribbles. Next came the question Harry dreaded about his future and how he perceived it, but through what he had already written during his enrollment and his personal opinion on what this school could bring him, the answer was quickly found. However, his director noted that his wishes seemed to be more those of his mother, and he did not seem to have his own free will. Still, Harry did not back down and reaffirmed his desire to first restore the prestige of the royal house of De Savoie even before that of his "father," who was a prince of Bourbon blood.

"List your main qualities and flaws for me," Pajol then asked.

"Hm... Difficult to say, sir, for that, you should ask one of my close ones..."

"I'm not asking them; I'm asking you, Gabriel," his superior reminded him harshly. "If you can't even recognize your own qualities and flaws, then you will be unable to find them in your subordinates."

"Very well, then... I think I am someone upright for whom loyalty predominates over everything else. I am not lacking in courage, but I can recognize a situation when it is hopeless. I am an honest person who does not accept lying, deceit, and trickery, and conversely, I can be open and understanding, listening to people's problems and not hesitating to lend a hand when they encounter difficulty. Mother says I am sometimes too empathetic, but I do not think that kindness and dedication are human flaws. As for the latter, as I told you earlier, I sometimes show sufficiency in my choices or even in my behavior. Another point could be the pride that drives me when it comes to my origins and my family's past because I do not accept criticism in this regard, but this is more related to my upbringing. Impatience would also characterize me, yes, I admit..."

In the end, Harry found more flaws than he had initially thought, but if there was one guiding principle he followed to the rule, it was that honesty paid off. Their interview continued in this manner for long minutes, so much so that the time seemed to pass very quickly when he realized that the clock now showed noon. Mentally, he regretted not having time to go to the cafeteria to eat something before returning home, and his stomach, which had until now remained silent, suddenly made itself heard loud enough for even Pajol to notice.

His gaze immediately went to the large clock on his desk, and realizing that he hadn't even heard it ring for lunch, he conjured up a small stack of sandwiches in front of them, which they quickly finished while continuing the question-and-answer game they had started.

"Then, as Harry had just answered yet another question, his headmaster didn't continue their conversation and spent long minutes examining the multiple sheets on which he had annotated his own comments regarding his student's responses. Harry looked at him without reacting, although a lump formed in his throat as time passed. Only one question lingered in his mind: What would be his choice? Should he prepare to face a refusal, or would he become the pupil of a man even his mother had a certain respect for? He didn't even have time to dwell further on this question when his headmaster's voice fell like a guillotine:

"I'll take you under my wing," he declared in an official tone, as Harry tried to assimilate what he had just said. "You'll be in a way my apprentice or disciple, choose the term that suits you. Your results during your examination are very satisfactory, I admit, and your answers generally please me. However, you still have much to learn about the basics of the profession and what will make you a good leader of men."

"W-What will you teach me, Sir?" immediately inquired Harry, still shocked by the news.

"Your mother is a great magician, and I have no doubt she has taught you spells that I may not know. Therefore, it seems fair to assume that it's unnecessary to teach you more about magic. I believe it's entirely understandable for me to oversee the military aspect of your training by revisiting with you all the basics and aspects that would make you a soldier worthy of the name. This includes the assimilation of all the strategies that would be useful not only for leading a troop in combat but also for ensuring your safety and survival. Magical duels will, of course, be included in my teaching, and if the opportunity arises, I could, if you wish, deepen your knowledge in subjects that might interest you, especially in the study of spells and transfiguration. As for politics and Muggle sciences, unfortunately, I don't have much experience in those matters, but I could connect you with some of my high-ranking contacts with whom you will not only have the opportunity to learn more but also to establish your first connections. Perhaps, at the end of all this, you might even have the privilege of meeting the Prime Consul, but we still have a long way to go before achieving that."

Harry listened without saying a word, drinking in his words as if they were the most delicious nectar. A new horizon filled with opportunities as enticing as they were varied opened up before him, and suddenly the future seemed as bright as a cloudless sky. Not even five years ago could he have imagined such a turn in his life, and if he had had the opportunity to meet the young Harry of that time, the latter would probably have mocked him, reminding him that James would never wish such a career for a son he did not love. But with that fool now out of the picture, Harry had a great opportunity to prove himself and become the man his former father would never be.

"... We'll start your sessions upon your return," continued Pajol. "Since you're not following the same curriculum as most of your classmates, especially since you're not learning to write or read, you have more free time than others. Therefore, you won't experience any major changes in your schooling, except that you might have less time to dedicate to your lessons, but your current knowledge already compensates for that. If anyone asks, simply say that you're taking more advanced classes with me paid for by your mother. I don't want a horde of students storming into my office, crying favoritism, and desiring to benefit from my knowledge."

"Very well, Sir, but may I inform my mother? I believe she could plan her study program accordingly to yours and thus allow an overlap of your teachings."

"Interesting reasoning that I can only approve," was his director's response, which Harry took as acceptance. "One last thing, however: Don't consider this as a privilege," he warned harshly, observing him. "A single report of any boasting on your part brought to my attention, and I will terminate our agreement. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry promised, nervously swallowing.

"Similarly, I expect discipline and hard work from you. I don't teach a slacker or an opportunist who expects everything to be handed to them on a silver platter."

With that, the lieutenant colonel stood up from his chair and, walking around his desk, headed towards the exit which he opened.

"You may go, Gabriel," he said, inviting him to leave. "I'll send you a owl soon to inform you of the place, date, and time of our first lesson. Try not to be late, or you'll hear from me. Believe me: You'll think twice before repeating such an exploit."

Harry swallowed again, and after bidding his superior a final farewell, wishing him happy holidays, he hastened to leave as quickly as possible. The entire way to his quarters was an opportunity for him to reconsider his headmaster's proposal and the consequences that would follow. Apart from having less time for his schoolwork, Harry saw only advantages, and even his family could benefit. His mother's name could thus be cleansed of all the horrors tarnishing it, and the line of the Princes of Savoy could regain its former glory. Yes, he saw nothing but good things, but he nonetheless promised himself to have a serious discussion about it with Marie-Louise as soon as the opportunity arose."

Immersed in his thoughts, he didn't even realize that he had managed to find his way alone through the school's administrative building. Luckily, he noticed by looking at his watch that, besides lasting less than an hour, his meeting with Pajol left him enough time to finish preparing before heading home.

On his way, he encountered Nicolas, covered from head to toe in mud and in a rather stormy mood. Apparently, he had the misfortune of slipping on an icy patch. After an uncontrolled dash in front of the entire class, he ended up in a ditch, severely damaging the handle of his musket under the weight of his gear. Laughter followed him everywhere he walked, which he briefly explained as Boulanger and two of his cronies passed by, laughing. Out of pity for him, Harry opted for the easy solution: isolating himself in an empty room at this hour to escape the taunts. Adding to the fact that Nicolas was particularly dirty, the restroom was the perfect choice for this task.

"Jules is in there, I think," Nick informed him as they headed towards it. "He said something like, 'I want to be clean before going back home.' As if his family cared about that, I mean, seriously..."

Surprisingly, Jules was the only one to have had that idea as no one else was currently in the dormitories. Harry could have heard a pin drop if it weren't for the cries coming from the courtyard where apparently most of the students were engaged. The departure runes were set in less than an hour now, yet no one seemed to care about the deadline. The trunks weren't even packed yet, and although the uniforms were currently neatly hung in the wardrobes, there was little hope they'd remain impeccable in a few minutes: the frenzy of departure to families would turn their dormitory upside down. Both quickly glanced at their respective beds, where their belongings were already laid out, waiting to be put away—a task Harry accomplished with a simple flick of his wand.

"I'll need you to teach me that spell!" Nicolas said, seeing his underwear fold themselves to join the contents of his bundle. "Maybe Mom will stop telling me to constantly tidy my room with that! She already thinks I'm incapable of taking care of myself, haha! I can't even imagine the look on her face!"

As they approached the shower door, Nicolas was rather direct, ignoring the possibility that Jules might be naked, and he opened it without warning.

"Jules, you idiot, it's high time to get ready to leave! The departure runes will be act..."

Nicolas abruptly stopped in his sentence, and to his misfortune, Harry, following closely behind, accidentally bumped into his back when he stopped.

"Merlin, Nick! Could you please let me know when you stop like that in the future?" he grumbled, rubbing his nose. "And why did you stop walking so suddenly? Hm... Nick?"

But his friend still didn't respond, still gazing at their comrade drenched under the torrents of water. Surprised, Harry also turned his head towards him, but besides the fact that he was protecting his chest in a curious way with his left arm and covering his groin with the other, he couldn't see what could trouble Nicolas so much, giving him the appearance of a fish out of water. However, Harry noticed that Jules was red with embarrassment, and seeing the position he was taking, it was clear he was completely flustered by their presence.

"Come on, Nick, you can see you're disturbing him during his shower!" Harry informed, trying to pull him towards the dormitories. "Next time, it would be wise to knock on the door before entering so he's decently dressed..."

"YOU'RE A..."

"Shut up!" Jules suddenly exclaimed, covering Nicolas's mouth with his hand, but his hurried gesture revealed to Harry the secret he had been hiding for a long time now.

At least he had the decency to look away as soon as he saw, but the damage was done: he also now knew she was a girl. A quick glance towards Harry made Jules understand that there were now two people in the know, but luckily, his friend looked everywhere except at her, his face completely crimson. Jules then tried to hide her anatomy as best as she could while moving towards the back of the bathroom to feverishly grab her towel.

"Get out!" she ordered, wrapping herself in it.

"You're kidding!? Before you explain why you never told us that you were a... you-know-what!" Nicolas retorted.

"I'll tell you everything, but let me get ready now!"

"No way," his friend cut in sharply. "I want to know now, even if it means staying in this room!"

"Alright, fine! Give me a few minutes," she said, pushing them towards the exit. "I'll get dressed, and I'll explain everything!"

As soon as she said that, she slammed the door heavily on them, accidentally hitting Nicolas's foot, causing him to groan in pain as he hopped in place.

"What... What a crazy story!" he exclaimed between hops. "Who would have believed that?"

"I must admit, I didn't expect it either," Harry added, considering that this day was particularly full of surprises. "Let's wait for... well, 'her,' near our beds instead of stupidly waiting in front of this door. We'd attract too much attention if someone caught us waiting here."

"That's true," his friend agreed, walking uncertainly towards his bed.

Harry accompanied him, offering his arm for support, until Nicolas, close enough to his bed, forgot his pain and collapsed onto it, sighing with relief.

"Isn't there anything more beautiful than a mattress filled with feathers after a tough lesson?" he mumbled contentedly as Harry sat on the edge of his own bed. "Feels like lying on a cloud..."

"It's the pain in your foot making you delirious," argued Harry, shaking his head.

"Maybe, yeah," his friend replied, shrugging his shoulders without opening his eyes.

The next few minutes were particularly quiet for them. Nicolas tried to forget his still throbbing pain by lounging on his mattress, not even concerned about the forthcoming discussion he'd soon have with Jules. Meanwhile, Harry pondered over the reasons that led their friend to not reveal her mysterious secret. Numerous questions buzzed in his head, to the point where he forgot about his sessions with Pajol. He couldn't offer an adequate answer to each question for the moment, but Jules - if that was indeed her name - could provide some clarifications that he eagerly wanted to know. After what felt like a long time, his comrade reappeared. The bathroom door creaked open once more, a sound likely audible on the other side of the academy, prompting Harry and Nicolas to immediately straighten up, both eagerly waiting for Jules to explain.

"I would have preferred you to learn it in different circumstances," she admitted, approaching their beds while fastening her coat. "But now that you know, I might as well answer all your questions, and I'm sure you have plenty for me."

"What's your name?" Nicolas asked abruptly, even before Harry could speak.

"Juliette," she said, sitting beside Harry. "And before you make the remark: yes, I intentionally changed my name to a much more masculine one to avoid suspicion. Have you ever heard a boy named that?"

"No," he defended himself. "But you weren't very imaginative in picking a new name..."

"Doesn't matter," she cut in, waving her hand. "We're not here to discuss my creativity."

"Hm... But tell me: What will you do later when your chest starts developing? Everyone will notice, unless you remain as flat as a board forever!"

The silence that followed his remark immediately made Nicolas aware of the gravity of what he had just said. Though Harry didn't show anything, although he seemed slightly incredulous now, Juliette had already covered her face with her hand, shaking it in despair.

"You have the opportunity to ask me any questions you want... and you talk about my chest!?" she finally burst out, glaring at him.

"No need to look at me like that, Nick, I won't help you this time. I find your question stupid too," added Harry, as Nicolas looked at him with puppy eyes.

An awkward, albeit short, silence settled between them during which Nicolas couldn't help but briefly observe Juliette's upper body before looking away, pretending as if nothing happened.

"Perv..." she muttered, crossing her arms to shield him from view. "Every morning after washing up, I tie a piece of fabric tightly around my body to flatten my chest and prevent it from showing despite my uniform. Happy now?" she added sarcastically.

"That's why you always do your toilette before or after us, and preferably alone," guessed Harry as she confirmed with a nod. "You were afraid someone would notice something..."

"Exactly, and especially to avoid idiots like the boy we have in front of us who don't think beyond the tip of the bird they have between their legs. It's the same for the bathrooms or for exercises requiring a change of clothing."

"But... why did you hide the fact that you were a girl?" Harry politely asked. "We're your friends..."

"Because otherwise, I wouldn't have been accepted by the others, and I didn't know how you would react upon finding out. Boys always have preconceived ideas about us, and in no time, I would have been sidelined or mocked for not being like everyone else. On top of that, it's normally prohibited for a girl to enter a military academy, even a magical one..."

"What do you mean by 'normally'? Does the headmaster know about you?"

"Obviously, otherwise he would have never accepted me. It was actually him who came to fetch me to give me my enrollment in this school. As you know, accidental magic use is easily detectable as waves by the transmitters placed throughout the country, but unfortunately, they can't indicate the person's identity or even their gender. They only determine the person's location and, at best, assess their power through the magic emissions created by their magical core. So when Headmaster Pajol came to the little village where my mother lives, he mistook me for a boy seeing that I wore pants and had an unkempt hairstyle. But when he introduced himself to my mother to explain the reason for his visit and propose enrollment in his magical academy, she unfortunately made sure to tell him my real identity when she asked if it was now possible for girls to enter a military school. Of course, he then wanted to leave, understanding that there had been a mistake, but I tried to hold him back by telling him another school had already come and I had declined their proposal. The last option I had was to enter this academy, otherwise I could never hope to discover magic and the world around it."

"That was a risky gamble," argued Nicolas. "If he didn't want to take you, you were indeed done for, or you could potentially write to that other school and ask them to accept you anyway. By the way, what was that other school?"

"I don't remember," admitted Juliette thoughtfully. "Something with the word 'stick,' I think..."

"Beauxbatons?" Harry suggested, thinking of the institute where his fiancée would attend classes in two years.

"Yes, that must be it. The woman who came was incredibly tall! I'm surprised no one in the village mentioned her afterward. A woman like that doesn't go unnoticed! Anyway, her visit didn't last long, especially when I told her I didn't want to become one of those girls fond of clothes, makeup, and jewelry, educated to be perfect wives and blindly following their husbands' orders without a say..."

"Oh, you know, Beauxbatons doesn't only offer lessons on etiquette and grooming," Harry explained. "Depending on your abilities, talents, and aspirations, you could potentially focus on other artistic careers like theater, dance, or even painting. This school primarily aims to develop creativity and awaken the dormant artistic sense in each of the students who enter, without forgetting to teach the basics about the magical world: Transfiguration, spells, potions, herbology, and even astronomy. The only difference with our school is they don't learn to fight like we do, and the military aspect doesn't appear anywhere within their walls."

"Yeah, well, my artistic sense must be so well hidden that I've never found it yet," Juliette replied sarcastically. "It would really be a waste of time for them to try and find it, so let's spare them the trouble. Besides, as I explained to Headmaster Pajol, I've always been raised as a boy since birth: I dressed like a boy, played boy games, did chores usually given to boys... I even swear like a boy! The only activity that could bring me closer to being a girl might possibly be cooking, but even at that, I'm far from good!"

"That's an understatement," muttered Nicolas, recalling the meals Juliette had prepared for them during their exam.

"If you found it bad, you could have done it yourself!" she retorted, kicking him in the shin.

Their little banter at least had the opportunity to lighten the atmosphere, but a certain awkwardness persisted nonetheless. Never before had the two boys dealt with a girl openly embracing masculinity, and if an hour earlier they could easily enjoy her company and engage in some confessions, their perspective had somewhat shifted in the meantime: It was difficult, after all, to imagine discussing girls with someone who was herself a representative of the same.

"And... And now?" Juliette nervously interjected.

"Now what?"

"Well, now that you know my little secret, will you... will you leave me alone?"

For the first time since knowing her, Harry could easily sense in her tone a hint of fear, apprehension, and perhaps even some dread. He had never before witnessed this aspect of his friend's personality, as she had always been strong and brave until now. Her question seemed foolish to him, but given the circumstances, he could understand her fear of rejection by the two people closest to her since their first day at the academy.

"Of course not," he firmly affirmed, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder. "You're my friend, and it doesn't matter that you're different from us. I never abandon people close to me, and I assure you of my full support."

"Yeah," Nicholas also assured, sitting beside her. "And besides, now that we know why you're constantly on our case, my mom is exactly like you. It's probably a girl thing... Now we'll be more careful..."

His remark earned him another jab from Juliette, quickly followed by a bone-crushing hug she gave them as a gesture of gratitude.

"Thank you guys," she said, smiling at them. "I've never had real friends before coming here, and I was really afraid of your reaction when you found out about my true identity, so you can't imagine what your acceptance means to me. I know sometimes my bossy nature might annoy you, but I'll still do my best to maintain this friendship that binds us..."

"Yeah, but could you stop hugging us now?" Nick asked, trying to wriggle out of her grasp. "It's not that it bothers me, but if others see us like this, they'll think we're... you know..."

Just then, the first students arrived, completely soaked by the snow and some bearing slight bruises that Harry couldn't explain. Their battle must have been intense or there had been multiple falls, yet none complained, too happy to once again mock Nicholas as soon as they saw him. Consequently, the latter swiftly grabbed his bundle and left to avoid them, joined seconds later by his two friends.

There was still more than half an hour before departure when they arrived at the school courtyard designated for the return of deserving students to their homes. While everyone was now eager to go back, those left unfortunately couldn't hide their envy and longing. Harry chose a secluded spot where he spent the rest of the time with Juliette and Nicholas, allowing her to explain in detail certain aspects of her life and the numerous tricks she had used to conceal her sexuality from everyone's eyes. Finally, when she recounted the detours through the forest she had taken during the exam to avoid their curiosity, and as nearly all the students had arrived, Gaston appeared once again, holding a box presumably containing the coveted items for their return home.

"IN LINE!" he shouted as the students immediately obeyed. "THE RUNES ACTIVATE AT ONE O'CLOCK SHARP, SO YOU'D BETTER HURRY IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE IN MY COMPANY FOR AN EXTRA TWO WEEKS!"

The argument struck a chord, and in no time, Gaston found himself facing several perfectly straight lines. Each student was handed a small bottle-green stone depicting a tornado symbolizing the whirlwind of wind specific to this type of transportation. The holder had to then use a cutting curse via their wand to engrave the precise address they wished to be directed to. The stone would then glow intensely for a few seconds before becoming operational for any transport. Initially complex, even the worst student in the school could now do it: After all, even that worst student wanted to return to their loved ones, a prospect that brought forth dedication and effort never before suspected in anyone.

Gaston couldn't care less about the students' feelings, having no family to reunite with for the holidays. Only seeing some of the students he heartily tyrannized leaving for a while crossed his mind, so he didn't hesitate to berate a few of them one last time. But when he laid eyes on Harry, he was surprised to see him there, the latter sporting a smug smile as their gazes met. With undisguised ill grace, Gaston tossed his rune to him without further ceremony before quickly moving away, brooding over his bad mood among the unlucky ones still not served.

"I'll explain in my letters," Harry whispered to his friends, who were surprised by the caretaker's behavior. "You'll probably find this story as amusing as I do!"

However, they didn't have time to discuss further as their runes suddenly began to heat up in their palms. Barely enough time for one last embrace before they felt their feet leaving solid ground, carried away by a gust as cold as this winter day.

In no time, Harry was faced with the familiar yet so comforting sight of his castle. Covered in snow from gardens to rooftops, his domain resembled a cake overloaded with whipped cream that even the most discerning palate would dream of devouring. The leafless trees and patterns drawn by the snow perfectly outlining the geometric shapes of the numerous shrubs in the gardens gave an almost magical appearance to the castle, but one detail, in particular, surpassed all others in Harry's mind the moment he saw it: Wrapped in a thick ermine coat reaching down to her ankles and a hat partially covering her beautiful blonde hair, his fiancée had honored him by being the first to see him and the first person he could tenderly embrace after these long months of absence.

For the moment, Daphne didn't even seem to realize that Harry was just a few meters behind her, too occupied rolling a massive snowball easily half her size. Harry also noticed that the snow near the tunnel leading to the main courtyard was particularly disturbed, as if his fiancée had just taken part in a very animated battle.

Seized by a sudden desire to join in, Harry closed his eyes to focus on his next task. Meditation had long ceased to be a problem for him, and it now took only a few seconds to locate his magical core. It had significantly increased in size since he first laid eyes on it, shining so brightly that it could have easily illuminated several hundred meters if it were capable of manifesting in the real world. Seeking the magical link connecting him to his fiancée, he found it in less time than it took to say it, and immediately began his project by passing through it a tiny amount of magic from his core.

The link, represented as a silver thread with bluish reflections, suddenly became even more radiant, and the magic he could see flowing through it seemed to have doubled in volume. The continuous flow of magic would surely pique Daphne's curiosity, and she would easily sense the warm and caring emotions he was also transmitting through their connection.

The effect was immediate. Barely had he reopened his eyes when he noticed that Daphne had suddenly frozen in the middle of her task, and although he couldn't see her face, Harry was certain she must have appeared particularly bewildered by this sudden arrival of magic, yet also happy at the tender feelings he held for her. Her right hand, which had initially rested on her snowball, had now found its place on her chest, where her heart lay, as if to better feel this surge of tenderness bubbling within her like lava from an erupting volcano. Harry couldn't help but smile at this sight, especially when he felt deep within himself that Daphne was responding to him in the same manner and intensity, without even uttering a single word. Love, passion, desire, affection... everything was present and even more. Knowing he was loved so deeply gave him a delightful sensation, reinforcing his belief that passing his exam to have the chance to reunite with his beloved was the right choice.

"May I join you?" he asked, suppressing a smile as she jumped.

Daphne immediately turned around, her eyes already widened upon hearing her fiancé's voice, and they widened even more when they fell upon Harry's silhouette. Her mouth opened slightly as a gasp escaped her, unable to hold it in, while the sudden gust of wind made her hat fall off, which she didn't even attempt to catch.

"My dear," Harry began, removing his hat. "I am pleased that you are the first upon whom my eyes can rest. You could not have given me a more beautiful gift than to greet me at the door of my castle on this cold winter day..."

He didn't have time to say more before a nine-year-old whirlwind had already launched herself at him, clinging tightly to his neck. Amidst laughter and the melodious tone of his fiancée's voice, Harry effortlessly twirled her in the air as if she were a mere feather. His training had apparently borne fruit, and even Daphne was surprised by her fiancé's newfound strength. But this observation quickly gave way to the joy of their reunion, which lasted a long time. Finally, after five long minutes, Daphne decided to voice what she felt deep within herself:

"I've missed you so much, Gabriel!" she cooed into his neck. "Time seemed so long without you!"

"I've only been gone a few months, dear," he said as he heard her sob against his uniform. "God, how will you react when I have to be away for a much longer time?"

"I'll go wherever you go," she replied without caring about the immaturity of her response. "And don't you dare try to leave me behind to wander off to Merlin knows where: I can be worse than a leech when I want to be!"

"In that case, I won't risk stirring your anger," he chuckled before releasing her.

Daphne also loosened her embrace, and as she took a step back, she took the time to admire, from head to toe, the figure enclosed in Harry's uniform, much to his embarrassment. What would she say about his appearance now?

"Merlin, Gabriel!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "You seem much bulkier than the last time I saw you! The first fruits of your labor seem to have appeared! I can't even imagine the Adonis-like physique you'll have when you're older!"

"Well... Thank you?" he mumbled, feeling awkward.

"Nevertheless," she added in a much darker tone, examining his face in detail, "you look rather pale. Are you eating properly and to your satisfaction? Is the food at your school good? Ugh, just thinking about those dreadful dishes served in those kitchens gives me shivers of horror!"

"I'm fine, Mother," he replied amusedly before receiving a small tap on the shoulder. "Ouch! What did I do to deserve that?"

"For making fun of me," Daphne grumbled, still grabbing his arm and wrapping hers around it. "And for that, you'll escort me to your mother without a word of complaint, my dear fiancé," she declared in a pompous tone.

"One cannot refuse you, my dear fiancée," Harry replied, placing the recently fallen hat back on her head before heading towards the tunnel leading to the inner courtyard of the castle.

Leaving Daphne's huge snowball behind, which they could use for other occasions, the two of them embarked on their little walk arm in arm, in a very convivial atmosphere, enlivened by the joy of their reunion. For Harry, their short stroll was a sudden reminder of his fiancée's ability to speak continuously without pause, and especially of how difficult it was for him to get a word in during those moments. Nevertheless, he didn't point it out, rather happy to experience these familiar scenes to which he had long been accustomed, perhaps defining for the future the married life he would have with her. His future wife was a true chatterbox, and even the rather strict education she had followed for the past few years hadn't remedied that. However, in a way, it could be beneficial for him, as he wasn't exactly a very communicative person; at least Daphne could later engage in conversation with their guests.

"Forgive my curiosity, but... Are you alone by any chance?" he managed to ask when they approached the entrance door. "Mother must already know I've returned thanks to her intrusion protections, but I'm surprised she hasn't come to greet me, knowing perfectly well the time I'd arrive. Have your parents also honored us with their presence?"

"No, only Tory is here," she replied in an unenthusiastic tone. "I would have preferred to spend more time alone in your company and away from my family members until Christmas, but my dear little sister has been invited by your aunt to more advanced lessons in etiquette, particularly in learning baroque dance. Honestly, I don't find that dance very interesting, but I also comply to please your family..."

"Yet you didn't seem very motivated to learn the basics of the heavy duty that will be yours later, but my mother assures me in her letters that you are learning relatively fast. Isn't that contradictory?"

"Perhaps," Daphne conceded, shrugging her shoulders. "But for now, I'd very much like to go inside and not catch a cold."

"Oh, but nobody forced you to go outside and have fun in the snow, Daphne..."

Another tap on the shoulder silently told him not to try again to cross the line of reproaches and unpleasant remarks, but Harry quickly grew tired of this little game. Instead, he began to open the castle entrance door, serving as a doorman for his fiancée.

She readily accepted his help and thanked him for helping her remove and let her winter coat and other garments dry, leaving her at the mercy of Harry's scrutinizing and curious gaze.

"You look lovely," he confessed, scrutinizing her closely. "Are you taking to the fashion of the marvelous? The ancient style suits you perfectly!"

"It seems you have an eye for these things," she said, simply nodding, while at the same time spreading the folds of her dress to display it better. "Mother met a very fashionable couturier in Paris, a certain Louis Hyppolite Leroy, and she immediately fell in love with his creations. The hoop dresses are very pretty, but very uncomfortable unlike this one, which gives me perfect freedom of movement! Even your mother is now hesitating to get one!"

"I look forward to seeing that," he argued, promising himself to visit this Hyppolite before Christmas to provide his fiancée with clothes.

His eyes landed on the room serving as an entrance for all newcomers, and a slight smile formed as he felt the relief of finally being back home. The mere atmosphere surrounding the castle had already pleased him, but being able to admire the various elements of the decor in this property where he had grown up for a few years now brought him a sense of well-being and security he hadn't thought he'd experience. This distance had made him realize how much this place meant to him, and somewhere deep inside, he almost regretted having to leave again at the end of the winter break. However, a detail caught his curiosity, and he immediately inquired with Daphne.

"It's strange; the castle seems so quiet," he observed, curiously scanning the multiple corridors and rooms within view. "Aren't the servants here?"

"Most of them didn't come," she replied, leading him towards the stairs. "Only the residents and a few brave ones have braved the snow and bad weather to attend to their tasks. But your mother advised them not to exhaust themselves by coming if their journey seemed too dangerous."

"I see," he said before a sudden cry made him turn his head.

The source was quickly found: a mountain of plates was being maneuvered down the main staircase of the castle by a man struggling with the load. The man's face was completely obstructed by the dirty dishes, and his steps were particularly uncertain, almost causing him to miss a step several times. However, his Italian mutterings and other curses allowed Harry to put a name to the figure.

"Hello, Giuseppe," he greeted as the man passed by without noticing them.

Taken by surprise, the family's head chef nearly fell backward, managing with skill and some acrobatics to maintain some balance with his stack of plates.

"Mio signore!" exclaimed Giuseppe, almost dropping his fragile load. "My God, you gave me a scare! I thought I was going to have a heart attack!"

Turning 90 degrees, the castle's chef finally set his eyes on his lord. Like Daphne a few minutes earlier, he also scrutinized Harry's appearance, slightly furrowing his brows when focusing on his face.

"And the little signorina! Barely back, and here you are already reunited!" he said teasingly as Daphne blushed visibly. "You don't waste any time! Hm… I thought the food at this school would certainly not match mine!" He suddenly added, scrutinizing Harry's face carefully. "You're pale as a ghost!"

"Then I expect you to prepare a good meal for tonight so I can regain my strength for the days ahead!"

"I'm counting on it, my lord! So with the young ladies, that makes... eight settings! I must hurry!"

Without further ado, Giuseppe abandoned them for the kitchens, disappearing behind a door. Quiet settled again, at least until a loud noise of broken dishes was heard, quickly followed by a "Questo cacchio di scalino!" which made both of them burst into laughter.

"Some things will never change!" chuckled Harry, ignoring his fiancée's briefly anxious glance.

Fortunately, unlike Daphne, he hadn't noticed Giuseppe's slight mistake regarding the number of people dining within these walls in a few hours—unless he thought it might be the Delacours—but in any case, he showed no signs that could confirm it. On the contrary, as Daphne later noted, he simply resumed the conversation between them by pointing out that a new table service might need to be ordered from the Sèvres manufactures. He was eager to learn more about what she had been up to these past few months. Daphne then offered to explain while inviting him to follow her to the room where she had left her extended family earlier, unintentionally eager to see Harry's reaction when his eyes landed on his mother, his godfather, and especially on his younger sister. The change was significant, and while she was particularly surprised by Rosie's new appearance, Harry would probably take some time to adjust!

Nevertheless, she took advantage of these few minutes of tranquility to prepare him for this encounter, lightening and brightening the atmosphere as best she could, occasionally attempting a joke to amuse him. But as he progressed towards the upper floor, she couldn't mask the increasingly distinct noise in the distance: an uplifting but unfamiliar music to Harry playing through the castle walls, contrasting completely with the usual strict and serious atmosphere. A man was by his mother's side, and from the sound of the clapping, she seemed to be having a great time, as did the other people around her.

"... He's in Holland

The Dutch have taken him.

'What would you give, dear

To see your friend?'"

"What on earth is happening here?" he asked curiously, looking at Daphne.

"You'll see," she replied, smiling mysteriously.

"Oh, I see I'm being kept in the dark!" said Harry as the music continued. "Well, let's find out about this peculiar song!"

"Beside my blonde girl,

It feels good, feels good, feels good.

Beside my blonde girl,

It feels good to sleep!"

Arriving just a few meters from the door of the room where this strange music was playing, Harry finally recognized the male voice as his coachman, Antoine. Only one person was playing music, and knowing his servant's talent for the harpsichord, he wasn't surprised to hear only that instrument. It was clear that Antoine had devoted himself today to livening up the immense castle with his repertoire of popular songs, and although Marie-Louise generally preferred the works of contemporaries of her time like Mozart, Bach, or the very recent artist currently making waves in Vienna, the young Ludwig Van Beethoven, she apparently allowed herself to listen to these melodies that would certainly never have the chance to be played in one of the European courts.

"I think it's time for us to also enjoy Antoine's musical talents," he suggested, turning to Daphne who nodded in agreement.

At that moment, the music ended amid applause and joyful shouts from young children. Astoria wasn't the only young girl present, as indicated by the two distinct voices he heard, but Harry couldn't visualize the other one. Curious and eager to learn more, he quickly approached the door to get a better view of the salon and its occupants.

The slightly ajar door allowed him an unobstructed view of everyone in the room, although most of them had their backs turned to the door for the moment. Marie-Louise was easily identifiable by her generous, whitish hair towering above her head, as was her aunt, who sported a similar hairstyle, slightly more voluminous at the shoulders. Both were seated on a chair in the center of the room, perpendicular to the door, which allowed Harry a clear view of them. His mother noticed his presence as soon as he peeked his head in, silently urging him to be quiet by discreetly placing her index finger on her lips so as not to disrupt the conversation taking place between Antoine and the two little girls sitting on the floor. She greeted him with a particularly radiant smile that was pleasing to see.

His eyes then fell on the two girls whom he could only see from behind at the moment. The first one was easily recognizable by her brown hair cascading down her back and her distinctive high-pitched voice: Astoria. Next to her was another little girl of the same age whom Harry had never seen before. Slightly taller, the stranger had an abundant cascade of curly hair topped with a small silk ribbon, its color indescribable, oscillating between ash-red and light chestnut, gleaming under the sunlight streaming through the windows. Her face, slightly in profile for the moment, was finely shaped with a radiant fair complexion, giving her the appearance of a doll illuminated by the sun's rays. Her features were perfectly sculpted, as if carved by an artist, giving her an easily identifiable aristocratic appearance accentuated by the makeup on her face. Her posture was slightly slouched but maintained by the corset she wore beneath her dress. What surprised Harry the most was a peculiar ribbon encircling her waist, the end of which was held by his mother. He himself had undergone this strange procedure aimed at teaching him to walk with a slow, rhythmic gait, but he couldn't understand why Marie-Louise was following the same principle with this perfect stranger. Was it the surprise she had mentioned in her letters? If so, the reason escaped him for the moment.

Two other individuals were also seated on a sofa directly facing him, but apart from their backs and their hair, he couldn't notice anything else. One appeared to be a woman, judging by her dark red hair and slender silhouette, while the other, with short hair and a jacket, was clearly a man, but he didn't linger on them. Introductions could wait.

"Forgive me for interrupting, Antoine, but I think we have a new guest," Marie-Louise announced, just as Antoine was about to play a new tune after the multiple pleas from the two young ladies. "It wouldn't be appropriate to listen to such amusing ballads behind a door, would it, Gabriel?"

All heads immediately turned towards the entrance, but Harry didn't dwell on it, too occupied with presenting himself in front of his mother, whom he immediately embraced.

"It's so good to see you, Mother," he murmured, inhaling her delightful scent.

"And it's delightful to feel you against me, Gabriel," she said, squeezing him tightly, her hand absentmindedly caressing his hair. "I've missed you dearly, my son."

Harry confirmed this when he pulled away from her and met his mother's teary, shining eyes. She seemed on the verge of tears, but the rigidity of her upbringing and her perfect control over her emotions prevented her from displaying such sentiments in public. Instead, she greeted him with a dazzling smile, to which he responded before turning to his godmother, greeting her in the same manner.

It was only after that was done that he deigned to turn to his mother's guests to greet them, and as soon as his eyes landed on the first person, Harry couldn't help but gasp at the sight of his godfather.

"L-Lupin?" he exclaimed in astonishment at seeing him in front of him.

"Gabriel," Remus simply said, looking him up and down. "You look quite dashing in that uniform!"

Remus seemed as tired as he had been when he still lived in England, but the recent full moon could explain the bags under his eyes. Harry also noticed that he seemed in better shape than before, with a more muscular, robust appearance, without being clear whether it was muscle or fat gain. His clothes were also far from what he had previously been accustomed to seeing his godfather wear. While he didn't exude wealth and luxury, seeing him in new, refined clothing was still a noticeable change.

"What a surprise!" he exclaimed, shaking Remus's hand firmly. "I didn't expect to see you, my godfather! What brings you here?"

"Ah, that's a long story I'll tell you when you have enough time to spare. It seems you're a very sought-after young man now!"

"To be that, I can assure you," Marie-Louise affirmed. "My late husband didn't have as many financial and political partners as Gabriel does at the same age, and with the numerous contacts I've established with many personalities from European courts and within this country, this young man will be very busy later on…"

"Don't speak of misfortune, Mother…" he sighed in dismay. "I get horrible headaches just thinking about the tasks awaiting me…"

A few chuckles ensued, accompanied by a slight reprimand from his mother for his lack of enthusiasm for his future duties, but silence fell again a few seconds later when Lupin chose to step aside slightly, and Harry laid eyes on Lily. The world seemed to stop around him. The events that had taken place a few months earlier during the summer came back to his mind, and although their last meeting had been somewhat chaotic, he had always hoped to see her again and try to convey his desire to stay here. But seeing her today, radiant and dazzlingly beautiful, made him stifle the tears of joy that threatened to overwhelm him. Even before he realized it himself, he had already launched himself into her arms in an embrace that could easily rival the one given to his other mother.

"Easy, Gabriel," she said tenderly. "I'm not as young as I used to be…"

"What should I say about myself?" mumbled Marie-Louise, making the others laugh again.

But Harry didn't react, immersed in his own world, or rather in a world where the woman who had given birth to him was, and for whom he had immeasurable love. Her scent, the softness of her hair, her slender figure, and the gentle stroke of her hands in his hair… He had missed everything about her until now, but now, he felt like he was lacking nothing, as if Lily had managed to fill a void he hadn't even suspected within himself. Only one question still troubled him, and it was after long seconds turning into minutes that he finally dared to ask her:

"You're not leaving anymore, are you?" he asked, hopefully.

"No, unless your other mother no longer wishes for my presence beside her," she reassured him, briefly looking at Marie-Louise, who confirmed her words with a nod.

"But… And with James… and Dumbledore… Aren't you being sought after? That's what I understood the last time you came…"

"We'll talk about it later if you agree. We have all the time now to make up for lost time, and I'd prefer that we first discuss more cheerful topics, especially if you tell me in detail about your schooling at this academy… Your sister was constantly asking about you, so I hope your stories will be full of juicy details!"

"My sister?" he repeated in surprise. Rosie? But… Where is she? It's strange that she's not here with yo…"

That was when he understood. His head turned abruptly towards this strange stranger, and in no time, he deduced that it could only be her. That she had changed! He was now stunned to see that the old Rosie had undergone rather unsettling transformations and that he now needed to examine her more closely to find similarities with the old image he had of her.

She even stepped forward towards him, an almost mischievous smile on her face. Harry scrutinized her again, finding in her some characteristics he had already encountered in Marie-Louise and himself. While he had only his eyes to attest to the family connection he had with Lily, Rosie still had many characteristics linking her to his first mother. James' attributes had disappeared, as had his, and the most significant detail was undoubtedly the shape and color of her eyes. With a suddenly dry throat, it took him a few seconds before he could ask the question that troubled him:

"Y-you… You're R-Rosie?"

"Marie-Rose now," she replied in slightly accented French but overall convincing. "You seem surprised to see me… Do I have something on my face to trouble you? A pimple perhaps? Or a stain?"

Next to her, Astoria tried to stifle her giggles behind her hand, but seeing Harry's incredulous expression, she quickly burst into uncontrollable laughter. Rosie herself had difficulty hiding her amusement, but unlike her friend, she opted for a calmer approach to fully savor her brother's reaction. Her blue orbs eagerly scrutinized Harry's face, waiting for him to snap out of his daze to properly celebrate their reunion. However, to everyone's surprise, Harry soon enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug, his head resting against hers as he held her tightly.

"Were you adopted too?" he mumbled, although he already suspected the answer.

"Yes," she said, smiling. "I... I may have pushed things a bit, but Mother understood that I absolutely wanted to be your sister..."

"But you were already my sister..."

"Yes, but we didn't share the same blood anymore, and I didn't have that feeling of being part of the same family as you..."

The real reason could wait, but Rosie thought it best not to reveal for the moment that this adoption was primarily arranged to save his life. Aware of her brother's accomplishments, James was risking the worst torments, but it could also endanger Harry's life, and she didn't want that: Now that she had found him, she was determined to keep him by her side, no matter the cost.

"So this is the surprise you've been telling me about in your letters?" Harry asked without letting her go.

Marie-Louise nodded in agreement, and Harry warmly thanked her with a grateful smile as he tightened his embrace around his sister, his head resting on her shoulder.

"It's a very beautiful surprise, in that case," he murmured softly. "Probably the most beautiful of all..."

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