The Snake In the Rosebush

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Diagon Alley took Azalea’s breath away. 

Getting into it was only a matter of ducking into the dingy confines of The Leaky Cauldron, then out into the courtyard. Azalea could see—not with the naked eye, but with a sight that wasn’t sight, something spiritual and overlaid onto the world around her—a thin network of glowing energy strung like a web over a certain area of the stone wall behind the pub. With Arabella assisting her by lifting her to the right height, Azalea traced the outline of the web while sending out a pulse of that twin-force curling just underneath her skin. That section of the wall shimmered and shifted, the parting stones forming a tall archway and allowing them entrance into the first Wizarding area Azalea had been exposed to since her infancy. 

The sound hit them first, the commotion of a few hundred people suddenly audible and not muffled by the thick wall or magic. A confusing array of new scents followed. As far as the eye could see, a variety of shops lined a main, narrow, cobbled street with many branches heading off of it. The shops, the wares, and the bustling throngs of people all came in a riot of colors and styles, from pointed purple witch’s hats to faded blue-jeans and jumpers and everything in between. 

Azalea scarcely had any idea where to look first in all the excitement, overloaded with information. She stood on the precipice with Arabella’s wrinkled old hand clasping her own, her arm tucked into her old friend’s side. “Stay close to me and don’t wander off on your own,” Arabella warned gently, still not reverting to English. “I don’t want to lose you, and the last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves.”

“Okay, ya,” Azalea readily agreed. 

As they began walking,  Arabella whispered the plan to her. “We’ll go to Gringotts first. It’s the wizarding bank, though it’s run by goblins. Then we’ll come back through and get your things.”

“My—my things, abair?” 

“Aye. We should purchase a bag to hold your things first, then we’ll get clothes that fit you, necessities for you, a few toys, and books. Afterwards, we can get ice cream. Would you like that?”

Azalea nodded, but something else struck her. A wave of nerves crashed into her as she had to wonder how the woman would take the presence of Kaaza. She knew she would have to keep the twins Zaran and Suuka hidden indefinitely, at least until they got too large to hide—though, surely with magic there must be a way to do so without arousing suspicion. 

“Abair...Nana?” She waited until Arabella glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “I have a grass snake friend that I found in my garden. What would I need for her?”

Arabella seemed unsurprised about the revelation, taking it in stride. Perhaps she expected it when she learned that Azalea could communicate with the creatures. “Oh, do you? Well, she’ll need food and supplies as well. That’s easy enough to come by here. We’ll just have to stop by the Magical Menagerie afterward.”

She expertly wove through the crowd, guiding Azalea along until they came upon a snow-white marble building that loomed over all the others. A short flight of stairs also cut from marble led up toward a set of burnished bronze doors. To either side, a scarlet and gold clad sentry stood at the ready, neither of whom were human. They looked nothing like anyone Azalea had ever encountered, though they were around the same height as most adult  humans she’d seen. They were nearly feline in their features, possessing pointed, triangular ears; sharp, gleaming eyes with slit pupils; long whiskers that fanned out against their cheeks; smooth, sensitive noses; sweeping tails that twitched under her scrutiny; and short, downy fur. Their hands—paw-like, the claws carefully sheathed—wrapped around tall, staff-like weapons. They inclined their heads at Arabella and Azalea as they passed through the entranceway into a short hallway about a foot long. At the end, a set of silver doors also bracketed by sentries awaited them. The swirling cursive engraving on them warned against greed and thievery, and the consequences of both. 

Azalea wondered briefly about it, but cast her musing aside as they entered into an expansive hall housing another two hundred of the feline humanoids, each smartly dressed as they perched atop comfortable-looking cushions positioned at intervals behind a single unbroken counter running the length of the room. Each goblin seemed to be steeped in their own work, whether it be exchanging currency, weighing objects with brass scales, examining jewels through eyeglasses, or neatly adding entries to ledgers. Many were engrossed in hushed conversation with humans and an assortment of other beings, many of which Azalea had no name for but which gave off clearly non-human vibes. Others were leading clients through any one of the various doors leading off of the hall. For every teller visible there stood a guard along the walls at intervals, very obviously watching those gathered. Somehow the entire building seemed both incredibly noisy and incredibly quiet, no one sound sticking out above the others and the mixture of sound far below deafening—and certainly far below the noise level of the crowded streets they left outside. 

Arabella took a deep, fortifying breath, straightened her shoulders, and turned toward the nearest teller, who happened to have a tortoiseshell coat pattern. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, the offer of comfort as much for herself as for Azalea.  Once she collected herself, she strode quickly toward the teller with Azalea trotting silently at her side, too overwhelmed to voice any number of questions she had burning on the tip of her tongue. When she spoke it was barely above a whisper and certainly not loud enough to carry further than the being in front of them, whose shining brass nameplate read Orchid (Delights in Orchids). Trying not to stare at any one place for too long to avoid drawing someone’s gaze to them, Azalea startled at the sound of  Arabella’s voice, mostly because her companion had switched to English, a language they only used together if one of the Dursleys were present.  “Excuse me—Madam Orchid?” 

It didn’t strike Azalea until then how much of an accent Arabella had underlying her words. The goblin—Orchid—tore her sharp gaze away from what looked to be a list of monthly expenses for an estate and directed it at the two humans standing squarely in front of her. She shut the ledger for that account and slid it into her desk drawer for safekeeping. “Yes.” She grinned, showing off a hint of terribly sharp canines. “How can I assist you today?”

“If you don’t mind, could we use one of the private chambers to discuss the account information?”

A calculating glint appeared in Orchid’s eyes and she wasted no time in securing any other ledgers or sensitive information. “Of course. Many choose to do so. Personal finances are, after all, a private matter. If you’ll follow me?”

As she led them toward one of the many doors, which Azalea noted upon closer inspection had lights hovering over them, a guard edged closer to her desk, no doubt to secure it while she stepped away with them. Each light, some gold and some red, had a message written just below it in glittering silver, denoting some as occupied and some as vacant. Orchid opened the door and held it for them, ushering Azalea and Arabella inside before following. The heavy wooden door closed with a surprisingly soft snick, cutting off all outside sound in an instant and plunging them into silence until the goblin with them spoke again. She moved behind the desk inside and perched atop the cushion there, raking her eyes over them. 

 “The entire room has been enchanted to both silence any outside noise and to prevent anyone from eavesdropping on those inside. You therefore have nothing to fear as far as being overheard or interrupted, and everything said in this room is entirely confidential. We don’t care how you acquire your  fortune, but we do concern ourselves with its well-being.” Another flash of fang as she smiled pleasantly—if viciously—at them. “We can assure you that your fortune, no matter how great or small, is safe here with us. We will guard it ruthlessly. Now...how might I assist you today?” 

Arabella moved forward after only a moment’s hesitation to sit at one of the cushions clearly meant for the clients. Azalea sat at her side, silent as she let Arabella do the talking. After all, she had no idea how any of it worked, and trusted her friend to know what to do. “This is a first time visit for my young friend here. If you could briefly go over her accounts and assets with her then allow her access to her accounts, that would be the first order of business. We would also like to have a moke-skin pouch connected to her vault so that she might make withdrawals when she cannot physically appear at the bank.”

The goblin woman studied Arabella with a fierce intensity that made Azalea squirm. The young witch only squirmed more when the teller turned her assessing glance onto her.  “And does your young friend speak?” 

Azalea, not expecting to be addressed, took a moment to answer. “Yes, ya.” She lifted her chin and met the shrewd gaze of Orchid, who grinned at her, apparently somewhat amused. Azalea wasn’t entirely sure how comfortable the woman made her, with the feeling that she was being x-rayed. 

“Wonderful. Then we’re already off to a good start. Before we proceed, however, I’m afraid we were never properly introduced. What is your name?”

Azalea glanced at Arabella, who gave her a tight but encouraging smile. “Azalea Nanami Uzumaki Potter,” she told her truthfully. 

The teller had not, apparently, been expecting that response, though she kept her composure well enough. She straightened up to her full height, her face taking on a solemn air. “My Lady,” she murmured respectfully. “Do you have your key?”

Azalea shook her head. “No, ya.”

Orchid made a small noise in the back of her throat. “My apologies, my Lady, but I’m afraid we shall have to prove your identity before we grant you access to the accounts tied to your name—and we need to be sure that you have come here willingly and not under coercion.”

Azalea caught the subtle side-eye the goblin gave Arabella. She shook her head again. “No one made me come, ya.”

Orchid hunted around inside of the drawers until she found whatever tools she had in mind.“Be that as it may, we have to follow procedure. You are not the first orphaned heir and many would try to use manipulation or violence to gain access to the family fortune.”

Before Azalea could protest, Orchid laid down a thick section of beige paper, heavier than the lined type they used in school. 

“A simple spell using a single drop of your blood will reveal your identity. As for your companion—” Orchid shot Arabella another pointed look “—we keep a means of testing intentions on site for this very purpose.”

Azalea looked at Arabella, who, despite her lack of magical power, knew far more about magic than she did. “Nana, is it safe to give her my blood, ya?”

“In this instance, yes,” she told her. “Normally you wouldn’t give your blood to just anyone, but the goblins of Gringotts can be trusted. They won’t use it to hurt you.”

Azalea’s eyes wandered from her surrogate grandmother’s patient expression to Orchid’s watchful one. “Okay. What do I do, ya?”

Orchid produced a long, thin needle not unlike those used for sewing, but larger and sharpened to a wicked point. “I’ll prick your finger and collect your blood on paper that I will enchant to reveal your bloodline. The needle has been charmed to repel dirt and germs, but we also have a Sterilizing Solution—a potion that instantly kills any contaminants—if you want to clean your hands.” 

She gestured to a bottle that she had taken out at the same time. Azalea reached for it, pouring out a liberal amount and rubbing her hands together. It was a bit like using hand sanitizer, except that her skin tingled. She then held her hands out to Orchid, who took time to use the potion on herself before gingerly taking one of Azalea’s hands into her own. The child bit her lip. “Will it hurt, ya?” 

“You’ll barely feel a thing, my Lady,” the goblin reassured her, then without warning pricked her finger. 

Azalea grunted more with surprise than pain, watching as a small dot welled on her finger. Orchid gently squeezed it to encourage it to bleed, then allowed a drop to fall onto the odd paper on the desk while she muttered the incantation. “Rù̃f tsæk gìf.” 

As soon as the blood made contact, writing began to appear in a language she couldn’t understand—perhaps the same one that Orchid used to cast her spell. Orchid read it intently. “According to the Bloodline Revealing spell I cast, you are Lady Azalea Nanami Uzumaki Potter, the only and trueborn child of Lady Yuri Uzumaki Potter and Lord James Fleamont Potter. You’re the granddaughter of Lord Fleamont Potter and Lady Euphemia Potter, and of Marlow Evans, who was the son of Lady Morgause Gaunt and grandson of Lady Morgana Gaunt and Lord Mordred Gaunt.” 

Arabella gasped upon hearing the last bit, though Azalea had no idea why. She was more concerned with why two of her ancestors apparently had the same name. 

“You are also,” she continued, still scanning Azalea’s results, “Lady Azalea Black, the daughter of Sirius Orion Black by blood-adoption. You are his named heir, as well as being the natural heir of Lord and Lady Potter, and…” Her brows wrinkled. “...and you have ancestry from the Elemental Nations as well.” 

Orchid used the Sterilization Solution on the needle to rinse away Azalea’s blood, then whisked away both into the depths of the desk. She withdrew a quill, ink pot, and a thick leather-bound tomb, which she offered to Arabella. “Please sign underneath the last entry.”

The goblin watched Arabella like a hawk as she accepted it, peering intently at her face and hands. A moment later, as Arabella opened the book at the marker and dipped the quill to ink it, Orchid nodded her approval. “And now we know you have no harmful intentions toward the heir or her fortune.”

Arabella glanced up from dipping her quill, a blot of ink dripping back into the pot. By way of explanation, the teller said, “It’s enchanted to shock or burn the hands of someone who came with deception and malice in mind. If you had come to steal her fortune, it would have forced you to drop it.” 

Arabella smiled, inclining her head, then signed her name neatly underneath the last entry as instructed. She laid the quill on the desk and met Orchid’s now far less hostile gaze, the suspicion and accusation having melted away when she passed her test. “Now what?” 

“Now we go over the accounts.” She snapped her fingers and a stack of files and ledgers appeared, apparently summoned from elsewhere. “There are a few properties associated with them, namely the original Potter Manor in Tamil Nadu, the Potter family summer villa in the Welsh countryside, and the London country Estate. Grimmauld Place was also inherited by you when your Lord Godfather Sirius Black became, shall we say, indisposed. You also have a passive and continuing monthly income of royalties from patents held on various potions, including Skele-Gro, Pepper Up, and Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, and continuing royalties from Beatrix Potter’s book sales.”

Azalea broke in before she could stop herself, “Beatrix Potter, like the woman that wrote the Peter Rabbit story, ya?”

Orchid seemed more amused and indulgent than offended. “Precisely.”

Arabella cleared her throat. “From what I remember of my own family’s genealogy books, she was the Squib second-cousin thrice removed of your great-grandfather, and I understand she's quite well known in the Muggle world as well as the magical community. I’ll buy you a copy of The Collected Works of Beatrix Potter when we leave, Azalea.”

Orchid continued going over the accounts, mentioning a highly profitable snake venom empire that the Potters commanded. As they had originated in India, which had far more native snakes than England, they consistently produced Parselmouths as well, much to Azalea, and even Arabella’s, surprise. “I had no idea James’ family carried the trait as well,” she murmured from Azalea’s side as Orchid finished going over the ways Azalea’s family—and therefore Azalea—continued to make more gold even at that very moment without actually lifting a finger. She’d also gone over the monthly expenses for upkeep of their properties, barring the one she inherited from Sirius, as that one, apparently, had some sort of creature called a house elf to attend to it. 

“The Potters were not known for it the way some other families were,” Orchid shrugged. “Not only did it skip several generations, they were traditionally thought of as a Light family in the Islands, and the social backlash here would have been quite severe. In contrast, in their native Tamil Nadu and other parts of India, of course, it’s a lauded gift. For many communities it means protection from any and all serpents.” 

Azalea blinked, commenting absentmindedly, “Then I got it from both of my parents, ya.”

Orchid, however, caught on immediately. “You’re a Parselmouth, my Lady?”

Azalea met her neutral expression with a cautious nod. “Yes. One of my friends is a grass snake, ya.”

Orchid stared at her for one long moment, then shook herself. “Now that we’ve gone over your monthly expenses, monthly income, and properties, and you’ve seen your current  account balances—” Even her trust vault had an ungodly amount with too many commas, but the entirety of her combined families’ vast fortunes consisted of mountains of gold and silver and jewels that Azalea herself could never spend if she had fifty children who all lived for a hundred years each. The original contents of her mother’s personal vault, which had been closed upon her death and its contents added to Azalea’s personal trust vault, had a far more modest total attached to it. Sirius Black’s vault was a different matter altogether. He and her parents both had set a modest monthly allowance to be deposited into her trust account. “—You will be escorted to your trust vault so we can connect a moke skin pouch to it for withdrawals on the go, all of which will be automatically added to your ledger.”

Azalea dipped her head politely. “Thank you, ya.”

Orchid gave her a smile that was all teeth and oddly daunting, something jarringly disconcerting against how nice she had been acting. “Your treasures are safe with us, my Lady. We will guard them tirelessly.” 

The slightly fierce expression cleared and Orchid stood from where she perched, gesturing to them to follow her out of her office. Once outside, another goblin spotted them and approached. She was slightly younger and had a pleasant smile. “Shall I escort them to the Vault, Delights in Orchids?” 

“No, Morning Glory, I’ll take them, but I do need your assistance.” She indicated for the woman to close more of the distance between them. When she stood with the group, Orchid gestured at Azalea. In a low voice, she told her associate, “Lady Potter-Black would like a moke skin pouch connected to her trust vault, and she also needs a new key made for her. With discretion, of course.” 

Morning Glory, as Orchid had called her, looked at Azalea with slightly widened eyes, taking in her appearance and lingering on her scarf, which covered her telltale hair and scar. “Of course, Delights in Orchids.”

“Would you mind bringing the pouch first?” 

“Right away!” She immediately scampered off to fulfill the request. 

“She should be back momentarily with the pouch, then we can take it down with us to form the connection.”

Barely five minutes passed before Morning Glory returned, cheerfully relinquishing the pouch to her colleague then bowing politely as she went on her way. Orchid jerked her head toward the entrance of a long hallway. “If you’ll follow me once more…”

The abrupt shift from marble and glowing lamps to stone and flickering torchlight as they left the main hall of the bank, still a hotbed of noise and activity, both fascinated and startled Azalea, whose surprise and interest only grew as they continued. The hallway, which started off level, gradually sloped downward until, eventually, they met a track with a small cart waiting. Orchid stepped to the side with a shallow bow and allowed Arabella to lift Azalea into her arms and climb into it first before she followed. Orchid’s eyes glittered like jewels in the dim light. “I apologize in advance if you find the ride unpleasant, my Lady.”

With that said, she snapped her fingers, all but whispering an incantation, and the cart rolled forward, first tentatively then with gaining speed until it fairly flew over the track at breakneck pace, twisting and turning through a labyrinth of underground passageways, all lit intermittently by more torchlight. Azalea worried she might feel sick, but instead she felt invigorated, relishing the slight wind whipping against her face. She kept one hand clamped down on her scarf to keep it from flying off of her head and revealing her for all to see, her emerald eyes sparkling with mirth and her laughter trailing after them as it echoed through the earthen tunnels. An interconnected network of tunnels and tracks flashed by, but Azalea only cared for the lovely speed, the cool wind, and the sense of adventure. Arabella seemed to be braced tensely against her, but Azalea could only feel joy at moving so swiftly and freely as they whipped by other vaults of various sizes. 

They seemed to have traveled to a moderate depth when the cart began to slow, losing speed until they stopped completely. Orchid leapt nimbly out onto the wide ledge in front of the door, standing patiently, if expectantly, to the side. Arabella disembarked with Azalea gathered close to her, setting her onto her feet next to Orchid, who turned toward the door and stroked a finger against the burnished metal. The sound of bolts within a lock turning reached their ears, followed by the heavy door swinging outward.  Azalea felt a bit dazed, staring at mounds of mainly gold coins, though she also saw smaller mounds of silver and bronze, as well as piles of diamonds and other gems, that stretched backward into the shadows.

Astonished, she blurted, “This is my trust vault, ya?”  

She felt her cheeks heat when Orchid glanced at her with palpable amusement. “Yes, my Lady.”

“I just—it’s a lot, ya.” She ducked her head in slight embarrassment. 

Orchid possessed the politeness and tact not to openly laugh at her. “Understandable. Would you like to examine some of your mother’s personal effects while I perform the spell to link the pouch and your vault?”

Azalea’s attention snapped back up to the goblin’s face. She’d forgotten that her mother’s things were also in her vault. Breathlessly, she agreed, chin wobbling as she forced herself not to cry. “I’d like that, ya.” 

Orchid directed her and Arabella toward the items before she set to work. Without looking or asking,  Azalea took hold of the old woman’s wrinkled hand, tugging her along at her side. Nerves and excitement both warred in her belly, making it twist and flip. 

Much of what her mother left in her vault before her death, besides her wealth, were items that she had not wished to run the risk of getting damaged by either carrying them on her person or allowing them to remain in Godric’s Hollow. Much like many Potter artifacts had been stored in the main family vault at the start of the war, Yuri secreted away her valuables. Some were more mundane, if incredibly sentimental, such as her wedding kimono. Arabella had to identify the garment for her, but once she had, Azalea couldn’t help but examine it with her fingers. She touched the delicate fabric of the white kimono reverently, overcome with emotion once more. The wobbliness of her chin returned but she clenched her jaw, refusing to cloud her vision with tears so she could take in the dainty patterns sewn into the kimono. 

“My mum really wore this when she married my dad, abair?” 

The question came out in their shared language. 

Arabella squeezed her hand gently. “She did. I was there, as was most of the order. It was a beautiful ceremony, and Namika and Marlowe were ever so proud. So were Euphemia and Fleamont. I’m glad they got to see it before the pox took them.”

A single tear rolled off of her lashes and down her cheek, making Azalea rub furiously at her skin, her lip rolled between her teeth. “Abair, let’s look at the other stuff, Nana.”

They moved on and found, curiously, a trunk of Yuri’s school things, though it seemed her books had been separated from them. Those they found with the rest of her books, including ones of subjects not offered at Hogwarts regularly such as Alchemy, ones that offered advanced material to what was offered such as a thick tomb on runes, and ones of other interest such as the one containing bloodline information, all collected within a canvas messenger bag. The main pocket of the bag itself seemed to be spelled in the same manner as the bag Azalea used, though to a greater extent, as when they opened the flap they could see a ladder leading into a room. 

Azalea glanced first at Arabella, then over at Orchid, who was intently bent over the pouch and muttering long strings of incantations in the same foreign language as before. She shrugged, then descended the ladder. She paused at the bottom as Arabella caught up with her, staring with awe at the bookcase she found. She felt particularly drawn to one section of shelf, as if something were calling to her. Without conscious thought she walked over to it, stretching her hand out to hover her fingers over the spines of the books until she came across a patch of the Shadow-Sticky, intricately interwoven strands that gleamed underneath her sight. Her face scrunched with curiosity as she pressed her palm into it, feeling the odd sensation of something not-quite-tangible yielding underneath her touch. 

Arabella watched her intently. “What is it?” 

“There’s something here, abair,  under the Shadow-Sticky, calling to me.”

“Shadow-Sticky?”

Azalea nodded absently. “Like what I use to make people not see things right in front of them.”

Arabella frowned. “It may be best not to touch it. Who knows what sort of spells might have been placed on it.”

Azalea reluctantly eyed Arabella. “It’s my mum’s magic, abair. It won’t hurt me. It likes me. It knows who I am.”

She continued pressing into it, until her hand touched the spine of a rather large book. Energy gathered, then coated her hand, warm but not hot and tickling her flesh. A giggle slipped free from her lips as she took the book down and gazed at it curiously. It was obvious that it had been hand-bound, the outer covering tough and reinforced with magic and something else. She could feel the energy stirring under her fingertips as she brushed them over small symbols etched along the edges, both the outer ones and where they met the spine. Larger symbols decorated the front cover in a language she couldn’t consciously read, but which she understood on some fundamental level. 

“This book was from my mum’s family,” she said, tracing the etchings reverently as she looked up at Arabella. “I can feel it.” She hugged it to her chest and reached for the book next to it, struggling to juggle each tome, as they were rather heavy. “Here, will you hold this one for me please, Nana?”

She passed the first book to Arabella, peering at the second. Like the first it was hand-bound, the outer covering in an even tougher material. “Abair, what…what is this stuff, Nana?”

She looked at Arabella for an explanation, finding the woman transfixed as she stared at the book in her hands. She blinked, then turned her attention to the book in Azalea’s hands. 

“It’s dragonhide. Family grimoires—books that contain magical knowledge specific to one family, including rituals, spells, and techniques that they discover or create—are often bound in it to keep them from being damaged.”

Azalea opened the cover and noted a hand-drawn family tree and a log of previous owners inscribed on the first few pages, which had intentionally been left blank in order to add onto them as the family grew and the book changed hands through generations. She shakily traced her mother and grandfather’s signatures. “This was my grandad’s, then mum’s.”

Arabella leaned to see the page over her shoulder. “This came from Marlowe, then. It must be a Gaunt Grimoire.” 

Azalea turned to the first page of material and noticed immediately that despite being handwritten, much of the writing seemed to be startlingly legible and in good condition. Not pristine, but not worn and faded as she had imagined it might be. “Why does it still look so new, abair?”

“It must be under a strong Preservation Charm, maybe more than one if it was reapplied over the years.”

Azalea closed the book and hugged it close as she had the first one, tucking it under her chin. “This belonged to my mum, and my grandad. They picked it up and touched it and used the spells inside, abair, just like all of our family from before.”

And this time it took far longer for the wobbling to subside. 

“Yes,” Arabella agreed quietly. She waited patiently for Azalea to compose herself before offering the other book back to her. “I’m no expert, but I believe that the first book you picked up is like a family grimoire, too, but for your grandmother Namika’s people.”

Azalea frowned softly, confused. “I thought you said she didn’t have magic, abair?”

Arabella smiled gently. “It’s not a book of magic. I can’t say for certain, because I can’t read it, but I think it’s a family Fuinjutsu book. Namika said that your Clan was known for it. It must have been hers, and she passed it onto Yuri.”

Azalea carefully took the book back, huffing under the weight of the two books. At her request, Arabella held onto the grimoire while she opened the cover of the Fuinjutsu book, which, surprisingly, had a similar setup to the grimoire in terms of a rough family tree and list of previous owner’s signatures at the beginning, with blank pages between it and the start of the actual contents of the book, no doubt to add onto the family tree and log of ownership. She understood the swirling patterns and symbols, even though she couldn’t read the accompanying writing. It, like the names and family tree, seemed to be etched in a different writing system. With a sigh she closed the book and laid it atop the other one, then turned toward the last book on the shelf. It too was a grimoire—a Potter Grimoire, judging by the family tree and names written into the front of it. 

As she had so often by this point, Azalea turned to Arabella for clarification. “Abair, how is the Potter Grimoire in my mum’s bag?” 

“Your father must have given it to your mother before they died,” Arabella mused slowly. “Your parents must have realized the danger they were in and didn’t want these books damaged or destroyed, or fallen into the wrong hands. Knowing you wouldn’t be going to the Potter Vault until you were of age, they must have wanted you to have access to them.”

Azalea sniffled, promptly closing the book before she could cry on the open pages and ruin the writing. “Can we finish looking around, abair?”

Arabella agreed, not saying a word when Azalea asked her to carry the three books from her ancestors. They discovered that the bag had a few rooms, as if it were a full-blown cottage. Arabella gave her a detailed explanation of Pocket Dimensions and Undetectable Extension Charms as they passed through the first room they entered, a sort of living room or common area filled with cozy furniture in what Arabella fondly called “Gryffindor colors”. They inspected a small kitchen, complete with a sink, stove, pantry, and ice box, the latter two of which all food had mercifully been emptied. Further, there was a loo with a toilet, mirror, and shower, a single bedroom with a bed, desk, wardrobe, chest, and dresser, and a last, empty, spare room. 

With three of the other rooms holding no further interest, they returned to what had clearly once been a secondary bedroom for Yuri, where Azalea found a few curiosities on the dresser. One was a box of weapons, strange knives and long thin needles, each nearly sorted into their own sections, while blank tags lay in another opposite a drawer of tags bearing swirling designs. The other was her mother’s jewelry box, which, while it held fewer pieces than one might expect of a Lady, did possess a heavy gold pendant in the shape of a coiled basilisk with glittering emeralds for eyes and literal diamonds as the stylized S-shaped pattern along its back. Like the books, it called to her, wanting her to wear it. She slipped the long chain over her head, the serpent coming to rest in the middle of her chest. 

“Are you sure you want to go about wearing that?” Arabella fretted. “It’s rather valuable.” 

“There’s Shadow-Sticky—a spell—on it.” Azalea corrected herself mid-sentence, forcefully reminding herself that she had a word for the ‘Shadow-Sticky’. “It won’t break and no one can take it from me.”

Arabella still seemed worried, but didn’t press it as Azalea tucked the pendant underneath the neck of her robe. The heavy Potter ring she found she slipped onto her right ring finger, though several sizes too large. Instantly, magic flared and it soon realized itself to fit her finger. Her fingers next lighted on a strange object, a sort of heavy, thick band of cloth attached to an engraved metal plate. The engraving itself seemed to be a spiral of some sort. Arabella’s voice startled her and she nearly dropped it. 

“That was Namika’s. The other one must belong to her mother.” 

The second one that lay at the bottom of the jewelry box seemed far older, with far more wear to the cloth and scratches on its surface, as if it had seen use. Azalea traced over each one, imagining her tough great-grandmother. She sighed, then laid the first band back into the box with great care. On the desk they found two journals and a few sketch pads as well as stacks of letters, some of the latter written in her mother’s hand, judging by the content, and others written in Namika’s and Marlowe’s. Azalea stared at them hungrily, tracing each letter with her eyes, afraid to brush them with her fingers and smear the writing.  She saw that her mother’s writing bore striking similarity to her own—the shape of her letters -g, -y, and -j, as well as the loops on the back of her letter -k and -p. Namika’s writing did as well but to a lesser degree, though the resemblance was, again, striking. She set the letters aside with a sigh, though she did gaze at them longingly for several moments. 

“Abair, let’s go back up, Nana.”

When they emerged from the bag, they found Orchid patiently waiting for them a few feet away. “I see that you found your mother’s bag.”

Azalea nodded. “And some other stuff, ya.”  

She knelt down to examine the bag for the small pocket she spied earlier and opened it eagerly. It did not possess another room, but did seem to have a fairly expanded pocket. “I believe it has an auto-Summon feature,” Orchid told them helpfully. 

“That’ll serve our purposes just fine then,” Arabella commented. “As I’m sure Azalea won’t want to part with these particular books.” 

Azalea blushed as she remembered her insistence that they bring the three books of family knowledge as well as her mother and grandmother’s journals with them, which consequently meant that Arabella had carried them up the ladder for a few feet until Azalea figured out how to levitate them. It then took all of her concentration and will not to drop the heavy tomes onto Arabella’s head as she grasped at her inner power, more slippery than usual when she had to maintain her control over something while concentrating on moving. “I want to take the bag with me, ya,” she confessed, half-embarrassed yet flushed with pleasure at the find. 

“That’s an excellent idea,” Arabella agreed instantly. “Not only is it rather normal for children to become familiar with their family’s knowledge from an early age, but this means we don’t need to go and pick out a bag for you—unless you still want that?”

Azalea appreciated the offer, but even thinking of using a different bag had her tightly gripping the fabric of the smaller pocket between her fingers. Hurriedly she shook her head. “No, I want this one, ya. It was—it was mum’s.” 

Unsaid but completely realized was the fact that using the bag would make her feel closer to her mother by surrounding herself with her things. 

“I want her trunk, too, ya. Please?”

Arabella gave her an all-too-understanding smile. Orchid helped her by lowering her mother’s school trunk and the original bag Azalea wore into her mother’s bag with magic, as Arabella was a Squib and couldn’t levitate it herself. Soon after Azalea finished going over—and in some cases, collecting in the messenger bag to take with her—her mother’s belongings, the two humans and one goblin emerged from the vault together. With nothing else to do, Orchid re-sealed the vault and the three got back into the cart and rode back to the surface. When they emerged back into the great hall with rows of tellers, they found the goblin Morning Glory waiting patiently for them. 

“Your key, my Lady.” 

Azalea took the key, adding it to one of the smaller compartments on her mother’s bag, which she currently wore, the strap automatically adjusting to better fit her small frame. “Thank you, ya, both of you.”  She smiled gratefully at the two goblins and bobbed a somewhat awkward curtsy. 

The goblins seemed rather pleased by the gesture, bowing low at the waist in return. “It is our pleasure, my Lady. Please feel free to come back or contact us directly any time and we would be more than happy to assist you. As for your treasure, we shall guard it fiercely.”

Azalea left Gringotts with a spring in her step and her hand in Arabella’s. “Abair, where are we going now, Nana?”

Arabella glanced down at her as they ascended the white marble steps. “Well, there’s no reason not to get you new clothes. I’m sure you’re tired of wearing those rags?” At her emphatic nod, Arabella continued. “So Madam Malkin’s, then, unless you’d rather go to the Magical Menagerie for supplies first? You’ll need a small store of food for your friend, after all.”

The fact that Arabella considered Kaaza at all made Azalea practically glow with happiness, and she knew she’d float on cloud nine all the way to the first store. Still—even with the fresh change of clothes she wore to replace Dudley’s rags that she’d been wearing, she yearned to finally, finally, have clothes of her own. 

“Clothes first, please.”

At Madam Malkins, they found the shop thankfully deserted. Azalea hung back as Arabella pushed the door open, a bell tinkling overhead to announce their arrival. A friendly, squat witch dressed completely in mauve appeared from within the racks of clothing, graying hair swept off of her neck. She wore violently pink glasses with a cat’s-eye frame. “Hell, dear, I’m Prudence Malkin.” She paused then, assessing Azalea quickly from head to toe. Her smile never wavered, but perhaps more importantly, no look of recognition lit her features.  “Hmm, you look too young for Hogwarts. Are you here for everyday wear, then? What do you need? I'm sure we have your size.”

Arabella jumped in before Azalea could speak. “Lea needs a full wardrobe. Robes Charmed to look like jumpers to Muggles, casual wear that can pass for Muggle clothing, socks and underwear, shoes, and any scarves you might have.”

At the mention of such a large order, Madam Malkin’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, of course. Even with clothing charmed to accommodate for a bit of growth, young children often quickly grow out of their wardrobe. It is that time of year, isn’t it?” She hummed to herself. “Just step on the stool so I can get your measurements, dear.”

Azalea then experienced the oddity of having three different measuring tapes taking various measurements seemingly by themselves as Madam Malkin disappeared amongst her wares. She reappeared just in time to read the final results recorded by a floating quill and parchment. “Hmm, just as I thought,” she hummed, dumping an assortment of clothing at her feet. “These should fit you. Pick out what you like and try it on.”

Azalea stepped down off the stool, and with Arabella’s help made selections for anything she might need. She ended up with two other basic robes, the basic color being black in order to match everything, although they changed color as well. She also received three sets of shiny black boots, numerous dresses in different colors and styles, multiple pairs of pants paired with plain shirts, a multicolored pack of socks, some in eye-catching hues and patterns, and a scarf in every color available. To Azalea’s absolute shock, Arabella immediately reached for her purse when they arrived at the counter and Madam Malkin rang them up at the till. The bill was eye-watering to Azalea. She may have just found out about owning a vast fortune, but she’d grown up in nearly abject poverty with how the Dursleys treated her. 

Hand on the lip of the pouch hanging from her neck, she couldn’t finish voicing a single protest, as Arabella would have none of it. “But—”

“None of that dear,” the Irish witch dismissed. “You keep your money. You’re my gariníon, so I’ll pay for it.”

Azalea’s eyes watered. Gariníon was the word for granddaughter in Gaeilge. Arabella saw her as her own. 

Fishing around in her purse for money, Arabella didn’t look up as she directed a request to Madam Malkin. “Could you levitate everything down for her so she doesn’t have to toss it in? She’s too young for a wand.”

“I—” A funny mix of confusion then mortified realization colored the gregarious witch’s features as Madam Malkin flushed awkwardly. “I’m sorry—I assumed you were a witch.”

Only because she knew her so well did Azalea notice the subtle flinch. 

“No, no,” Arabella said as she withdrew a mokeskin pouch and began counting out the coins she needed, her voice composed and neutral. “I’m a Squib, but my daughter and grandchildren are magical.”

“Ah, I—I see. I do apologize…”

Arabella waved off her concern. “It’s neither here nor there. The Muggleborns get by with their Muggle parents, so we manage in much the same way.”

“Yes well.” Madam Malkin cleared her throat and with a wave, gently lowered Azalea’s purchases to the bottom of the bag to rest at the foot of the ladder. “There you go, then, all taken care of.”

The woman seemed almost relieved as they left the shop to head to the Magical Menagerie. Arabella led the way to the counter, where a lone wizard sat reading a book. At their approach, he set it to the side and beamed brightly at them. “Welcome to the Magical Menagerie, how can we assist you today?”

“We need food to feed a grass snake,” Arabella told him pleasantly, as if she bought supplies for snakes every day. 

“A grass snake.” He nodded. “Nice, safe, snake for a small magical child, easy to tame, and more good-natured than some of the more aggressive species. You’ll want small toads, salamanders, mice, and birds. We have a variety pack that we sell—spelled with a Preservation Charm, of course—that includes an assortment of those, in addition to earthworms, slugs, lizards, and grasshoppers.” 

“And how much would that be?”

“If you get the standard size, which is guaranteed to last at least three months, it would come out to 5 Galleons, 16 Sickles, and 4 Knuts.”

Remembering just in time not to mention her two additional snake friends, Azalea bit her tongue, instead silently watching as the shopkeep went to fetch two variety packs. As they waited patiently, the door opened again and a rather rumpled, harried-looking wizard came into the shop lugging two terrariums.  He stomped to the counter beside them, laboring all the way, and plunked them down gracelessly. Inside the bottom terrarium rested a single serpent who Azalea only caught notice of because of his little pointed snout sticking out from the nest he’d made. The topmost terrarium, however, seemed to house another lone serpent—or so she thought until she heard three voices hissing heatedly at each other. Their argument made the snake in the bottom terrarium burrow lower in his nest. 

Azalea tried not to stare, she really did, but failed miserably when the serpent rose into a “standing” position, revealing one body with three heads, each of whom seemed to be invested in being freed. 

“We must bite the human when he opens the lid again,” the left declared. 

“Oh, to be free—can you imagine what the air tastes like outside of this place?” the middle head mused dreamily. 

“Be serious,” the right declared. “You have a terrible plan, and youhave no plan at all.”

Before she could tear her eyes away and ask Arabella about them, the man noticed her watching them wide-eyed. “It’s a Runespoor,” he said conversationally. “It’s one venomous snake with three heads. They tend not to get along very well.”

“It doesn’t sound like it, ya,” Azalea acknowledged agreeably. Even to someone who couldn’t understand them, their hissing was very obviously displeased. 

“They’re fascinating,” he gushed, adding, “but bloody annoying. I’m researching antivenins for my Potions Mastery and haven’t gotten a wink of sleep all week for more than half an hour.”

“That sounds like it’s hard, ya,” Azalea said, not sure what else to say. 

“Very.” He smiled. “Do you know anything about them?”

When she shook her head in the negative and reinforced it with an honest no, he launched into a more thorough explanation. “The left head is the planner, the one that decides where the Runespoor goes and what it does. The middle head is the dreamer, the creative genius that focuses on the pesky details like hows and whys. The right head is the critic, the one that evaluates the efforts of the left and middle heads. It’s always grumpy in comparison, especially to the upbeat middle head. I guess you could think of them as being a realist, an optimist, and a pessimist all stuck together in one body. They usually kill their right head. That’s why he’s got the cone, see, so the others can’t take off his head?”

Azalea did see. “If you need them, ya,  then why are they here?” She hoped she sounded more curious than rude. 

He shrugged. “I got what I needed. And now I’m returning them, and the Boomslang too. Shame that they’ll probably just end up being destroyed or used as potion fodder since they’re too dangerous to adopt out to just anyone. They’re not exactly as adoptable as, say, a kneazle or an owl, and you can’t exactly send them to a kennel either now can you?”

The idea that formed left her lips before she could truly think about it. It was simply so unfair that the snakes would have to die because the man was irresponsible and lazy. He took them in the first place, and he should, in her opinion, try harder to make sure they continued to have a good life. Then again, maybe she just had a soft spot for snakes now, being a Parselmouth and the friend to a grass snake and mother to Basilisks. 

“Ya, let me have them.”

The man blinked at her in equal parts surprise and confusion, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then looked at Arabella, who seemed just as taken aback by her suggestion. 

“I can pay for them,” she added helpfully, reaching for her gold. She could more than afford the original price for them, she was sure of it. She didn’t have all those reserves of gold for nothing. After all, what good would it all be if she couldn’t do something good with it?

“Ah, little girl,” he began awkwardly, affecting a pompous sniff. “I don’t think you know how dangerous these creatures are, not to mention that they probably cost more than your allowance. They’re each highly venomous and are not meant to be treated like kneazle kits. If you’re bitten—”

“They won’t bite me,” Azalea softly cut in, wincing internally at her own interruption. “We can be friends, ya, and they’ll like not being in that box. The Runespoor ’s not very happy in that glass cage, and the little Boomslang is afraid.”

He wagged a finger at her. “There’s no way you can guarantee they won’t attack you or someone else. They’re not—they’re not tameable or docile, unless under the control of a Parselmouth.”

“Azalea—” Arabella started, but Azalea was already reaching for the terrarium, soft hissing words falling from her lips. 

“Hello there! I am called Azalea, issa issa,  and I want to be your friend. Do you have names? Would you like to live with me, issa?”

It didn’t occur to her until she spoke the last line that Arabella might feel some kind of way about her essentially inviting two deadly snakes into her family’s home, even if Azalea had a sort of tenuous control over them. Then again, these two that Arabella knew of were arguably hardly as much of a concern as the two baby Basilisks currently cuddling her underneath her robe. 

The man’s eyes grew as wide as saucers and all but popped from his head. He drew away from her and the serpents both, as if he’d been burned, his easy smile slipping away to be replaced by fear and his complexion leeching of color. The serpents, on the other hand, gave her their undivided attention. The three heads of the Runespoor stopped their bickering about escape all at once to stare at her, and the shy Boomslang poked his head out of his burrow. 

Four voices cooed in unison. “A speaker!”

“Yes, speaker, save us,” the middle head of the runespoor said. 

“Take us home,” the first head agreed. “We can be friends, and you will give us fat mice to eat.”

“Idiot,” snapped the right head. “Stop planning with your stomach and be serious.”

“I just want to sleep someplace warm,” the boomslang requested hesitantly. “This two-leg’s house was very cold and dark. I want to see the sun.”

Azalea smiled softly, inadvertently terrifying the man. “There will be fat mice and fat birds, issa, and bugs and lizards and other things, issa issa. But you must never bite a human unless I ask. Can you do that?”

She got a chorus of affirmative answers. She looked toward her friend and adoptive grandmother to relay the information and apologize for jumping in to interfere without her input only to see Arabella wearing a nervous expression. At first a single wriggle of doubt made her wonder if perhaps she’d gone too far, proven too freaky, and that the woman would abandon her in disgust. However, she quickly realized that the expression came from Arabella watching the man. Azalea glanced at him and saw that he had his wand out and raised, swinging it uncertainly between her and the terrariums. 

Arabella moved to stand between them. “Put down your wand you fool. She’s just a child.” Her Irish accent thickened considerably with her emotion. 

“She’s a P-P-Parselmouth,” he stuttered. “They’re all evil. She’s a Dark Lady in the making and she’s going to attack me—”

“What the bloody hell is going on here?!”

The attendant had returned, holding the supplies they asked for and a few other recommended purchases in his arms. He stared uncomprehendingly between the now pale and trembling man and his customers, who, for all appearances, were a harmless duo consisting of an old woman and a young girl. 

“I came here to drop off these—” The man jerked his head toward the snakes, who watched with beady eyes. “—and ran into her. She’s a Parselmouth. She conversed with them in front of me, and is probably going to attack me.”

“That’s not true, ya!” She scowled at him and stomped her foot, not noticing the little sparks that action emitted. “I promised to give them fat mice and birds if they’d be my friends and promise me not to bite people.” 

She conveniently left off the part where she stipulated that they not bite someone unless she asked them to. She was, after all, six, not a moron. She knew when to lie—or rather, simply when not to tell the truth. Sometimes that meant lying, and sometimes it meant being quiet. 

The man all but shrieked his retort. “How can I know that?”

“Just give them to me, ya! I have gold!” Azalea crossed her arms and stood resolute. Arabella reached back and set a comforting hand on her head. 

“Look, mate.” The shopkeep set their items on the counter as he looked between them, an exasperated expression painting his features. “You don’t want the snakes, and you don’t want to be here. Why don’t you take the money and go?”

Azalea stuck her hand into the pouch and took out a handful of Galleons. She deposited them onto the counter next to the terrarium. 

The wizard sneered at the pile of coins. “I don’t want money from a Dark witch.”

“Then don’t take her money and get the hell out,” the shopkeep snapped. “You’re threatening my paying customers and it’s bad for business.”

He opened his till and counted out around ten Galleons and shoved them into the other wizard’s chest. The man was forced to take them or risk leaving them crashing to the floor. “Now get out. And if you ever threaten a child in my presence again, I’ll hex off your bollox.”

With a disgruntled huff he left, not speaking another word. Silence settled over them and the three breathed a collective sigh of relief before the shopkeep spoke. “Take your gold back, lass. He’s gone and I reckon these are yours now.” He gestured at the two deadly snakes. “I suppose you’ll need more supplies?”

Azalea looked carefully at Arabella to see what she’d say. The elderly Squib, who still appeared tense, gifted her with a warm smile, passing her the coins she’d offered to the awful man. “Can you really control them? I don’t want to endanger the rest of the family.”

Azalea nodded while accepting her gold, reiterating her earlier words as she returned them to her pouch. “They said they wanted to eat fat mice, ya. I told them I had some but that they had to promise not to bite anyone. They did.” 

The man sighed, running his hand through lightly tousled blonde hair. “Well, that’s as good as it’s gonna get. I’ll get you another pack and more care items. Wait here.”

He disappeared again, and Azalea tensed, waiting for judgement. “He said the poor snakes were going to die since he was done with his stupid research,” she muttered quickly in her defense. “It’s not fair.”

When Arabella raised her hand, she flinched instinctively, taking several moments to relax when she realized that the hand was only stroking along the top of her head. “You have a gentle heart,” Arabella observed tenderly, a thick concern crinkling the corners of her eyes when she noticed Azalea’s initial reaction. “Standing up for them was very brave of you. Your parents would be proud.”

A fierce burst of something warm yet sad bloomed in her chest. She trusted Arabella, and if Arabella said they’d be proud, then they would be. The thought made her deliriously happy. “Abair, you really think so?”

“I know so.”

They stood quietly this time as they waited, with no other disturbances. The helpful shopkeep returned with more food; some sort of scale cleaning kit, judging by the writing on front; a large, flat stone; and a large, translucent crystal, each levitating in a line behind him. 

“This—” He gestured at the crystal first. “—is a type of magical crystal called Sun Crystal. It holds light—and to some extent, heat—exceptionally well, and when charmed with Lumos Solem, will hold light for anywhere from a week to a month. The strength of the Charm at casting determines the interval between renewals of it. This, however—” And here he indicated the stone. “—is a Basking Stone. They hold heat exceptionally well but not light, generate their own humidity, and when Charmed with Concale, will, similarly to the Sun Crystals with light, hold heat anywhere from a week to a month. Again, it’s all dependent on the strength of the Charm and the intention of the castor at the time of incantation. They’ve both been Charmed to automatically expand to accommodate more snakes.”

Azalea neatly filed the information away for later as Arabella reached for her mokeskin pouch. She tilted her head questioningly “Nana?” 

“You’re a child, Azalea, a child that has not always been fortunate enough to have the adults in your life looking after you. Let me do this.” Arabella paid for the materials without batting an eyelash at the pricing. Unlike Petunia Dursley, who never missed a chance to complain, not a single disgruntled word left her lips, and the smile she gave Azalea reached her eyes, brimming with sincerity. Only then could Azalea relax, though a shard of guilt replaced the fear and uncertainty. 

The shopkeep refrained from commenting when she asked him to Banish the purchases into Yuri’s old bag, now Azalea’s, and, she noted out of the corner of her eye, had slipped a few treats for her friends that he didn’t ring up  into the lot. “What about your friends?” He nodded toward the now quietly observing Boomslang and Runespoor for which she now found herself responsible. “Shall I send them in as well?”

After a moment of thought, Azalea nodded. “Yes, please. Just let me tell them, ya.”

She whispered a warning in Parseltongue, and then the four were sent sailing into the depths of the bag. 

“Thank you, ya.”

“It was my pleasure. Take care of yourselves now.”

Less than ten minutes after bidding him farewell in turn, Azalea found herself stepping inside Flourish and Blotts with Arabella. After one quiet inquiry by her older companion while she hung out at the end of a long row of shelves, she soon found herself the new owner of an A-Z encyclopedia of snakes, a book covering snakes in world mythology, and a single book, respectively, concerned entirely with Runespoors and Boomslangs, all fetched by the clerk from the Magizoology and Care of Magical Creatures section.  The clerk had also fetched, upon Arabella’s request, any books on Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Charms that Yuri hadn’t already collected, as well as any they might have for Transfiguration from her father—there weren’t many. 

Afterward, Arabella seemed content to let her roam, hovering a few feet behind her, though Azalea picked out far fewer, mostly a few Wizarding novels and an encyclopedia of stones and their uses. As they continued to browse, they rounded the end of a row of shelves and nearly both bumped right into a young boy around Azalea’s age. 

Arabella peered down at him intently. “Hello there. Are you lost, ya?”

The boy—blonde-haired, round-faced and slightly chubby—blushed furiously. “M-m-maybe.”

“You can walk with us, ya,” Azalea offered brightly. 

“I—really?” 

Azalea extended her hand to him. “Sure. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Azalea, ya. What’s your name?”

The boy swallowed nervously. “Er, Neville, that is, Neville Longbottom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Neville.”

“You said you were looking for someone?” Arabella prompted gently. 

Neville nodded sheepishly. “My gran. I know she’s in here somewhere.”

Arabella smiled kindly at him. “Why don’t we look for her together?”

He brightened at her suggestion. “You really mean it?”

“Of course, now come on, then. Where did you last see her?”

They started off in that direction together, meanwhile Azalea made it a point to speak to Neville since the boy seemed painfully shy and seemingly disbelieving that anyone would notice him, let alone speak to him. He lacked Azalea’s confidence, which she possessed despite her rather reserved nature. Rather than being timid like Neville seemed to be, she tended to get a feel of a person first as she warmed up to them, watching them for any signs of danger. Neville, meanwhile, seemed genuinely terrified of people and social interactions, and had only marginally relaxed after a few minutes discussing some of their favorite books.  As they neared a section concerning childhood development, a stately, if imposing, witch marched around the end of a row and nearly plowed through the two children. 

“Gran!” Neville squeaked, startled, immediately tripping over his own two feet and right into Azalea. He sent them both sprawling, and in the aftermath as he tried to scramble free from the tangle of limbs, he accidentally caught at the tail of her scarf, yanking it back to reveal both her telling crimson mane and her trademark scar. 

“As I live and breathe,” the stern-looking old witch murmured, “You’re Lady Azalea Potter. I’d recognize you anywhere even without that scar. You’re the spitting image of your mother, and that hair.”

Finally freeing himself, the boy gaped at her. “You never said you were Azalea Potter.”

“It’s Azalea Nanami Uzumaki Potter,” she sniffed defensively as she tugged her scarf back into place. “Or Azalea Black. And I can’t tell just anyone, ya! There are still bad people after me—Death Eaters.”

“Neville,” his grandmother admonished at the same time, “you are to title a Lady unless she says otherwise.”

The boy paled at Azalea’s remark and hardly seemed to hear his grandmother, while the old witch turned grave, her eyes darting shrewdly around as her grip on her wand tightened. “Who did you come with, Lady Uzumaki Potter? Are you alone?”

Azalea shook her head, continuing formally with, “No, Lady Longbottom, ya, I came with my friend.”

“She came with me, Augusta.”

Arabella had finally caught up with them, having still been trailing a bit behind them to give them room to talk. She came up and placed her hands on Azalea’s shoulders. 

“You—you’re Arabella Figg née Macdonald? I remember you from before,” Lady Longbottom—Augusta, though Azalea hardly felt so familiar with her as to refer to her that way—said softly, assessingly. A glimmer of respect entered her sharp gaze. “Yes, you  knew my Frank and Alice. You  worked with them under Dumbledore, even though you’re a Squib and at a disadvantage.”

Once again Azalea noticed the nearly imperceptible way the word affected Arabella. Instead of commenting on it, she said instead, “It was a pleasure and a privilege to work with those two and to count them amongst my allies.”

Lady Longbottom bowed her head for a moment. “They were truly something, weren’t they? Before—before all of that.”

Neville was looking back and forth between the women, something like curiosity and horrified realization on his face. 

Lady Longbottom eyed Arabella. “As I recall, you  have three wizard brothers—Nolan, Declan, and Kieran Macdonald. Nolan, the oldest, has a daughter about the same age as my son and Lady Uzumaki Potter’s mother.”  

The formalities and use of Azalea’s preferred form of address continued to be carefully included this time with an eye-flicker directed toward her by Lady Longbottom. 

“That’s right,” Arabella confirmed. “My niece Mary went to school with Yuri. They were friends, sorted into Gryffindor at the same time as my Alannah.”

As the two older women took a moment to catch up with each other, Azalea turned to Neville, nudging him gently with her elbow. “Hey,” she whispered to the silent boy, who was currently trying to hide picking a scab on his knee. He seemed to startle again. “Wanna be friends, ya? I’ve never really gotten to have any, but maybe now, ya..?”

“What?” He could only blink, clearly bewildered. 

Azalea faltered. “Unless you don’t want to be? I mean, our mums and dads knew each other, ya, and you’re nice, so I thought…” She trailed off as she watched him grow more comically pale and wide-eyed.

“Don’t stand there like a numpty, answer her,” a stern voice cut in suddenly, and glancing back at Arabella and Lady Longbottom, she saw the two watching them. Lady Longbottom  possessed a rather calculating glint in her eye, while Arabella shot her a friendlier, more encouraging look. “Well?” Neville’s grandmother urged, “We don’t have all day, Neville. We have tea in an hour. What do you have to say to Lady Uzumaki Potter?”

“I—I would like that,” he stuttered in a rush, a blush rising then deepening until he had a tomato face. “And maybe we could be friends at school too?” He offered his friendship hesitantly, as if sure of rejection. 

“And learn magic together, ya.” Azalea beamed at him, and the way he visibly melted, blushing redder still, amused her. 

“Well, now that that’s settled.” Lady Longbottom sounded rather pleased at that turn of events. “Come along, Neville. We must be off now. Lady Marchbanks and Lady Gamp will be expecting us.”

“Yes, Gran—bye, Azalea.” Neville waved meekly, but smiling with a tentative sort of happiness that Azalea wanted to make last. 

Not caring about stuffy formalities if they were going to be friends and not being raised in all that nonsense as he obviously had been, she reached forward and drew him into a quick hug. “Bye, Neville!~”

He blanched with shock, a stupefied yet pleased expression blooming as he trailed after his grandmother. Azalea caught a flicker of a smile on the woman’s lips as they left. As soon as they were gone, she turned to Arabella, immediately noticing how tense she looked. “Nana? Abair, what’s wrong?” She dropped out of English as soon as the woman and boy were gone. 

Arabella sighed then gathered her into her arms, settling her chin on the top of her head. “Nothing, dear. I was foolishly hoping we could get in and out without being recognized, but I see that shan’t be the case. No matter. We’ve got all that we came for and more.”

They paid for their selections—Arabella once again using her own gold, though she did relent and allow Azalea to pay for her novels after much pleading. The toy run lasted all of five minutes once Azalea grabbed onto a stuffed fox and stuffed lion. Finally, their shopping complete and items Banished into the bag, the two stopped for ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Azalea licked happily at her selection of raspberry swirl as they huddled in a booth at the back. Things then passed uneventfully for the rest of their time in the alley. They finished with their ice cream in contemplative silence occasionally broken by murmured Gaeilge, and Arabella made a whisperer call in Gaeilge to her daughter. 

Leaving Diagon Alley to re-enter Muggle London, they were able to catch a nearby bus just in time to ride to King’s Cross station, where Arabella purchased them two tickets for Edinburgh. Once they settled on the train, Azalea opened one of the smaller compartments to bring out her grandmother’s journal. The auto-Summon function worked as promised and the book flew into her waiting palm. When no Muggles were looking their way, she withdrew it and sat back to read for the duration of the trip, which took about four hours. Every once in a while, she and Arabella would exchange a few words in Gaeilge, but otherwise remained even more silent than when in the ice cream parlor, with Arabella pulling a knitting project out of her purse. When they finally reached Edinburgh, the day had firmly advanced into the afternoon. Arabella arranged for a stagecoach leaving in an hour to take them the rest of the way to Loch Ness, where the Urqhart lands would be located. In the meantime, they strolled about the city, taking in the sights. For Azalea, who had never been out of Little Whinging before, the entire day had been an adventure that kept on giving—or, at least, it had been right up until they turned an oddly deserted street corner only for something to send Azalea reeling.

It took her a moment to make sense of it, for the puzzle pieces to fall into place. Neither the ambient magic of Diagon alley, thick in the air and blanketing everything in sight, nor seeing magic—and the mysterious other energy she knew she possessed—swaddling her books of family knowledge in protective wards had prepared her for the overwhelming pillars of that strange second type of energy that flared in her vision, one much larger and brighter than the others, like a star setting foot on the earth, thrumming with unrestrained power like a roiling storm waiting to break. The pillars….the pillars of energy were people, she realized belatedly. Four oddly dressed men—oddly dressed by Muggle standards, anyway, as wizards clearly had them beat—who moved far faster than any Muggle she’d seen, though Azalea could still track the movements, which were almost like dancing. Dangerous dancing, judging by the effortless deadly grace with which they fought and the flash of metal weapons that seemed vaguely familiar….

….Because the same sort of weapons had been amongst the things taken from the vault. The men had to be from the Elemental Nations. What other explanation would there be for them to possess weapons like those Namika and Yuri owned? What other explanation would there be for the strange energy they radiated, the same energy that nestled snugly in her belly like a purring cat simply waiting for her to call it forth again? 

It took Azalea less than twenty seconds to observe it all and to draw those conclusions. She tugged on Arabella’s hand. “They’re like my grandmum,” she urgently whispered to the woman, whose face spoke of her shock and indecision. “They have the same knives and they have that other magic—chakra. I can see it.”

Arabella snapped out of it, eyes still wide, a look of genuine terror passing over her features when she looked at Azalea. “Namika always said never to let one of them see you or Yuri unless they were sworn to Konoha.”

Azalea recognized the name from Namika’s journal. Her grandmother wrote something about how Konoha and Uzushio were allied Hidden Villages, and that after Uzushio’s destruction, Konoa would be the only truly safe place for an Uzumaki. Most Uzumaki were scattered to the four winds with many changing their names or hiding in faraway civilian villages. Before she could respond to Arabella, however, the four men seemed to have taken notice of them. Three of the men faced in the same direction, marking them as allies.  

“Why, Jiraiya,” one of the trio sneered in accented English, though the other language he spoke obviously differed a great deal from Gaeilge. “It looks as if we have company.” He smirked nastily at where Azalea and Arabella stood. “It would be a shame if these civilians were to get in our way, would it not?”

Azalea startled at the familiar name as Jiraiya—the man with long, unruly white hair who wore mostly green attire, and had an odd cloth and metal band similar to Namika’s own, tied so that the metal plate rested over his forehead—grimaced. “You will not touch them,” Jiraiya barked. “Leave them out of this. They have no quarrel with you.”

“No,” one of the other men agreed, “but you have a quarrel with us.”

Jiraiya chuckled darkly, baring his teeth at them. It was not a friendly gesture. “You are nukenin. Any decent nin who crosses paths with you will have a quarrel with you.”

“You will allow us to leave this place,” the first man continued, “or we’ll kill the gaki and the kusobabaa. Kuro?”

Her attention had been so focused on the men in front of her that she had failed to notice the man behind her and Arabella, who had, she noted belatedly, also dampened his energy somehow, as if a thick blanket or fog lay over it, obscuring it so it shone no brighter than a minuscule pinprick. He must have hidden himself and snuck around behind them. He grabbed her and jerked her back roughly into his chest. One arm pinned her there by her stomach while the other held a knife, like the kind she found amongst Namika and Yuri’s belongings, so that the blade bit shallowly into her neck, allowing a single drop of blood to well up and drop onto her robe collar. If he slid it in just the right way, it would slit her throat effortlessly. 

She could feel the panic radiating off of Arabella in waves as the woman stared at her, eyes desperate, but before it could infect her, Kaaza hissed dangerously in her ear, and then she could feel the twins moving against the skin of her arms underneath her robe. Slowly, inch by careful inch, the young ones were making their way up her arm toward the collar of her robe, seeking out the one who bound her. She hissed a barely-audible command at them to stay hidden and not to interfere—as hatchlings their scales were soft and vulnerable and would be that way for several more weeks—while also trying to keep track of her surroundings. The adults were talking again, the strangers in some sing-song, rapid-fire foreign language and Arabella alternating between pleading with them in English and praying in Gaeilge to one of her gods. Finding out how wizards (or at least those with more wizarding ancestry) treated religion had been both fun and interesting, to say the least, though she could hardly think of it now with her life on the line. 

“Please,” Arabella pleaded again to no avail. “She’s just a child. Let her go and take me instead.”

The words triggered the faintest echo of a memory, something distant and vague and filled with high, cold laughter and flashing green lights. Azalea might be nearly seven, but she was an astute,  highly intelligent child.  It took her a few excruciating, infinite moments to put the pieces together, then it hit her like a freight train: her mum, pleading to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named  to spare her life, for what else could the memory be but that terrible moment that she had, until that moment, not remembered at all? 

Within the precious seconds it took her to connect the dots, the four men in front of them had started fighting again, three against one, and the one restraining her reared back faster than she had ever witnessed a Muggle moving, at a height she never saw them reach, to kick Arabella, striking her in the chest with an accompanying snarl of, “Damare!”

There was a sharp crack and a snapping of bone—one of her nana’s ribs, most likely—and then she was knocked back several feet, choking back a scream as the force of impact drove the breath from her lungs. As she fell, he kicked her again, higher on her body this time as it crumpled and the trajectory changed. She hit the pavement with a thud, her spine connecting painfully with the asphalt of the road. She gasped, rolled painfully onto her side with a wet cough, and spat out blood.

 “Azalea,” Arabella rasped weakly, her dove gray eyes now bloodshot as they locked onto emerald green. When she spoke next, it was in Gaeilge. “Th-the w-white hair. Ch-check h-him for a leaf.”

Azalea flinched away from the sight of blood coating her surrogate grandmother's teeth, forcing her eyes toward the fighting men just as the man holding her hostage kicked Arabella again so she lay flat and planted a foot in the middle of her chest. “Damare!”

Azalea’s hands balled into fists and white-hot rage simmered in her belly, stirring up the two energies thrumming within her into a frenzy like a swarm of angry bees that hissed and spat in time to her own heartbeat. Oblivious to the sudden smell of ozone and the charge and heaviness to the air as if they sat amidst a rising storm, she glared as she searched the men with her eyes like Arabella asked, knowing all the while why she told her to check for a leaf. She knew from reading a small portion of Yuri’s journal that her mother had been almost regretful not to receive her own hitai-ate, though she far preferred being a witch—or a “Natural-Born Sage”, as she explained they were called by shinobi who knew of them—than she did a kunoichi. She, of course, had received some form of training for the latter during her childhood under her mother’s watchful eye, but she had never gained recognition from a Hidden Village to be a full-fledged kunoichi with sworn allegiance. Each proper shinobi wore one somewhere on their body, often tied around their head, as a means of identifying their village of origin. It was that knowledge that made her aware of just what that strange band in the jewelry box was: Namika’s hitai-ate. 

Only one man out of the five wore the band of allegiance boldly declaring his loyalty to his village. Azalea had noticed him wearing it when the others singled him out earlier, but she had not paid any mind to the insignia. If the white haired man—Jiraiya, they called him—was the same man that had been spoken of with fondness in Namika’s journal, then he was one of the legendary Sanin and a shinobi of Konoha, Uzushio’s ally. When Azalea checked the mark he bore she felt some of her tension ease. As long as his village honored the old alliance, this man was her ally. 

“I see it! I see the leaf!” 

She answered in Gaeilge, only to be jostled rudely by the man ignorant of the fact that the twins had both worked up to her shoulders, their little heads laying on her collarbone. They, along with Kaaza, could strike at any time at her will. She only had to ask it of them and the man would be dead. She didn’t want to introduce them to Arabella that way, didn’t want to make her children—literal infants by any standards—killers, but needs must. If she had to tell them to strike to make sure they survived, she would. She had brought them into the world for that very purpose, to protect herself so that no one could take away her freedom ever again, and she would not let it slip through her grasp now when she was so close to reaching it, nor would she allow them to harm one of her precious people. Arabella was precious to her, had been so good to her for years, had now adopted her. She was hers. No one would hurt someone that was hers again, as the Dark Lord had. 

“Leaf—Konoha—Good—” Arabella visibly winced, then coughed, more blood flying out to coat the pant leg of the man immobilizing her. She didn’t sound as coherent as she usually did. 

The man all but screamed the same command at them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he didn’t want them talking. “Damare!”

Azalea’s lip curled in disdain and loathing, her wrath growing to greater heights when the man stomped on Arabella, crushing another of her ribs under his heel. 

“Stop it,” Azalea spat, just loudly enough for him to hear her. 

“No gaki is going to tell me what to do.” 

She could hear the sneer in his voice. As if to spite her, he ground his heel into Arabella’s injured ribs, twisting his foot back and forth to apply cruel pressure where it would hurt most. 

Arabella screamed, and something inside of Azalea snapped.  

“Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!” 

Dully, Azalea heard her own voice from a distance, oddly distorted as if her answering screams came from underwater. She was thrashing around in his grasp like a rabid dog, kicking and clawing at him, yelling at the top of her lungs as she did. The man, Kuro, wrestled to maintain his grip against her furious onslaught, completely caught off guard by her change in behavior. No matter how much he shook or threatened her she kept up her efforts, still shouting herself hoarse. In the ensuing struggle, between all her vicious flailing and his attempts to pull her hair, her scarf slipped free from where it rested securely past her hairline to hide the traits that would reveal her, back over the crown of her head, and finally, with nothing to support it, it slid down her braids and fluttered onto Arabella’s chest, where some of the blood she coughed up had stained her robe. 

\|/

At the same time, the palpable, crackling tension in the air finally caught the attention of the shinobi present, each equally as confused until an intense flare of chakra lit up their senses—not a flash of it, not a candle in a dark room, and not a mere beacon, but an intense tide of all-consuming light as if from looking directly into the sun. A solar flare, a raging inferno, a wave of light and heat and power washed over them, rolling off of the most unassuming of those present in waves as she shrieked like a banshee. 

A few yards away from her, Jiraiya almost froze, barely side-stepping an attack from one of the nukenin, though his adversaries had faltered. All eyes were fixed on a single point: the small child that Kuro currently held hostage, a girl whose small size made it difficult to determine her age. She had to be at least five, though he sensed she might be older than that. She had unearthly green eyes backlit by something other than the sunlight, to the point that he was fairly certain they were glowing. 

Her chakra, he realized as he felt his heart shudder in his chest, her chakra and something else, something unfamiliar. In her emotional state she was fit to bursting with a surge of chakra so powerful that it all but literally oozed from her pores. It and her killing intent were no doubt the source of the oppressive atmosphere. As if by a small wind, her hair rippled and rose, waving around her head as it unraveled from the neat braids that contained it. A hauntingly familiar yellow aura enveloped her, and he knew, even before he saw them or heard the rattling, what would be coming next. 

He felt his breath stutter to a halt when he finally took the time to study her features. He saw Namika in her well enough, but he also saw her great-grandfather Ashina II in the hard set of her jaw as she clenched it in anger, saw her great-grandmother Ayame in her cheekbones, saw his sensei’s wife Mito in the shape of her lips and chin, saw her cousin Kushina, often dubbed “the Red Hot Blooded Habanero”, in the dangerous flash of her eyes, as if lightning itself lived within them. The effect was not lessened by either her flying hair or the jagged scar on her forehead that mimicked a lightning strike, as if someone had decided to take the time to carve one into her skin. 

An Uzumaki. 

He had found an Uzumaki, and not just any Uzumaki, but one closely related to Naruto at that. Naruto’s little cousin, Kushina’s little cousin, Mito’s...kamisama, he had to snap out of it. If he couldn’t concentrate on defending her, there would be no little cousin to present to Naruto. He grit his teeth and threw himself back into the fight, lunging at distracted foes. He had to be twice as vicious, hit twice as hard twice as fast as before. 

For Mito. For Kushina. For Naruto. 

\|/

Her magic and her chakra were slippery when she was this upset, so, so slippery, so hard to nudge toward any one thing. Instead they poured out of her with all the subtlety and precision of a typhoon, battering at everything in their path. They licked against the buildings, the men standing stock-still nearby, the man paralyzed with fear behind her. 

Him. 

The man behind her yelled. All of the men were yelling except Jiraiya, who lept forward with a determined battle cry. He fought like a madman, landing blows left, right, and center with far more deadly intent than she previously saw. Something had changed. Before he wanted to fight them, but saw no consequence. Now he fought them as if the life of someone precious depended upon it. 

Had he seen her as an ally?

Azalea couldn’t make herself care, not with the blinding, all-consuming desire to stop the man.

 He had finally pulled back his assault on Arabella, but that would no longer save him. A second-something inside of Azalea snapped and that building wrath sharpened into something else, into a desire to make him stop moving, stop breathing. She felt her magic and chakra humming with a frightening intensity, surging forward furiously and, somehow, solidifying where the two gathered in her chest and mixed together, becoming one force as they churned violently together. She knew then, as a chilling feeling curled in her chest to squeeze her heart and the man dropped her suddenly as if she’d burned him, knowing like she knew the lines in her own hand. 

She wanted him to die, and would make it so.

The rattling of chains filled the air a split second before the chains themselves made their appearance. Coils of thick silver adamantine chains coated in a yellow aura bloomed from her chest just below her left breastbone.  Two strands broke free from the rest and shot out behind her. A moment later, the man, the one hurting Arabella, the bully, Kuro, was dragged out in front of her where more of the chains snapped out to encircle him, binding him from head to toe. Every single chain wrapped itself about him no less than five times, each apparently intent on squeezing the life from him. His pained, terrified screams rent the air and his companions watched, horrified, as the mass of chains methodically constricted him like a swaddle of overly enthusiastic anacondas, breaking every bone in his body. The screams cut off abruptly with a strangled choking sound when the chains crushed his windpipe and pulverized his ribs, driving bone shards deeply into his heart. 

Later, it would be difficult to tell whether the crushed windpipe or punctured heart had killed him faster. As it was, the chains receded from his limp form, which dropped heavily to the street where he lay unmoving, blood coating his lips. Panting, Azalea ignored his still-warm corpse and his former comrades even as the fighting intensified and crawled on her hands and knees the short distance between her and her downed friend 

. She touched Arabella’s face in concern. “Nana?”

Arabella turned to face her with some difficulty. “Gariníon.” She winced again, lips thinning into a grim line. “M-my ribs.”

Azalea snarled wordlessly, her hand searching out Arabella’s. “I saw him hurt you, so I made him hurt.”

Arabella squeezed her hand. “I know.”

“Jiraiya’s a person from Konoha, Nana,” she told her. Arabella wheezed in agony as she tried to push herself into a sitting position. “He has the leaf. He’s a friend.”

“He’ll protect you.”  There was something decidedly off in her voice. 

Azalea leaned forward to rest her forehead on Arabella’s chest, mindful of her broken ribs. “I—I love you, Nana.”

She wasn’t sure why she said it then, other than something fluttering in her chest, something ugly and anxious and terrified of Arabella letting go of her hand. 

Arabella’s other hand shakily rose to touch her cheek. 

“Love you, too, my Gariníon. Yuri and James would be so proud.”

She looked as if she were going to say more, but instead shoved Azalea as far away as she could with her remaining strength. It unbalanced Azalea so that the young witch toppled flat onto her back.  Confusion and hurt warring inside of her, Azalea looked at her in time to see one of those strange knives, this one shining darkly with a coating of chakra, piercing Arabella’s chest near where Azalea’s head had been moments before, over her heart. Arabella gasped, sounding almost as if someone had startled her, then fell onto her back. 

Azalea stared dumbly at where she lay, uncomprehending for a single, infinitesimal moment until it hit her, then she was surging to her feet, unseeing as tears spilled down both cheeks. Without realizing it, she threw off an even more massive wave of killing intent than before as she flew into a grief-filled frenzy, seeking out the other three men with her sense of their chakra rather than by sight. The chains burst into action, breaking off into three separate groups and striking like a cobra at each target. One man she lifted by his neck. His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the chains, trying in vain to peel them away as she slowly choked him to death. The second man had chains coiling around his head, smothering him and crushing his skull. The last man she grabbed by the middle, breaking his spine in three places. 

A part of her relished in their terror. She wasn’t sure which man had done it, so she would punish them all. They all wanted to kill her anyway, judging by the snarls of “Uzumaki!” and their attempted attacks against her, and she would make them suffer for hurting Arabella, Arabella who lay with a knife buried in her heart a few feet away…

She smashed the men into the ground, not caring which body part made contact or how many times. She ground them into the asphalt until she had cried away all of her tears and only hiccuping sobs remained, then she crushed them as she had the first man, finally letting their battered bodies hit the road when her head swam. By that point she trembled from head to foot, her throat raw from all of her screaming and shouting. She could sense the remaining man, Jiraiya, the only one who had not attacked her, nearby, watching her carefully the way one would a dog they weren’t sure would bite them or not. 

She stumbled back to Arabella’s side and dropped to her knees, extending a shaking hand. The woman’s front was now completely soaked with blood, as was the ground underneath her. She had some dribbling on her chin and staining her lips. Azalea didn’t care. She gathered her into her arms, burying her face in her hair. Her scent still clung to her, even after their travel, the fear, the blood. 

Azalea whimpered. 

Arabella—her one human friend in the world, her newly minted adoptive grandmother, the only person who had noticed her suffering and sought to free her from it, the only adult in years who had never let her down or failed her—was dead. 

She was all alone. Again.