Three's a Charm

He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, wondering if this pain came anywhere near what she must have felt upon hearing her hurtful Mark spoken out loud. When he turns back to her, her eyes are a bit wide, over the hand she had pressed to her mouth. Clearly, she hadn't meant to say that. But they were the words that made up his vivid green Mark nevertheless. His hand moves on its own, up to trace the Mark on his neck again.

Despite years of mastering his emotions, the breath he drags in rattles audibly with emotion, but he pushes on, and even without a conscious choice to do so his voice turns more gentle than even he's heard it sound in years, "I'm not a nice man, Calanthe. I'm not even a good man." The gesture he tosses towards his gear is sharper than he intends, "I'm not going to lie or beat around it. I'm an assassin, Calanthe. I work for a crime syndicate. Have since I was twelve. I've been killing people for five years for no other reason than because the people who employ me pointed me at them, or because they got in my way."

He pauses to take in her expression. She… only seems vaguely surprised. Smart girl. Must have realized that someone found the way she'd found him so severely injured, fully decked out in his gear, was definitely not doing legal work. From the fact that she was a little surprised though, she probably hadn't made the leap to assassin.

Still, she deserves the full truth, "You're young. Innocent. You shouldn't be around someone like me. You don't deserve to be dragged down a path of intermingling with the underworld of society just because life gave you frankly awful luck as far as one of your soulmates goes. Our other soulmate, Misaki? She's a cop and a far more suitable soulmate." A bitter laugh claws its way up his throat, and though he usually isn't one for cursing, one slips out anyway though thankfully, given the age of his conversion partner, it's a fairly mild one, "Hell. According to my Mark, the first thing she's ever going to say to me will pertain to her attempting to arrest me."

A few beats of silence pass as they stare at each other. Him in hopefully hidden desperation that she'll do the smart thing and walk away. Her contemplating him with vague traces of tired hurt in her eyes, her voice is soft when she finally speaks, no longer bothering with the notebook and forced silence now that she's made her Mark on him, "I would think an assassin of all people would know that the world isn't so black and white. Rare is the pure saint who has never knowingly harmed. Equally scarce is the devil who's never inflicted even a small measure of good onto the world. The world is full of supposedly good men who are anything but."

He stares at her in surprise for a moment, "You're… surprisingly wise for your age." Then he shakes himself, "But as true as that is, it isn't quite the same and you know it."

She raises an eyebrow, "Is it? My parents were murdered when I was fifteen months old at the tailend of the so-called 'Civil War' the magical community found itself in, but was realistically just an insurrection by a terrorist group that believed in pureblood wizard supremacy over literally the rest of the world. Afterwards, my godfather was accused and imprisoned for being the right hand man to the terrorist leader, betraying my parents and my location to him resulting in their aforementioned murder, and after being tracked down by a mutual friend of his and my parents, brutally murdering said friend and thirteen innocent bystanders with an overpowered explosive spell, as well as breaking and endangering the at the time still relevant Statute of Secrecy during the incident in question. He's considered so horrendous by the average British witch or wizard, that most treat his name like a curse. He was allegedly given a life sentence in the wizarding prison that most consider to be literal hell on earth and many various rights activist groups have vehemently protested and lobbied to change for being inhumane."

His brow furrows in confusion, wondering where she could possibly be going with this. He isn't left to wonder for long before she takes a deep breath and continues, "However. While I could spend quite a while going over the evidence Brightblade and I have gathered in the matter, that would take a while so I'll summarize. My godfather is innocent of all the crimes he's in prison for. We outright know that he was never given a trial and was instead simply shipped off to the previously mentioned hell on earth without so much as being questioned."

Her eyes narrow, "One of the men responsible for it then proceed, for reasons unknown, to seal my parents' wills, illegally gain magical guardianship of me, dump me on my abusive aunt and uncle's doorstep despite the fact my parents' wills stated that I was to go to an orphanage before being left there, a fact that man knew since sealing a document requires reviewing it first, and then he never bothered to check on my well-being like an actual guardian should. He left me in the middle of the night in November, with nothing more than my basket and baby blanket to shelter me, and nothing but a note to my aunt to explain her sister's death and how she was consequently my guardian, and has since repeatedly attempted to completely control my life without actually ever laying eyes on me since he dropped me on my aunt's doorstep like unwanted garbage."

Her gaze turns angry, though not at him as far as he can tell, "The methods with which he's attempted to control my life include, but certainly aren't limited to: trying to illegally set up a marriage contract for me, trying to illegally access and exert control over the inheritance my parents left me, blocking any and all attempts made by Brightblade to have an investigation into my abusive home life launched and me removed from my aunt's tender care, and blocking any attempts made by Brightblade and I to at least get Sirius, my godfather, a fair trial if we can't outright right the wrongs done to him. Most people who knew him have said, when pressed with the 'hypothetical' scenario of his innocence, that before everything went down and opinions shifted, it was well known that he and my dad were practically brothers, and as such while he absolutely might've lost the plot and flown into a murderous rage at his and my mums deaths, the Sirius they 'thought' they knew, before he 'showed his true colors', while reckless, would never have been so reckless as to end up killing thirteen other people as collateral."

He's stunned by the information she's just dropped on him, but she pushes on even further, "I'll repeat that Brightblade and I don't know why he's so bloody interested in me and controlling my life, but we do know who he is. Albus bloody Dumbledore is one of the most respected men in European magical society. He's practically seen as a bloody unquestionable saint. He holds the highest position on the Wizengamot, which is essentially the highest court of law and parliament in magical Britain, one of most respected positions in the international confederation of wizards, oh and he's also the bloody headmaster of the best wizarding school in Europe that I'm not only expected to attend like the vast majority of magical children in the UK when I turn eleven, but my parents already signed me up and payed for all seven years of my tuition within a week of my birth."

She eyes him, "So yeah. I know damn well that the world isn't black and white. I know damn well that not all saints are good men, nor are all devils bad men. And I sure as fuck know that good and bad are subjective."

Then she sighs, "Philosophy aside, I'm tired, Hei. I'm tired of people trying to dictate my life, and I'm tired of contemplating right from wrong and good from bad. And I've done an awful lot of that in the months since Brightblade contacted me and I learned all this bullshit surrounding my life. Besides, frankly, some people actually deserve to die, and if you work for a crime syndicate then I imagine that most of the people you've killed, even if they didn't outright deserve it, they weren't likely to be very good people anyway. And maybe that isn't an excuse to kill them, but I really don't fucking care. You can call me naive if you want, but I'd like to think the world is at bare minimum kind enough that I can trust my soulmates, because if I can't even trust people that are supposed to be a perfect match for my soul, then who can I? What sort of shitty world does that make this?"

She takes a deep breath, "After you're healed, because there's no way in hell I'm letting you go anywhere until then, if you still want to leave," Her voice cracks on the word, but she doesn't even pause, "then I won't stop you." Then she glares at him angrily, "But don't think for a fucking second that you're doing me a favor by making my choices for me."

He stares at her in stunned silence for a few moments, then cracks a faint smile, "Ferocious Xiǎolóng, aren't you?"

The surprise knocks the fierceness right out of her, "Xiǎolóng?"

Her attempt to pronounce it had been careful, but her tongue trips over the unfamiliar word anyway. It's obvious she knows it too, from the way she frowns immediately after. His smile widens a little, "Xiǎolóng. It's Chinese for 'Little Dragon'. You're a fierce little thing when you're mad."

She blushes and glances away, "O-oh. Yeah, I guess." Her eyes narrow, "I'm just tired of bullshit." Then she glances at him, "I apologize for taking it out on you."

He hums, "Yeah. I got that impression. You didn't really 'take it out on me' though, and even if you had, in fairness you've had far more bullshit heaped on you than anyone your age should. You seem to be handling it fairly well." Then he grins at her, "Or you were until I started acting like an ass."

The smile she gives him is faint and unsure, but it's genuine. Which, given what she'd said about abusive relatives, that he may need to look up so the Reaper can pay those pieces of shit a visit, she probably wasn't used to being able to trust other people with her smile.

He chuckles. This time, the quiet that makes its home between them is much more peaceful and companionable. Though that doesn't stop his thoughts from mulling over the heavy matter of the information Calanthe had dumped on him during her rant. Perhaps it was no mistake or coincidence that she'd been given both an assassin and a cop for her soulmates. It certainly sounded like there were a few people in her life that needed to be acquainted with the business side of one of them. And that guy she was talking about, the one that keeps pulling all sorts of strings in the government … it definitely sounded like he needed to receive a personal visit from the Reaper.

Both his thoughts and the quiet are intruded on by the loud growling of his stomach. To his surprise, Calanthe frowns, he gives her a confused look, "What's wrong? If I've been unconscious for sixteen hours, then it's been nineteen since I ate. It isn't strange that my stomach would growl."

She shakes her head, "It is weird actually. While it's been a while since you ate, even if your intaking it via IV, the nutrient potion is a potion. Just because it seems like it shouldn't help your empty stomach doesn't mean it doesn't. You shouldn't be hungry at all."

He blinks, "Oh. Well. I've always had a large appetite, being as highly active as I am because of my job, but ever since I got my contracter power my appetite has ballooned to ridiculous proportions."

He's unsettled when her expression, rather than shifting to understanding as he'd expected, turns to outright alarm as she quickly straightens from her slouched position, "Are you feeling light headed? Faint? Particularly thirsty? Overheating?"

He pulls his head back in surprise at her sudden intensity, "Uh. No? On all accounts. Well, actually I'm a little thirsty, but not much. Why?"

She relaxes, then gestures towards the bedside table, "The reason I gave you both a nutrient potion and an IV of it was to keep up with your body's needs, especially since I didn't know how long you would be unconscious. Given how fit you are, I gave you the potion dose for an active man of roughly your height and weight so as to feed the energy requirements of the influx of potions I was putting in your system, then gave you an IV to keep up with how much energy your body and the potions would be burning through. Between the two, you should be getting more than double what an active man of your height and weight should need." She frowns, "I didn't know your contractor power increased those energy, and presumably hydration requirements, so I didn't account for it when I was figuring your doses."

He nods in understanding, and she sighs before continuing, "If you're hungry and thirsty, then those requirements, which I'll remind you have been increased by the potions working to heal you, are not being met. Luckily, if you aren't suffering any of the symptoms I was asking you about, they're probably just barely not being met, since those symptoms are the first signs of starvation and dehydration."

She stands up and flashes him another hesitant smile, "I'll go get you some food and something to drink. I have some tea or butterbeer if you'd prefer that to water." Then she frowns vaguely, "I also have some pumpkin juice, a staple in British wizarding society, but I've personally always found it to taste too sugary."

He frowns, "Butterbeer? Why do you have alcohol? And that isn't very good for someone who is dehydrated anyway."

She laughs quietly, "It's another staple for British wizards. And while it does have very trace amounts of alcohol, the content in it is so low that it's literally impossible for a human of any age to get even the slightest buzz from it. The Ogden's firewhiskey company literally designed it to have something that could be safely given to children of any age so that they could have something on the market for them. It's rather good, and since in most wizarding establishments you really only have a choice between water, tea, butterbeer, pumpkin juice, or fully alcoholic beverages, it's pretty popular."

He tilts his head, "Ah. I see." Then he shakes his head, "I generally prefer water or tea though, so I'll just take water."

She shrugs, "Suit yourself. I'll be back."

Before she can make it out the door, he calls out to her, "Make sure you get something for yourself as well." She turns to him in confusion and he huffs an amused noise, "I don't know when the last time you ate was, but given you were sound asleep in that chair when I woke up, and were tending to my injures before that, I'm inclined to think it was more that sixteen hours ago. Everyone needs food, but particularly a growing child."

The way she blushes and looks sheepish tells him that he's right on the money. She turns away again, vaguely waving her hand in a half dismissive half agreeing gesture.

Then she's gone, leaving the door cracked behind her, and he's left to his thoughts.

To his knowledge, he's never had a wizard as a target. He's going to need to do research on the magical world before he actually considers paying a visit to the trash. Because Hei may like to pretend he doesn't care about anything but getting the job done, and there are quite a few things he genuinely doesn't care about when a normal person would. But for all that he doesn't really know his little soulmate, he already cares. A lot. One way or another, whether he had to pay him a visit or track down their other mate and get some help doing it legally, that man was not going to get away with what he'd done to Hei's Xiǎolóng. And she was his. He isn't a pedophile, and the bond may prevent him from developing any romantic or sexual inclinations towards her anyway, but it wouldn't prevent him from loving her platonically. They'd still need to get to know each other, and he couldn't say he already loved her, but he knew himself well enough to know that his heart was already well on its way to laying its claim.

He's startled from his thoughts when voices drift back to him from the door. They're quiet, but he can tell one is Calanthe, the other two are unfamiliar, one female, one male. It's alarming, quite frankly. It sounds like it's just the next room over, but it's been a hell of a long time since anyone managed to get that close before he heard them.

He tilts his head, straining his hearing and just barely picking up on Calanthe speaking, "-fine as far as I can tell. He's hungry though, which means the nutrient potion isn't enough."

The unknown female voice responds, "That's strange. Didn't you give him double what he should need?"

Then it's Calanthe again, "Yes, but apparently he's incredibly active, so his body is used to having more from the get go."

The woman hums, then the man speaks up, "Tougher than enchanted goblin silver if he's already awake and trying to get up though."

The woman huffs, "Or foolishly stubborn."

Calanthe lets out a sort of neutral hum, then louder, "Ah-ha!" Followed by the faint thumps of wood on wood before she continues, "I should get this back to him. We'll talk later."

The man hums, but the woman calls out a little louder, "Call Remus. It's been more than sixteen hours. He's undoubtedly worried."

There isn't a verbal response so he's surprised when the cracked door is pushed open and she walks in with a tray balanced on each hand. He narrows his eyes faintly as she nudges the door closed with her hip and turns to him, "Who were you talking to?"

She pauses, clearly startled, then looks away, vaguely awkward, "....Do you know what a magical portrait is?"

"No."

She shrugs, "A magical portrait is magically bound to the person it's in the image of. It gets an imprint of them as well as copies of their memories right up until the moment they die. Then it 'wakes up' so to speak. Since they were in a civil war and were active targets, my parents had one made. It's… It's out in the living room. They saw me bring you in, and I told them you're one of my soulmates, so…"

Well. Now he feels like garbage for being suspicious. He clears his throat awkwardly, then gestures at her, "That was fast."

She shakes herself carefully, then grins lightly, apparently more than happy to take the subject change, "Not really. The cabinets are enchanted to stay clean and keep food fresh at an appropriate temperature. They're also magically connected to a food place that sells both pre-made meals and raw ingredients, so while I do have the stuff to actually cook my own food, I have quite a bit of food completely prepared and cooked. Honestly, it took me longer to dig out my cutting boards to use as trays since you really shouldn't be moving much more than you already have for at least a few more hours. I didn't bring you a bunch of food since you have that double dose of nutrition potion in your system and while it apparently isn't keeping up with your body's temporarily increased needs, I don't know how far off it is. Figured it would just be easiest to get you more food if you're still hungry after eating that."

He nods, and silence settles again. He still feels horrible. And awkward. Which is probably why he breaks it again even though he's usually very comfortable with silence, "So, uh, who's Remus?"

She glances up at him in surprise, then looks down with a furrowed brow, "Remus is… a little complicated. He's- He was very good friends with my parents and apparently something of an uncle to me when I was a baby. I don't remember him though, and with everything being what it is, I'm still not entirely sure I can genuinely trust him, or if it's just a combination of our interests vaguely aligning and the confidentiality agreement in the contract he signed making him seem trustworthy. He sorta looks after me I guess, and he pretends to be my guardian a lot, which is sorta necessary, given that I'm technically a runaway."

"Oh."

He'd need to have a talk with this Remus. See where he stood. Though he supposed it explained why she was lonely even though she wasn't alone.

He knew well from personal experience that it didn't matter how many people you had around you, if you weren't sure you could trust any of them.

It makes his heart ache. He knew very well that life was cruel, but she was so young, and she didn't deserve any of it. He also isn't sure how he feels about the implication that she trusts him, just like that, no questions asked. He isn't planning on hurting her in any way, not if he can help it, but he's still the Reaper, soulmate or not.

After a couple bites, he turns to her again, "So, where are we anyway?"

She tilts her head at him, "How familiar are you with the magical world?"

He shrugs, "Not very to be honest."

She hums, "In the magical world, space expansion spells are incredibly common. Homes, backpacks, bags, purses, tents, if you can put stuff in it, there's probably been at least one person who decided to expand it. One common use of it is to pair it with environment spells as well as various spells to get running water and all the other amenities of a house and put them on a trunk for people who live on the move. My mother was a firm believer in preparing for any scenario she could think of, from the worst to the best, and hope it was the latter that came to pass. So in the off chance that she and my dad died and I somehow ended up with my aunt, who she knew thinks magic is freakish and unnatural, and hates anything she thinks isn't normal, magic and anyone with it included, and therefore knew would hate me, she made a trunk that's essentially a house. On top of having regular amenities, food is delivered via magic to the cupboards as I said earlier, and the whole thing shrinks down to the size of a necklace. The feather-light charms make it weigh as much as one too. When I found you in the alley I just put the trunk down, expanded it and activated the notice-me-not charm(1), and brought you inside."

He tilts his head, "How on earth did you manage that? You couldn't have possibly lifted me, and I'm not even sure you could drag me."

He's thankful that unlike some children, she has the manners to finish the bite of food in her mouth before she answers, "Probably not, but I would like to remind you that I preemptively knew when I met you that you'd be in a bad condition." She gestures at the IV bags, "When I bought this stuff I also bought a cloth stretcher that has feather-light and levitation charms on it, so I really just had to bring it up to the alley and maneuver you onto it. Honestly, the hardest part was getting you on it."

He frowns faintly, "Wouldn't getting me on the bed have been difficult too?"

She shakes her head, "No, because I'm not dumb. I just moved the stretcher to the bed and pulled it out from under you after I'd treated you. Work smarter, not harder."

He laughs lightly at her quip. And a comfortable silence settles around them as they eat in peace for a few minutes before he lifts his head, "So. You explained who Remus is, as well as Dumbledore, but who's Brightblade?"

She hums, "In the British wizarding world, and a few other countries, banking is handled by the Goblins. Goblins have a fairly… complicated relationship with humans due to a long bloody history of repeated wars against wizards, but their low birth rates means that as a society they tend to treasure children to such an extent that they basically disregard species. One of my mom’s contingencies involved her showing him memories so he'd understand how terrible my aunt is and how much she hates magic and would therefore hate me and so asked him to do his utmost to see me removed from her care if I somehow ended up being sent to her and acting as a sort of unofficial guardian for me. So Brightblade is my account manager and unofficial guardian. He insists on in person check ups every now and then, but he mostly leaves keeping an eye on me on a day to day basis to Remus as an adult that while he trusts, can't legally have custody of me even if Dumbledore wasn't an issue for a really dumb reason that isn't my place to reveal."

He narrows his eyes, "The only reasons I can think of that people usually can't have kids is if they're mentally or emotionally unstable or a pedophile."

She drops her fork in surprise, which thankfully lands on her plate, then waves her hands frantically in denial, "No! He's not-" She looks conflicted for a minute, then sighs, "There's nothing wrong with Remus. But the wizarding world, or at least the British wizarding world I don't know how it is in other countries, is extremely prejudiced in a variety of ways and Remus is…" She sighs again and mutters a quiet apology to the man under her breath before continuing, "Remus is a werewolf. Even though he's mostly a normal wizard for most of the month and the Wolfsbane potion means he can keep his mind and control himself during the full moon, the British government has been steadily stripping away the rights to so-called 'Creatures' like werewolves for a couple decades. He hasn't done anything wrong, he's just legally not allowed to have custody of any child for no other reason than because some douche purposely bit and infected him when he was a kid." Then she releases yet another sigh, "That's why I said it's not really my place. Most people hate werewolves on principle, so most werewolves being one is a rather… private matter they tend to only reveal to people they trust."

He relaxes, "Oh. So the guy's whole life was ruined because some jerk took that Wolfsbane potion and bit him when he was a kid? Harsh."

She picks her fork up, then tilts it back and forth in a 'so-so' gesture, "Wolfsbane was only invented about a decade ago, but even without it there's no denying that it was on purpose. Most werewolves, if they can't get Wolfsbane which is unfortunately too expensive for most of them to afford, tend to lock themselves up during the full moon. Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who bit Remus, is a well known criminal who gives all werewolves a bad reputation just by association of being werewolves themselves. He's well known to revel in being a werewolf and having the MO of purposely transforming near children and taking advantage of the instinct werewolves have to simply infect children rather than try to kill them as they do adults. Usually he then kidnaps them and raises them to see things his way, but from my understanding Remus' father pissed him off somehow, so he purposely bit Remus then left him with his parents so they could see the prejudice he'd face and suffer as punishment."

He blinks rapidly in surprise, then shakes his head, "That's messed up. And still harsh."

She nods, "Yeah."

While the beats of silence between them have become somewhat companionable, it isn't totally silent as they eat as Hei takes the opportunity to try and fix his mistake earlier and begins getting to know his Xiǎolóng. Despite how awkward he usually feels around strangers, it makes for a surprisingly comfortable evening.

Broken only by her checking how he's healing a couple of times and his unfortunate introduction to how disgusting most potions tasted, since the potions would've used themselves up by that point, and since he no longer needs a blood replenisher, a concussion potion, or something for burns, she was able to adjust which ones he was being given, to give him a better wound sealer while still getting a good bone mender.

As the evening draws to a close, there is a brief argument towards the end at him not wanting to chase her from her bed and room and her refusing to let him stress his body and move to the couch.

Initially wary after his previous misstep in suggesting he leave her, it takes a while before he realizes she doesn't mind him pushing the argument as she'd minded earlier, even though she disagrees with him. Once he feels assured enough to be firm though, she quickly realizes she's not going to get her way with her sleeping on the couch and him on the bed.

Her compromise which consists of, gently, shoving him out of the middle of the queen size and taking the other half at first startles him and twinges his assassin paranoia, especially since his IV being on the other side means she puts herself between him and his gear, but he surprises himself at how quickly he manages to relax and fall asleep despite her presence.

The only thing more surprising was when he woke in the middle of the night to find the distance they'd set between them had disappeared and he'd protectively curled around the body snuggled into him, and the gentle fondness that washes over him when she responds to him pulling back in surprise by whining and shoving her face back into his neck where it had been tucked under his chin.

The next morning he's woken to the sounds of metallic crashes and bangs.

He sits up slowly, mindful of the pain he'd still been in the previous day and unsure of how much he'd healed over the night. To his surprise, other than a few echoes of sore muscles and pain and the tug from almost pulling the stitches too far, he feels great.

Given that pulling the wraps and pads away reveals that the wounds once held shut by the stitches and the burnt patches of skin that had been covered by the medical pads have healed, it's not too surprising.

A small grin tugs at his lips, something that was swiftly becoming more normal since Calanthe had found him despite years of carefully controlling his expression.

As gross as potions tasted, they were definitely worth it. To go from near death to almost totally healthy in about a day? He'd suffer the displeasing parts of magical healing gladly from here on out for the undeniable benefits.

When he turns to the left side table and the scissors that had been in the small kit containing the thread and needle that had initially stitched him up, he draws up short to find a cloth bundle with a note on top and a box in front of it.

The note is short and to the point in Calanthe's handwriting, 'If I'm not back when you get up, I ordered some clothes roughly your size from the magical tailor, they have enchantments to fit themselves properly to you when you put them on. Since they weren't magical in nature, your wounds should be mostly healed by now if they aren't completely gone already. Given your occupation, I'm sure you know the proper care you need to take of them if they aren't healed yet but want to bathe. There's a shower in the bathroom and towels inside as well as toiletries in the box, since I sincerely doubted you would want to use my lavender scented body wash and the like, though you are welcome to them if I'm mistaken and they're more your preference than what I bought for you.'

He snorts in amusement and a grin once more steals across his face. Honestly, he hadn't shown amusement, or anything really, so much in so long that between last night and this morning his face actually aches a little from how often his Xiǎolóng manages to draw grins from him.

His shower isn't as quick and perfunctory as his usually are, though whether that's simply because the hot water feels almost heavenly after the recent abuse his body went through combined with the knowledge that there won't be any Syndicate agents waiting for him that will judge him if he lingers too long or just some sort of side effect of Xiǎolóng's new presence in his life, he couldn't say, but regardless he lingers a little, taking his time and enjoying the soothing heat.

Nevertheless, when he's finished, the metallic noises still echo out. Leaving the bedroom, he glances around the hallway briefly before following the sounds through one of the three doors on the other side.

Inside, to his utter surprise, he finds his ferocious Xiǎolóng squaring off against some sort of wooden mannequin, each of them holding a sword, though the weapon is a little big for Calanthe's small size.

He almost uncharacteristically cries out in alarm when the mannequin, which somehow moves on its own presumably through some sort of magic, swings its blade and catches the small girl's arm. Rightfully, it should take her arm clean off, but some sort of barrier flares around the edge of the blade, and instead of cutting her, she just ends up getting a rather solid whack to the arm.

Though most adults would have cried out and probably dropped the sword she's clutching, too tightly the analytical part of his brain notes, she simply hisses as the blow, then somewhat clumsily tries to recover and retaliate.

She's not entirely a novice, he's swift to realize, but it's obvious it isn't a skill she's been working at for long, given the unsure footwork and the unpolished but not nonexistent skill with the blade she holds.

Now assured there's some sort of magic protecting her from serious harm he simply leans against the doorway and loosely crosses his arms over his chest as he settles in to watch, and maybe mentally critique a bit, as curiosity as to why courses through him.

He wonders if she'd be against him sparring with the mannequin. Though it's obviously taking it easy on her, and occasionally a voice will emanate from it with corrections, the mannequin seems to be imbued with quite a bit of skill, and he'd appreciate the chance to stretch his newly healed body.

It isn't too long before the mannequin abruptly stops after shoving Calanthe over, that voice once again floating out of it as it puts its sword back on one of the racks then makes its way back to the center of the mats in the sparring area, "Body strain reaching unhealthy levels. The lesson is over. Please remember to stretch and give your body rest."

Then it goes motionless.

Calanthe sighs in aggravation.

He decides now's as good a time as any to announce his presence, "I don't know why you're upset. You're young, you have to be even more careful not to strain your body than an adult, else it could have more negative consequences on your health, like stunting your growth."

She jolts in surprise at the first sound of his voice, twisting around to look at him, then flopping back down onto the mat with a scowl as he finishes, "I wouldn't mind if it was just that."

He pushes off the doorway and moves over to sit beside her, "Then what is it?"

She sighs again, "I mentioned my relatives briefly yesterday. They weren't just physically abusive, they also used to starve me. I've been taking the nutrient potions and doing all the exercise and following the goblin healers orders, but reversing that sort of deeply ingrained damage takes significantly longer than the mundane wounds you had. It wasn't all that long ago that I was cleared to actually start taking lessons," She gestures to the mannequin, then drops her hand, "but it's never very long before the monitors on that decide I need to stop so I don't push myself too hard." The she makes another noise of frustration, "I know this is more physically intensive overall, but I used to have to run longer than it'll let me practice."

He swallows down the growl of rage, unsure of how she'd take it, as well as the questions about who her relatives were and where they lived, for now at least, before deciding to prod the last bit, "Had to run?"

She waves her hand dismissively, "My aunt had a son. He and his friends thought the height of entertainment was chasing me around the neighborhood and beating me up if they caught me. Called it 'Calanthe Hunting'. Needless to say, I got very good at running very quickly, and learned how to vault fences and climb trees and stuff."

He sucks in a sharp breath, the rage boiling in him bubbling over before he can bite back his instinctive reply, "They'd chase you down and beat you?"

She shrugs, "They'd definitely chase me, but very few beatings happened. I was too quick for them, so they only ever got me when my inferior knowledge of the neighborhood let them chase me into a corner I couldn't escape. It helped that my uncle's family has weird ideas about weight. They seem to think that morbidly obese makes for a 'strapping young man' as my uncle would often call my cousin, even though he was practically as round as a beach ball. I couldn't ever look at him without being reminded of beached whales, which isn't very nice I guess, since there are people with genuine eating disorders or other health issues, but he was just a gluttonous pig and wasn't very nice either so I never felt too bad about it. Or the fact that my uncle brought to mind a walrus. Anyway, the point was that it wasn't that hard to outrun him, it was more his friends that were a challenge and they'd never pull too far ahead of him since otherwise he'd get upset. And given how much of a spoiled brat he was, things always had to be his way."

He snorts, partially from amusement at her descriptions of her relatives, partially from disgust, "You shouldn't have had to run away to begin with. Though from the way your relatives treated you, I'm surprised they were capable of spoiling a child."

Now it's her turn to snort, "They treated Dudley pretty much the exact opposite of how they treated me. Sometimes it seemed like they felt compelled to balance out the way they treated me by doing the opposite with Dudley. I'd almost say it was a guilt reflex but they made it clear they were only too happy to 'put the freak in her place' as they put it. It was almost like there was some sort of scale in their heads and they had to keep my abuse and the amount they spoiled Dudley in balance. Like, the food obviously, but also, Dudley broke my leg one of the few times he caught me and after limping back to the house my aunt was pissed I was late because that meant her precious boys' dinner would be late since it was one of my chores, and when I told her my leg hurt too bad to stand around the kitchen cooking she absolutely flipped, beat me up tossed me in the cupboard under the stairs that was my room and left me there for two days."

She sighs tiredly, "Almost repeated it when she dragged me out by my hair the morning after my punishment and I collapsed before she actually saw my leg and freaked out wondering how she was supposed to explain it and that it'd gone untreated. She talked her way out of the doctor's suspicions, she was good at that, and was livid that she'd had to waste time on medical care for me. My cousin on the other hand, threw a screaming tantrum, literally shouting at her, his last birthday when he realized there were only twenty six presents when the year before he'd gotten twenty seven, and she just apologized and said they'd get him two more to make up for it after they were done at the amusement park they were taking him to, and it's not like she was intimidated or anything that might make me think Vernon abused her. The entire time she was talking to him in that tone parents use when they're trying to sooth a child, like when they have to get a shot so they promise them ice cream after, you know? And Uncle Vernon was pleased about the whole affair, laughing that Dudley knew to demand his money's worth."

Now the noise he makes is pure disgust and rage, before he looks over at her, "And that menagerie called you a freak? They ought to have looked in a mirror before passing judgment on others."

That draws a bark of laughter from her, "Right?! And I always thought of their house like a zoo, since on top of Vernon and Dudley, Petunia has a neck that's a little too long and rather prominent teeth, so I've always been incapable of anything but being reminded of a horse when it comes to her. Though, I doubt they'd ever realize how messed up they are, given that they thought they were," Her voice suddenly goes shrill and high like she's imitating someone with an incredibly unpleasant voice, her aunt probably, "perfectly normal, upstanding citizens, thank you very much!”

He snorts in amusement even as he files the names away. A Petunia married to a Vernon with a Dudley for a son was probably more than adequate information to track them down, though he sincerely doubts his Little Dragon realizes she's given him what he needs to do so, given how casually she'd mentioned their names. Also, given how honest she'd been with him, it's unlikely that she'd slyly given him their names on purpose.

A beat of comfortable silence passes before she sighs again, "I guess that's probably why I hate this so much. I will never go back there, even if I have to break the law to get my way, but when things like this still linger?" Her voice drops to a confessional whisper, "It makes it feel like that house and its- its menagerie still has a hold on me."

Well. He's not entirely sure how to respond to that. He'd love to tell her that they don't or say something like 'they only have as much hold as you allow them to' but he knows a lot about bad memories and having your agency taken away, a thought that just makes him internally cringe in guilt even more by what he'd said to her yesterday, and he knows it's not that simple. Maybe that's what he can offer her?

He sighs and looks down at the empty space between his criss-cross legs, "I can understand that, and I wish I could tell you something corny that people always expect to hear, about how they don't or how it's up to you how much of a grip they still have on you and mean it, but I have some experience with that sort of thing myself and I know it's not that easy. There's nothing I can say that'll magically make things better, and I'm not going to feed you pretty lies. Not only are you mature and intelligent enough for them to be nothing more than insults, but I doubt you want lies anyway, no matter how attractive they sound. But you know, Xiǎolóng, my profession means I've met a lot of people who've gone through similar things to our experiences, and you're the rare sort who seems to be made of steel and have only been tempered and made stronger for it, but. That being said, don't ever think that means you have to be strong. Even Dragons need time to recover when they're hurt. It's-" Oh, he was about to be such a hypocrite and he knew it, but, "It's okay to be weak, and there's nothing wrong with it hurting. The way they treated you, all of them, wasn't okay, and I really hope you know that as well as knowing it's okay to need time to heal. And I don't just mean physically."

The snort that gets him sounds like it might be a little wet with tears, but he's not sure whether he should look or not. Some people might want comfort, but he knows he hates it when people see him cry. So he chooses not to turn to her, even though he wants to surprisingly badly. He's good at picking up cues even when he's just listening, so unless it seems otherwise, he's just going to default to giving her the illusion of privacy.

"When I was younger and couldn't comprehend why they acted like they did, their treatment may have hurt, but the way they treated me stopped hurting a while ago. I don't care what they think."

He shakes his head, "You misunderstand me. You can be completely indifferent to them and their opinions specifically and still be hurt that someone, in a general sense, would treat you like that."

That draws a sniffle, and from the sounds of her movement, she turns away from him, so for now at least he continues pretending to be unaware. He waits until the quiet sniffles have tapered out into even breathing before shifting the topic slightly, "Is that why you're doing this? Wanting to learn to defend yourself after going through something like that isn't a bad or even unusual response, but going for sword lessons…"

She snorts in amusement, then hesitantly admits, "Well, along with their other weird notions I mentioned earlier they're also more than a little old fashioned sexist in the sort of 'women take care of the household and wear dresses and men work' way, so the thought of how absolutely horrified they'd be at the idea of a girl learning how to wield a sword may have made me more than a little… pleased, but that's not my main reason for doing this. My dad's family is really old and has suitably old traditions. Members of the family learning physical combat as well as magical is one such tradition and one I intend to uphold. I chose a sword out of all these," She gestures to the plethora of weapons on the racks, "because the very first thing the mannequin had me do was run through some basic stuff to get a feel for them and I found that out of all of them I have the most talent for the traditional straight sword and shield, though I'm too small and haven't built up enough muscle to actually use a shield with the sword, which is already too big for me on its own." After a beat she looks over at him and registers his surprise, "What?"

He shakes his head, "Nothing. I suppose it shouldn't be surprising since you are way more mature than regular children your age, but most kids don't care about traditions. It took me by surprise is all."

She looks away, "They…" He sees her hands clench in anger, which said a lot about how heartbreakingly used to horrendous treatment she was that she'd had no such reaction before, despite the topic of discussion, "They used to tell me that my parents were useless, worthless burdens on society. Drunks who got themselves killed driving under the influence. When I found out that it wasn't just me being wishful that they're absolutely liars so maybe they'd lied about that too… That my parents were the sort of people I could take pride in and that it came with a heritage and family and traditions I could also take pride in… I… guess I latched onto it and the idea that I wanted to make them proud."

He smiles faintly at her, "There's nothing wrong with that." Then he shifts his gaze to the mannequin, "So, as I've made clear, I'm not familiar with the magical world. Is this a normal thing there and you just bought it so you could learn?"

She snorts, "Merlin. No. You'll find things that seem superficially similar, like fake arms you can practice how to put an IV into that'll grade you, but those are actually very simplistic in comparison. That IV arm, for example, is just enchanted to know what a perfect IV application should be and grades how close you are by some preset parameters. It's sort of like a program that has a picture and grades you by how closely you can mimic drawing it, right? This thing though, it's Potter Family Magic. The sort of thing that's generally kept secret in the family. It uses memory magic, and generation after generation of Potters have, upon mastering their chosen form of combat, basically plucked a copy of all that knowledge out of their own heads and imbued it into the original. Knowledge which was then perfectly copied again into this thing for me by my parents because my mom very much lived by the adage 'prepare for the worst and hope for the best' and tended to prepare for any contingency she could think of. Fighting that thing is pretty much the equivalent of fighting over a thousand years of Potters contained in a single body."

He can't help the look of surprise that steals over his face. Even if this one wasn't the original, he was not expecting to have such history contained within. Or to be so personal.

Calanthe sits up with a vague frown, "What's wrong? You seem a little disappointed."

He shakes his head, "I was kind of hoping to stretch my muscles a bit and spar with that thing, but if it's a family thing-"

He's cut off by her snorting in amusement, "The magic to make it is a family secret, but that's it to my knowledge. Besides, you're my soulmate and as far as I'm concerned that gives you a pass even if it was secret family stuff. And even if that's not traditionally how the Potter family has treated their secrets in relation to their soulmates…" She shrugs, "I'm the last one left, there isn't exactly anyone to stop me." Then she grins, "And even if there was, I've been all too proudly informed by my dad's portrait that refusing to let other people tell you how to live is also a time honored Potter Family Tradition."

He laughs quietly at that, and she grins wider, then climbs to her feet and waves him forward, "Come here and I'll key you in."

When they reach the mannequin, she pops its chest open in some manner that he doesn't catch, revealing a glowing silvery orb in the center of what looks like a gyroscope covered in strange symbols that glow golden. Then she grabs his hand and places it against the gyroscope and clearly states, "Calanthe, authorizing use of the Physical Combat Trainer by Hei."

The orb and symbols glow brighter for a few moments, then their light spills onto his hand and crawls partway up his arm. It feels a little weird, since it's light, if it felt like anything he'd assume it would be like the warmth of sunshine, but instead it's cool and feels like his hand has been dipped into a thicker liquid, like paint. After roughly a minute and a half the light withdraws and that smooth voice resonates out again, "Authorization complete. Preferred fighting styles?"

Calanthe pulls his hand away and then lets go to close it back up. As she does, he answers the question, "Daggers and hand-to-hand."

The mannequin immediately replies, "Recommend skill evaluation."

He hesitates briefly before saying, "I need to get my gear first."

To his surprise, the mannequin responds, "Understood. On standby until you return."

He blinks at it rapidly in surprise, then shakes his head and turns away to lightly jog back to Calanthe's room. He hesitates again, before choosing to leave his coat, since while it's bulletproof when he runs a current through it, it's not so good with knives. He does put on his harness though, as while he probably wouldn't use his wires except reflexively since that would be counter to the purpose of sparring, except for his ankle sheaths, most of his knife sheaths were attached to it.

Once he's got it mostly on, he starts heading back as he finishes with the last straps, and re-enters while doing some last minute adjustments. Seeing Calanthe's strange look, he smiles lightly, "As you may have noticed, most of the sheaths are attached."

Her expression turns to understanding, "Oh, right. I forgot about that."

The mannequin turns its head towards him, "Commencing Dagger skill evaluation. Are you ready?"

He shifts around a bit to check the fit, then nods as he moves onto the mats and draws his main knives, "Ready."

The mannequin moves over to the weapon racks and takes down daggers of similar size to his own, before turning back to him and rushing him without warning. Given that it's testing his skill level, it starts off pretty easy, but the difficulty quickly ramps up, until eventually he finds himself completely outmatched. It shouldn't be surprising, since Calanthe had said it had over a thousand years of her family giving it their combat mastery, but given that he hasn't been so outclassed in years it takes him completely by surprise when he finds himself getting beaten and thrown on the ground more often than not.

Not long after he finds himself unable to stay on his feet for even a full minute, the mannequin stops and that voice emanates from it as it moves over to put its daggers away, "Skill evaluation for Dagger for Hei complete. Commencing evaluation for hand-to-hand."

He glances at Calanthe in surprise as he climbs to his feet, "I thought you said it taught weapon use because it was traditional in your family?"

She shrugs, "Yeah, it does teach weapon use because it's traditional, but that doesn't mean that's all it's capable of teaching. If it's a type of combat, chances are it can teach you."

He sheaths his blades then stretches his sore body, before readying himself, "Alright then. Let's do this."

Apparently that suffices as a ready signal, as the mannequin doesn't ask if he's ready this time before it rushes him. This evaluation goes much the same as the last. That is to say, easy at first, then it starts to become a challenge, turns difficult, then just painful and embarrassing. Though only mildly, especially in comparison to how his trainers in the Syndicate had taught him. They would mercilessly snap his arm just to give him a practical lesson on why a mess up on his part was bad. The mannequin doesn't actually try to hurt him, and certainly not seriously, it's just painful in the way any sparring match would inevitably be, especially when it's such a landslide loss on his part. And it isn't terribly embarrassing, it certainly isn't like the aforementioned trainers who would humiliate him just to beat responding or letting it affect his fighting out of him, and the fact that the mannequin does have over a thousand years experience crammed into it certainly helps soothe any bruises to his ego. Given that he was globally considered one of if not the best assassins in the world, there was certainly more than physical bruises given to him.

When it's finally done, that voice washes over where he's laying on the ground panting with his eyes closed, "Skill evaluation for Hand-to-hand for Hei complete. All indicated proficiencies tested. Overall skill evaluation complete. Skills are evaluated with the following levels Novice, Apprentice, Journeyman, Adept, and Mastery. Skill evaluation for Hei is as follows: Daggers, lower Adept. Hand-to-hand, mid Journeyman. Recommend a minimum three hour break."

He can't help but bark a laugh at that, "Ha! One of the greatest assassins in the world and this thing basically puts me at mid-level to slightly above skill-wise."

His companion snorts, "Maybe, but assassins rarely fight face to face, right? Is it so strange?"

He gives a snort of his own as he sits up, "Others? Sure. But I fought in the Heavens War that only ended a couple months ago for the prior two and three quarters-ish years. I'm not like other assassins, I can absolutely go toe to toe with multiple enemies, even ten to one against contractors, and come out the victor. That thing is just a beast with ridiculously high expectations." He sighs lightly, "I'm sore in places I haven't been sore in years."

She hums, "It could've been worse though. The way my dad's portrait describes the design, it wasn't going full out. It starts out as easy as it can, then ramps up as it starts getting a grasp of your skill level, before it fights you for a little using a skill level a bit above your own. Apparently, Potters have a tendency of pulling skill out of thin air when they're in a corner, so it fights you like that to see if you will. But considering it didn't evaluate you near mastery level, I doubt it was coming at you as hard as it could."

He groans, "That just bruises my ego worse you know."

She laughs, "A little humility is good for the soul, or so I'm told. Besides, look at it this way, I have no qualms with you using it, which from what you've said means you get one of the best trainers in the world to improve your skills with."

He almost can't help perking up, then remembers the promise he'd made himself the night before when they'd been chatting about trying to be honest with her and lets the response though, "That's true. I hadn't even thought of that. Though I do suddenly find myself glad I've never had to fight a fully trained member of your family, as well as having nothing but the utmost respect for them and their combat prowess."

She laughs again. Then his stomach growls and she gives him a surprised look while he hunches his shoulders sheepishly. She giggles, then climbs to her feet and moves over to him before offering him a hand up. He takes it and lets her help him up, "Thanks."

She smiles at him, "Don't worry about it!" Then she gestures for him to follow as she turns towards the door, "Come on. I think I mentioned it last night, but the kitchen has pre-made meals kept under preservation charms as well as a pretty good selection of ingredients for cooking if you'd prefer that."

He hums as they enter the hallway, "I usually prefer to cook, but I'm a bit too hungry to wait. Maybe I'll make something if one of the pre-made meals doesn't fill me up. If that's okay?"

She nods, "Sure, you're more than welcome to help yourself to anything in the kitchen."

As they exit the hall and it opens into a room, off to his right a woman's voice calls out, "Good m- Oh! This must be Hei!"

He turns towards the voice quickly, and it's only when his eyes fall on an empty living room area and a moving painting does he remember what Calanthe had said the night before. He gazes at the painting in both fascination and some awkwardness. Even if she hadn't told him who the painting was of, it would've been obvious that they had been her parents. She had her father's raven black stylishly messy hair, though he doubts it's naturally stylishly messy, as well as his thin face and sharp cheekbones. However, even as young as she is, it's fairly obvious she inherited her mother's beautiful almond shaped green eyes and full heart shaped lips. Though, her eyes do seem to be more vivid and bright than her mother's. Whether that's just because it's a painting or because hers are genuinely brighter is impossible for him to know.

He flicks a look between them, "No glasses?"

She gives the portrait an annoyed look, "Oh no. He definitely gave me his poor eyesight. I just use contacts."

He nods lightly, "Ah."

He's not sure if that proves whether her eyes are greener because of her dad. He hasn't gotten a good enough look at her eyes to be able to tell if she has hazel flecks. That would probably make the green look brighter, wouldn't it? He's not sure though, and he's not a geneticist, so he has no idea if her getting her father's poor eyesight would prove that she got at least some of the color from his hazel eyes. Are eyesight and color two completely different factors entirely removed from one another genetically? He has no clue. He doubts it though. They do both affect the development of eyes and from his limited understanding those sorts of things tend to be pretty entwined genetically, right? Then again, he vaguely remembers hearing something about green eyes being recessive to brown, and hazel is a sort of brown, right?

Well, pondering aside, while some kids are enough of a blend of their parents and recessive genes that they don't look like spitting images of their parents, Calanthe looks like someone cherry picked attractive features from her parents and gave them to her as is. For instance, her thin nose looks exactly like her mom's, whereas his nose is a blend of both his parents'.

He pushes the thought away quickly when Calanthe gets done giving her dad crap for the poor eyesight he passed on. She looks up at him, "Anyway. Dad's questionable gifts to my genetics aside, yes, this is Hei."

He smiles awkwardly, "It's, ah, nice to meet you?"

Calanthe's mother tilts her head in amusement, "Are you asking me if it's nice to meet me?"

He clears his throat, "Um, no. Just that, well, you're a painting? Not actually a person? So I'm not sure if it really counts as meeting someone? Um. No offense."

She laughs lightly, "You know, when Calanthe told us that you were apparently an assassin, I wasn't expecting you to be an awkward teenager."

He blushes, "Um. I'm not. When I'm working that is. But this isn't work. So."

Calanthe's dad sighs, it sounds exaggerated, and his tone is somewhat playful when he adds, "You know, when we had a daughter, I always thought that I'd be able to give any Soulmate or Boyfriend a proper talking to, not to be a portrait and for him to be an assassin I might've actually had issues attempting to carry out any threats against if they became necessary even if I wasn't."

He's immediately torn between horror at the implication that things are like that between him, an eighteen year old, and Calanthe, who during their idle conversations last night he had learned was freshly eight, surprise at the notion that despite the turn his life had taken when he was twelve that he had still somehow ended up in a place in life where someone wanted to give him a shovel talk, and embarrassment at the mere threat of getting such a talk even if it was said jokingly.

Calanthe's mom elbows her husband, but it's Calanthe that speaks up, "Dad! Hei's ten years older than me! Which, okay, that's not a huge deal in the long run if we are a romantic soulmate pair, but as things stand the age gap is very much relevant, and Hei isn't like that!”

Her mom nods in agreement while giving him a hard look. Besieged on two fronts by the girls, he wisely lifts his hands in surrender, "It was meant as a joke! A joke!"

His wife huffs, "It better have been. Not that it didn't embarrass the poor boy." Then she shakes her head and turns back to him with a pleasant smile, "Ignore my somewhat idiotic husband please. It's nice to meet you, Hei. I don't believe we've actually done introductions yet. I'm Lily, this idiot is my husband, James."

He nods slowly, still a little thrown by James' joke, though it's nice to have a name rather than just thinking of them as Calanthe's mom and dad. Then he gives her a puzzled look, "I have to admit I'm a little surprised at how… accepting you are of my, uh, occupation."

Lily smiles somewhat bitterly, "I grew up in and later fought in a civil war. One where things had gotten so muddled it was difficult to know if even people that had been friends and family for years were trustworthy or whether they'd betray you, sometimes unknowingly or unwillingly with the way the other side used magic to read people's minds or mind controlled people constantly. James and I used magic to go into hiding, but we ended up being betrayed by someone who had been one of James' friends since he was eleven, a full decade since we were both twenty-one. It was far from the first time a story like ours played out in those times. The point is, in this context, I don't particularly care whether your Soulbond with my daughter is romantic or platonic nor that it'll be years yet until she's old enough for you two to find out, because regardless, Soulmates are ferociously loyal and protective of one another, so as far as I'm concerned? It just means you're better equipped than most Soulmates to protect my daughter."

He stares at her in surprise for a few moments, as well as James for that matter since he actually nods in agreement, then nods sharply. If her parents were fine with it since it meant he could protect her better, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Besides, it's not like protecting her wasn't something he wasn't already planning on doing.