Chapter 6. A Song of Fools and Magic (Patreon)

Asshai, Shadowlands, 278AC.

Harry beheld the aftermath of his spell, quite satisfied with the outcome as it had dealt with all the immediate threats at once. Even though he had to use rather expensive materials and a good chunk of his magical reserves. As well as utilising the Language of the Judged to call every soul in the vicinity that cried out for vengeance, who then added their remaining strength to his own. But it worked in the end and that was all that mattered.

Those that hadn't burned or were reduced to ash now cowered away from them, scrambling, flinching or fleeing as his terrible glowing gaze swept over them. Others were stunned or looked at them in awe mingled with reverence. While two – a hooded, red-masked figure and a barrel-chested middle-aged man – prostrated themselves directly before them, foreheads sitting on their hands that touched the ground. "Let's finish this." he told Hermione, unwilling to stay here any longer than he had to and suffer any more assassination attempts.

Harry held out a hand as if to receive something. Once more the Sword of Gryffindor – he really needed to give it a better name – answered his non-verbal call, slowly manifesting hilt first from a plume of stardust masquerading as mist. The wizard grasped the hilt and slid it free from the empty air with effortless grace, drawing it from the scabbard of the world. A shining silvery metal, appearing almost liquid in its pearlescent rippled sheen, made up the warm blade of this unique weapon. Shadows and smoke clung to it, exuding from the edge like wailing souls.

Without any ceremony he swung to slay the ones bowing to him. "Wait, please!" a voice called out, pleading, belonging to the abasing hooded and cloaked figure. Her voice soft and raspy, evidently not often used.

Despite having no reason to, Harry stopped. His blade's small shadowy tendrils were caressing the sweating and barrel-chested man's neck almost lovingly, its warm breath whispering in his ear. "Why should I?" was all Harry asked, his head slightly tilted in confusion. Very glad in the back of his mind that she spoke their language, but also wondering how that was possible. 'Tommen said it was called the Old Tongue.' the wizard mused absent-mindedly and theorised. 'Most likely our language is called the Old Tongue here, probably coming to them as theirs – Acheronian for us and Asshai'i here – came to us; through the Veil.'

"Ignore them," Hermione scoffed, glaring hatefully at the remaining crowd. "They've tried to kill me and Delphini, multiple times at that."

"All who attacked you or sent their demonic servants to do the deed are dead by your hand. Cleansed for their sin of existence." the robed figure assured them, explaining. "I was aware of them and their plans."

That didn't elicit much mercy from Hermione. "A likely story." she snorted and spat out the next words, her lips curled in disgust. "And even if true, you did nothing."

"And do what?" the cloaked woman countered softly, getting a scoff from Hermione. "I was alone, but I knew you and yours would come to no harm."

Harry grinned without humour. "How could you have possibly known that?" his voice a sardonic drawl that trailed off into a frown as he came to an unwelcome conclusion, answering his own question. "Divination." he scowled fiercely, his mismatched eyes glowing brighter in his anger, nearly aflame now.

The world held its breath as the word was spoken with a multitude of concealed meanings.

"Indeed," Quaithe slightly and hesitantly confirmed, squirming a bit on the ground. "In my vision I saw a bloody sword in the sky arrive from the darkness between the stars; separating from it was a twin-tailed comet. One tail was prismatic in its light and the other black as night. It pierced the heavens and cut the world's firmament in two as it blazed across the sky, cutting night and day on its journey. From east to west it flew, igniting many unborn stars on its way, – be they big or small – reducing dragons to ash and finally falling to the earth to upheave the sunset lands."

Everyone was silent for more than moments, making everyone hold their breath until Quaithe said. "Forgive my rudeness, but could we mayhap relocate somewhere more appropriate, my... Lord? My residence is not far, if it please you."

A silent conversation was had between the pair, a language all their own where no words were needed. They did require more information than they currently had about this world, after all. Finally both seemed to come to a reluctant agreement, Harry letting go of the sword which faded back into mist and shadow. "Fine, lead the way then. But keep in mind that we're not in a forgiving mood right now." as an afterthought he added. "Besides, I'm no lord."

His wife seemed to disagree. "They didn't strip you of your titles the last time I checked." she pointed out. Lordship of House Potter and Peverell were surely his. While House Black was a possibility, but rather improbable due to many Purebloods with stronger connections and claims being alive. Probably having wrestled that away from Harry as soon as possible. Luckily nothing much of material value was left for them.

He waved her off. "They've surely managed that much in our absence, somehow."

"Even so, you'd still be Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell." she huffed with her arms crossed, unwilling to let that go. Only the one who had united the Hallows gained that title, not something the Wizangemot could simply revoke in a fit of stupid pique. Lest they set a precedent that would come to bite them in the arse. Besides, the remnants of a vampire that she was craved hierarchy, which in truth had only enhanced her incredibly strong inclinations for such before becoming one. "That's not something they could've stripped away, even after millennia of trying."

With that Quaithe stood up, causing a stunned and confused Marwyn to do the same. "You'll unfortunately have to walk, my slaves have fled during your... demonstration."

"That's fine. We'd rather walk." the woman's midnight black eyes were flinty as she grinned, revealing her teeth to be sharp pearls. "For we hate slavery in all its myriad forms. Only the truly weak, be it in spirit or conviction, embrace it to feel stronger than they really are." she vividly remembered the House-elves and other examples.

The shadow-binder showed no reaction to the insult, simply leading them to her home. After more than a few minutes Marwyn blurted out, no longer able to contain his curiosity. "Is that dragonhide you're wearing? Did you really come from Stygai? How did you survive?" it was followed by a dozen others, befuddling the two demi-gods with the deluge of questions.

"And you are?" Harry asked, having no idea as to the relationship the man had with the masked woman.

If the man were a bit shorter he'd look exactly like a dwarf. He was short and squat with a strong jaw. Enormous calloused hands, a nose that looked to have healed wrong multiple times and cauliflower ears told of many brawls, while a thick chest and a hard ale-belly rounded the look out. His brown hair was beginning to turn grey, while slowly migrating from his head to come plentifully out of his ears and nose instead. A chain made of a multitude of metals hung around his thick neck. He wore a simple jerkin and pants made of leather instead of fine robes.

"I'm Marwyn, Lord Peverell." he grinned, showcasing teeth stained red like blood from chewing sourleaf. "The Archmaester of the Higher Mysteries from Oldtown." he mostly got the post so young because nobody else wanted it, but he didn't say that out loud.

"Oldtown, you say?" Hermione said, her curiosity instantly peaked. "Wasn't that an outpost for the Acheronian Empire?" she asked, wanting to confirm the theory. Someone living there must surely know, especially someone called an Archmaester. At least magic seemed to not be hidden here, which was one positive in the more numerous negative ones. "The Great Empire of the Dawn?" she ventured when no reply came.

Only silence greeted her for as Marwyn stared mutely, eyes wide while his feet thankfully walked on their own. In the back of his mind the Maester noted that the man didn't seem to have a problem with his wife stating her opinion openly. While the larger part screamed at him as the implications hit him, remembering that the base of the Hightower predated Valyria. 'How old are they?' he wondered with his stomach falling to his knees, feeling dizzy as he remembered the feeling when looking into their endless eyes. 'How much blood did they shed for their power?' and yet if they had done so the corruption would practically seep off them, which it did not. It left him utterly confused.

He was dimply aware that a few sorcerers could achieve some form of immortality, but it usually came with strings attached. Usually undeath. But those two were very much alive, and under no glamours he could perceive. Only the child seemed dead, but why carry it around then?

"Ah, where are our manners?" the man said, taking his silence as something else than the shock it was. "I'm Harry James Peverell." Harry motioned beside him, smiling softly at her. "And this rude vision of beauty is my wife, Hermione Jane Peverell." he simply continued to use the name Peverell now, thinking it fitting for a new beginning. Nor having such an attachment to the Potter name as someone having grown up in the Wizarding World would've had. "As well as our daughter and the light of our life, Delphini Lily Peverell."

"Harfang." the woman – Hermione – corrected teasingly, a hint of warning in her tone as delicate eyebrow was raised imperiously, making him grimace. "If I won't let you shorten my name, what makes you think I'll let you do it to yours?"

The wizard got a mulish expression, remembering Tonks and her own woes with given names. Now deeply regretting to have looked into the past and seen what he had been named. "Please, ignore her."

From then on the walk to their destination was spent in awkward silence for all parties involved. With the natives quite unsure how to treat their visitors. After a few more turns through the labyrinthian and gloomy streets saw them arrive.

Asshai, Shadowlands, 278AC.

Quaithe's house's walls were built long ago and had been as well-maintained as anything in Asshai, the soft touch of time bringing them down – or at least attempting to. The estate still bore a shadow of its former glory, an outline or an impression, something that a sketch artist could re-create, perhaps. Fanciful spires and chimneys jutted upward from the steep roof, like decorative hilts of a dagger. Near the iron gate – made brown with years of rust – sat a fountain long since dry, covered in a cloak of white moss. Beyond the gate, broad creeping and dying vines climbed the central tower. What was once the proud entrance to the property, now festering with patches of ghost grass.

Empty windows and door-less frame emitted no light, reminding Marwyn of the dawn-crowned woman's black eyes with no pupils. At the entrance collared servants waited, dressed in rags. They bowed deeply and respectfully stepped aside, keeping a wary eye on everyone from where none could see.

Quaithe bid them inside, entering the Great Hall of her home. Long tables and benches lined the sides of this high-ceilinged chamber, leaving a wide central walkway to approach the raised table at the far end. As she walked Quaithe made some effort to create a feeling of relaxation and cosy comfort, and with a flick of her wrist the torches on the walls and the brazier placed in the corners flared to life. Another saw a fire began crackling steadily in the fireplace.

A hall this size would usually have been used for great gatherings or times of celebration, the whistling chill turned Harry's thoughts to catacombs or mausoleums rather than a home. A faded patch of colour turned them darker still, to acts of cruelty, dark rituals, and intimate betrayals. Though, it had no scent and was greatly faded, one couldn't mistake the presence of blood spilled in a spirit of malice. Harry felt there was a darkness in this place not mitigated by the feeble torchlight, an icy air that couldn't be diminished by simple warmth.

"Prepare a meal for our guests!" Quaithe commanded with a wave of her hand. They spoke the Old Tongue – in truth it was rather the Ancient Tongue judging by the usage of words – and therefore must hold Guest Right in some esteem. Something not practised in Essos, least of all Asshai. Only Pentos had a care for it due to its history with and proximity to Andalos. On the other hand their guests also spoke Asshai'i perfectly.

Hermione intervened, scowling. "No need, thank you." she wrinkled her nose in displeasure, as always unwilling to accept things made with slave labour. The words nearly made Quaithe and Marwyn stumble at the refusal, the implications grave. "We shall make our own food." Harry nodded in support of it, mostly so they wouldn't be poisoned.

"Just point me to the kitchen...uh." the wizard told Quaithe with a strained smile.

"Quaithe." she answered promptly, having forgotten to introduce herself from all the excitement and motioning a sweating servant to show him. Equally glad that Guest Right hadn't been rejected, just accepted in a different manner.

Harry nodded, but before he left he turned to his wife. "Do you want to wake Delphini up now?" the necromancer asked, grasping the mokeskin pouch around his neck and pulling the shrunken trunk out. He promptly summoned the appropriate potion out of the correct compartment, whereupon it grew to its original size. The casual act drew a gasp of wonder from Marwyn and even a small one from Quaithe.

Hermione accepted the vial from him, shooing him away to the kitchen with a smile. Before Harry went he kissed Hermione and gave Delphini one on the head. "Make her favourites, won't you? She will be ravenous after so long." she told him, upon which her husband nodded with a smile. That done, the witch laid Delphini carefully down on a nearby bench.

"Wake her up?" Marwyn asked in disbelief, his eyes greedy and ready to drink in the magic on display. He looked and still the girl's breast did not rise or fall with the breath of life. Everything that had earned him his silver links told him the girl was dead. "Forgive my ignorance, but she looks..." he hesitated here, not knowing her temperament and unsure what would offend her.

"Dead?" She finished for him, a chuckle escaping her as she opened the stopper. "Yes, but not for long." the witch said, swirling the Wiggenweld potion, the vivid emerald green liquid sloshing about. Without further ado she opened her daughter's mouth and poured a perfect mouthful inside. The potion didn't need to be swallowed, – not that such was possible or recommended while asleep – only contact was required whereupon it was absorbed by the membranes. Then they only had to wait. Hermione picked Delphini up in her lap, face lying on her bosom, and said. "So, I have some questions for you." of course she'd deign what exactly to answer and what not.

"I as well." Marwyn replied, trying to sit still and not let any discomfort show. The rather dangerous experiences from before still so sharp and real in his mind he could cut himself on them. Especially because a part of his mind was still telling him to run away from her, calling her an imposter and inhuman.

"Question for question then?" Hermione offered, balancing the child against her chest and keeping her steady. Upon Marwyn's agreement – Quaithe didn't have any questions apparently – she began. "Why did all those people attack us? We did nothing to them, real or imagined."

The cloaked figure answered. "It is not any conscious act on your part that drove them to do what they did, but what they think you can do for them." she explained patiently. "You awakened magic from its centuries of torpor. That created ripples in the world, alerting anyone with a modicum of power. And so they shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For you are magic made flesh, and magic is power."

The further Quaithe talked the more Hermione frowned, right up until a scowl was etched onto her face. "I see." the witch was silent for a while, pondering that revelation.

"Indeed, magic was seen as dead and gone from the world by the majority of people." Marwyn explained enthusiastically, laughing a little hysterically while trying to remain calm. A difficult proposition to do when sitting opposite of such an unnerving being. Instead he tried imagining what his colleagues would say now to cheer himself up. "Did you really come from Stygai?" he asked.

"Yes." an easy question to answer, and not something she wanted to elaborate on. "Magic dead?" she snorted at the ridiculous thought alone. "That's like saying the air died, it permeates everything. Everyone has magic to one degree or another, but not everyone as access to it." Hermione tilted her head in thought. "I guess for a laymen the difference between magic being dead and asleep isn't that easy to discern." similar to how the Maester had thought Delphini to be dead.

She shook her head then, to get back on track, unblinking abyssal eyes still trained on the two in frightening intensity. "Right, my next question. Is this..." Hermione briefly searched for the right word. "Spellmute why magic is weaker right now, more limited?"

It caused both natives to startle, Marwyn turned paler and choked out a feeble. "Weaker?" there was disbelief and wonder in his tone. He knew she hadn't lied with that, for the indicators weren't there. Nor did she really have any reason to lie. It was a humbling thing to contemplate. They had accomplished a feat of such arcane magnitude unseen for possibly millennia, and found that a weak display.

"How to explain?" Hermione pondered. "What my husband did is still impressive." she acknowledged easily, lips tugging upwards at the mention of the man. Very few could accomplish that, even back home. After all, he did banish a 100 Dementors in his third year of schooling at Hogwarts. While this was done by using the leftover energy of ghosts to increase the power to cover the city and not just a small lake. "However, some type of spells simply don't work right now. Changing a things very nature or adding properties not there before. Making things weightless, harder or even changing stone to wood, for example."

"I've never heard of magic in any tale or myth able to accomplish such things." Marwyn spoke, leaning forward in interest. Wonder now evident in his voice, thinking about the things lost after the Long Night had destroyed the Great Empire of the Dawn. Much like nearly all sorcerous knowledge was lost from Valyria during the Doom.

The witch only grew more disappointed, the realisation settling in that this was the normal state of affairs here after all. "So, it's most likely staying that way then, disappointing." She sighed in dismay. Magic here was like a primordial forest, untouched with mayhap some dirt roads established inside it. Hungry, dangerous and sleeping. Whereas back home it had been ordered by ritual and habit.

Quaithe was more sceptical, despite still showing appropriate respect. "Well, legends tell of miracles and wonders done by men before the Long Night caused by the Blood Betrayal. It is said the gods punished the wickedness of man for that act of kinslaying." there was real distaste in her voice as she described the terrible act of kinslaying. That history was also one of the reasons why kinslaying was sharply persecuted by many older societies. First Men culture and Yi-tish culture chief amongst them, while the younger cultures' – like Ghiscari, Valyrian, Qaathi and even the Rhoynar – reactions ranged from frowning on it to outright permitting it. Quaithe followed it by a question of her own. "How didn't you notice the waning of magic?"

Hermione really did not want to answer that question, mostly due to refusing to reveal their true origins. It would bring all kinds of problems with itself right now, to reveal they came from a different world. Best case scenario would be disbelief and ridicule. Luckily, the past connection through the Veil of Death made it so that they could speak two local languages, to a degree. Plus the Classical Valyrian they absorbed from the Lich. Not something complete outsiders would be able to do.

She decided to go with a different kind of truth. "We were otherwise occupied." Hermione began, spinning a tale by weaving truth and lies together. "After the... conflict was won we finally had time to look for a cure for my condition, which took most of our time and attention." she looked at the slowly stirring Delphini, her breathing strengthening and returning to a normal rhythm. "Also why our daughter was kept essentially frozen in time."

"Condition, that is...?"

"Not something I'd share with strangers." came the terse reply, giving a brief warning glare. "Let's just say death would've been kinder. Fortunately my husband was apprentice to the most accomplished and powerful alchemist of our age, and able to restore my humanity." she smiled fondly at the memory, showcasing her rather sharp and shimmering and inhuman teeth, and casting some doubt on her claim. Harry staying when everyone was leaving, including her parents, was one of the pivotal moments that made her realise she loved him.

Now for the most important question, Hermione thought. "What do you want?"

"For you to show me the way." Marwyn replied eagerly, almost begging. "I have searched far and wide for a suitable teacher in the arcane arts." he stood up and bowed deeply, near a prayer. "Please, I humbly request for your husband or you to instruct me, my Lady."

Hermione looked at him a little perplexed, blinking. "You're able to use magic?" she brought out, evidently quite surprised. He didn't have that much magic inside him, barely a flicker to her senses. The hooded woman was better, but on the level of a Squib. Upon his devastated look she tried to salvage the situation. "I'm sorry, that was quite rude of me." she apologised. "It's just that we're used for instruction to start at an age quite a bit younger than you are, around puberty."

"Puberty?" Quaithe and Marwyn asked at the same time, never having heard the strange term.

"You know, the stage of development when a boy or girl begin to grow into man and woman." she explained patiently, making both nod in understanding. Hermione grew thoughtful, pondering about a possible proposal. "Well we'd first have to get our bearings before deciding on such a thing." she mused. "However, we do need a guide on our way to Westeros."

"You're planning on going to Westeros, why?" now it was the Maester's turn to be surprised. "Wouldn't staying in Essos be easier for you?" magic was more accepted here. He left unsaid that with the abundance of slaves here there was no shortage of people to sacrifice for power either.

"Of course we'd go there. Besides having some leftover tasks to finish there," namely returning Brightroar and Tommen's ashes. "it seems the only place where slavery isn't spread like the disease it is." Hermione passionately exclaimed, though her body remained quite still. Her black eyes narrowed down at them dangerously. "If we were to stay here, we would have to eradicate that vile institution from these lands to feel content." not something easy or done on a whim.

Quaithe intervened, cutting off any more words from him. "What Marwyn means to say is that powerful sorcery usually requires sacrifice. Humans more often than not; something that slavery enables easily." Marwyn looked to the shadow-binder in alarm, nervously flickering his eyes to Hermione and back and looking ready to bolt. Painfully remembering what happened when he just looked into her eyes.

"No, I..." Marwyn tried to assure, shooting Quaithe a betrayed look while trying and failing to articulate what he wanted to say.

"What?!" came the outraged growl. In her fury the air seemed to bend, objects around the room bowed to her as the weight of the world increased under her gaze, heavy with judgement. Danger began with a ringing in their ears, making them experience slight discomfort. "We've never sacrificed anything or anyone but ourselves!" Hermione insisted strongly.

"Is that why there were so many ghosts in this place?" she demanded, causing confusion and not giving them a real chance to reply. The newly-dubbed Peverells had simply assumed it to be the case due to many magicals living in the place, similar to Hogwarts. Now that thought took a darker turn. The talk of sacrifice reminded her of the book she read, and how some entities preferred one type to another; such as innocent children.

She rapidly worked herself deeper into fury, enraged by the implications and only somewhat held back by the little girl in her lap. Nonetheless she was already jumping to conclusions, as was her usual wont where anything she viewed as a moral failure was concerned. Her left kept Delphini close while she held out her right hand, clenched it into a fist and drew it back; an action that yanked a surprised Marwyn from his seat to float immobile in front of her. "If you think we'll teach slavers anything then you're very much mistaken!" she growled out fiercely, clenching her fist tighter and making Marwyn gasp as the pressure and her hold of his body increased.

"Do you want to kill our child, is that it?!" she screamed. Her voice grew in anger, whose echo became an indistinct roar and then a demonic screech that transformed discomfort into painful headaches, making both mages and the leftover servants flinch. "In fact I should punish you for that! To think I would kill innocents for some paltry gain of power, much less let you do so with my daughter!"

In a show of sorcerous power and proficiency in Prestidigitation she held him imprisoned with concentration and willpower alone. Only increased once Hermione's sharp nail trailed across the side of Marwyn's face with a gentle slowness. Immediately the skin parted, epidermis, dermis and hypodermis followed by fat and muscle. Layer by layer it opened for her like a blooming flower, right down to the bone. All while the putrid blood in his veins sang for joy at being called by Hermione. Blood Magic answering her call with the same fervour as Geomancy. Or Necromancy, Conjuration and now even Pyromancy did for Harry.

In the back of her mind Hermione remembered about the Rules of Sacred Hospitality, – or Guest Right as it was known here – but another immediately supplied that it hadn't even been invoked or rejected yet and so she wasn't bound by it. The echo of her husband's heartbeat, a pleasure she still felt overlapping with her own if she concentrated, reminded her she knew with certainty that Harry would disapprove of killing the man.

"Please..." the Maester choked out in pain and desperation, terrified brown eyes shot open wide. He would've quivered if he were currently capable of such right now.

The conversation died abruptly as Delphini began to fully wake up, twitching suddenly and alerting Hermione to her rising wakefulness. With her finger going back the way it came, using the paltry power of his own blood, the witch healed him and only leaving a small scab behind. Followed by retracting her hand sharply and suddenly as if burned. It also caused Marwyn to crash unceremoniously onto the floor, the man falling down in a heap as his remaining breath was knocked out of him.

The witch gave him a complicated looking sneer from above, saying. "Be glad your blood is such a disgusting thing!" once the words that were not her own came out an expression of shame was stamped on her features, remembering other people comparing her own blood to mud. It didn't matter to her that before her restoration she would've done more harm to him than now. What mattered was that she still was occasionally plagued by a vampiric echo, clinging to her being like a bad rash. Instead of confronting it further Hermione focussed on her daughter, unwilling to let Delphini see her like that, or have the girl wake up in a strange environment without a familiar face.

Delphini's red eyes blinked rapidly while the little girl sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and giving a big yawn. "Mum?"

"Yes, sweetie." Hermione said, the smile never leaving her face. "I'm right here." she cooed, stroking the girl's soft hair and face. The rather abrupt change of emotion a rather disconcerting display for the observers.

Delphini looked up, growing more animated as the fog on her mind receded. "Did it work?" excitement in her young voice, squirming in her mother's hold as she tried to look around. "Did I wake up in another world?!"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking." came the voice of Harry, causing Delphini to whip around and look at him. The man had entered the room shortly before, attracted by his wife's anger and clearly here to check on their well-being. Behind him came hesitant servants carrying trays laden full of food.

His words caused the girl to whoop in joy, squirming out of her mother's hold. Driving knobby elbows and knees into sensitive places one moment and the next running towards the man, screaming. "Dad!" in an instant she was jumping towards him with a grin, trusting him absolutely to not let her fall.

Harry did not disappoint, expertly catching her safely in his arms. He laughed with her as he twirled once to disperse momentum. "You must be hungry, so I made your favourites."

"Yay!" she grinned with her hands thrown up, followed by snuggling into him and trying to burrow herself deep. Once she was satisfied Delphini asked excitedly. "Can we go to the beach afterwards? Or to the market..." what followed was a deluge of requests for mostly rather mundane things.

The wizard smiled softly, cursing in the back of his mind all the people who had prevented a normal childhood for Delphini. Only rarely able to indulge her with things like going to Diagon Alley, lest they be attacked. "Of course, we'll do all of it." he said.

"Really, you promise?" red eyes bright in joy and anticipation.

"I promise we do all that and more." he replied solemnly, kissing her crown. "And I always keep my word, don't I?"

"Uh huh." the little girl answered with as severe a nod as a child her age could manage. From experience she knew he didn't promise things lightly, but always kept them. He had explained multiple times that good witches and wizards kept their promises without giving them away freely, so it didn't lose value. Though, out of all people she was able to cajole the most promises out of him, according to her mother anyway.

As the table was set with unfamiliar dishes Delphini rushed ahead to the table while Harry approached his wife, reaching out to intertwine his fingers with hers. She retracted her hand swiftly while averting her eyes, aware he knew of her shame. Instead of being discouraged he tried again, this time succeeding and softly gripping her chin with his other at the same time, turning her head to face him. His mismatched ones never leaving her own black ones.

"I know." he told her, answering words unvoiced with a voice carrying heaviness that belied his outward age. Not for the first time Quaithe and Marwyn saw that, however young he may appear, this was a man cloaked in a weariness that sleep wouldn't cure. Then, as sudden as it appeared it was gone, replaced by a crooked smile full of tenderness. "And I love you still. Now and forever."

Lady Peverell seemed to choke up on that, tears welling up from her depthless eyes, and squeezing his hand as tightly as she dared with a trembling smile forming on her perfect lips. No more words were spoken, but a moment passed between them that culminated in a kiss of such tenderness that others felt the need to avert their gazes. Though, Marwyn was still busy picking himself up from the floor.

"Mum, dad, come one! I'm hungry!" Delphini urged in a half-groan, making a face at the display of affection.

It only served to make them laugh freely, relieving the invisible tension in the air. "As you wish." the wizard said with a grin, sitting down and squishing Delphini between himself and Hermione on the bench.

The meal was simple and rich for them, but for Asshai – which mostly subsisted of preserved foodstuff – a king's feast was spread out on the table. It was composed of three dishes. First amongst them was something they called a tomato soup; a bright orange liquid that was very creamy, almost like velvet on the tongue. It was served with bits of bread browned in butter.

Second, and most intriguingly, came the main course. It was a savoury pie containing a mix of onions, carrots, peas and herbs that were swimming in a flavourful gravy. Alongside the vegetables was meat and organ-meat – liver and kidney, if Marwyn wasn't mistaken – none of the natives had seen or tasted before, a marbling and texture that was completely unfamiliar. All of it encrusted in flaky crust; simply called a Steak and Kidney Pie.

Last came a pastry that was crisp and flaked apart under their bite instead of crumbling, while the filling was delightfully sticky and gooey. It was rich, buttery, and intensely sweet with a deep earthy note at the end. The addition of some vanilla ice cream provided a colder taste that cut through the heavy sugar but complimented the hot dish as it melted atop. The delight was called Treacle Tart. Something father and daughter were equally delighted at, while Lady Peverell seemed intent to abstain.

To the outsiders those dishes were ordinary, but to the natives only about half of the ingredients were known. Tomatoes, caramel, vanilla or ice cream in particular something none had seen before. Nor the manner in which they were prepared.

The moment the first bite went past their lips something shifted in the air. "That tingles." Delphini giggled in delight, only to be a bit confused and disappointed that it only occurred once.

The older Peverells noticed that it was not a spell or something crafted by mortal hands, but far older. It was reminiscent of a vow taking hold or when a Life-debt settled on ones shoulders, but feeling less... permanent. An act that carried a magic and weight all its own, born of belief and ritual repeated countless times, embedded so deep the world consented to notice.

"Don't you want some?" Delphini asked Quaithe in-between bites of savoury pie, mouth stained with gravy as she observed the cloaked woman innocently. She hadn't touched her food, plate as empty as at the start. "It's really good. Dad is the best cook in the whole world." she said making a big circle with her arms for emphasis, licking her lips, legs kicking back and forth under the table.

"Delphini, don't make such a mess of yourself!" Hermione admonished, gripping the struggling girl's chin and cleaning her mouth with a napkin. At least she didn't eat with her mouth full.

The red-eyed child tried to squirm away, looking out of the corner of her eyes for help from her father, but she got nothing there beyond a reproachful look. "Can I have her portion if she doesn't want it?" was asked with all the tact of the child she was.

Quaithe's laughter came from behind her mask, a sound as clear and pleasant as tinkling silver bells. "Well, with such an endorsement it would be rude of me to refuse." It'd also serve to calm her nerves, but she just hadn't managed to get her eyes off the child, who was more powerful in sorcery as herself even. Someone who had practised it for more than a century.

Without further ado she pulled her hood back first, showcasing an elaborate braid of silvery-gold hair wrapping around her head. With a gesture and the removal of a few needles it loosened, turning into a waterfall of thick and curly hair that cascaded down to her lower back. Then her red-lacquered mask was removed, revealing a heart-shaped face carrying aristocratic features reminiscent of the Black family. Her eyes were a mismatch like Harry's own; one bright green and the other dark blue. She possessed a pale and clear-skinned face, along a set of luscious lips made for pouting and smiling. Despite the obvious beauty she seemed more at home in sensuality than sexuality, easy elegance and dignity were in her posture and gestures. Yet clearly beautiful, – some might say inhumanly so – though not quite beyond compare like Hermione.

She took a slice of the pie and bit into it, eyes widening at the unfamiliar but excellent flavour, a dance of smoke and fire. The meat was practically melting in her mouth like butter. Which was saying much, considering she had feasted with kings. "What meat is this?"

"It's dragon, dummy!" Delphini proclaimed happily, knowing the taste by heart. Also making Marwyn choke on his portion before staring at it in wonder, the implications hitting him rather hard. "My favourite!" She added innocently, compounding the issue before returning to her meal. No backward glance was given to confirm a lie swallowed.

Quaithe took it rather well, but the slight tremor in her hand holding the utensil betrayed her. "I see, and how did you come across it?"

"The beast decided to attack us on our way here." Hermione informed them primly, after cleaning her own mouth. "So we took care of it."

Harry nodded, an easy smile on his face. "At least we got quite a bit of meat, blood and other potion ingredients out of it." he commented absent-mindedly. "Though, the heart was a rather disgusting meal."

None noticed but Quaithe grew still at the mention of a dragon's heart, and what it had been likely used for.

"Potion ingredients?" Marwyn choked out, not knowing anymore what to feel and settling for numbness.

"Yeah, what else would dragons be good for?" Harry added with slight confusion. "Aside from rampaging across the land and burning stuff down, of course."

Neither of the natives dignified that with a reply.