42 42: It's alive!
[3rd Pov]
"Professor Lockhart, are you okay?" inquired a plump fourth-year Hufflepuff girl, hastening towards the disheveled man with a concerned expression on her face.
Weakened in his legs, Lockhart relied on the support of the latest addition to the wall, a recent alteration made by Alaric. Behind him, a small group of students who had been passing by moments ago had gathered, wearing expressions mirroring those seen in the Great Hall.
The chubby Hufflepuff assisted him in slowly moving away from the hole, eventually guiding him to a nearby platform where he could sit down.
Noticing that most students were fixated on him, the professor hastily brushed off some dust from his clothes and tidied his hair.
"A-All right, students!" Lockhart exclaimed, his voice stuttering due to the dull throbbing pain in his abdomen from where the curse had struck him. "As A-A-Alaric demonstrated, numerous spells can be employed in similar situations—Wait, where is he?"
"He's already gone, sir," a student from the crowd replied.
"O-Oh," Lockhart was rendered speechless. Had the boy truly propelled him through the wall and then ran away? Perhaps he was simply shy. 'After all, he's my biggest admirer,' Lockhart mused to himself.
He nodded his head, seemingly content with his deduction of the unfolding events. The notion of obliviating the entire student body briefly flashed through his mind, but Lockhart dismissed such thoughts as fast as they came.
With the headmaster present, such a task would prove arduous, if not impossible. Lockhart may have been considered the most formidable wizard in Britain, if not the world, but engaging in a futile clash with Dumbledore, who held the second position, was not his desire. Perhaps it would be best to spread rumors suggesting that everything had been staged from the very beginning.
If the Grindelwald twins were privy to his internal monologue, there was a slight chance they would lose their appetite. Fortunately, Alaric had already left, and Lysandra did not practice legilimency as much as her brother.
Feeling strength returning to his legs, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor rose to his feet, then clapped his hands together.
"How about we learn how to block unfriendly spells?" Lockhart said as if nothing had happened. He glanced at Snape, who stood there with a creepy smirk on his face.
"I concur," Snape said. What Alaric had done before was enough to amuse him to a good degree, but it appeared Lockhart enjoyed digging a deeper hole for himself. "It would be for the best to try and prevent what happened to you to happen to other students,"
With a pink tone on his face, Lockhart turned around and called for other volunteers, one of them being Neville. However, Snape interrupted him.
"Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of his opponent up to the hospital wing in a matchbox,"
Neville's round, pink face went a degree pinker than Lockhart's.
"How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile. Perhaps he could entertain himself a bit more.
__________
"A Parselmouth! Can you believe it?! A Parselmouth!"
On the fifth floor of Hogwarts Castle, far away from the prying eyes of students who stayed back for Christmas, a simple black door, with a golden triangular symbol on it, led to Alaric's workshop.
"So what? It's not like I was born with it either, Lys. He could've just learned the same way I did,"
Currently, while Alaric was occupied working on one of his most recent artifacts, Lysandra was sitting behind him venting about earlier events.
"I doubt it," she scoffed. "While he may not be dumb, I find it highly improbable for him to devote himself to learning anything besides the school curriculum, much less Parseltongue. Just consider the amount of time you wasted learning how to speak it.,"
"It wasn't that hard. It was simply wearisome," Alaric said, tracing his wand along the wooden structure in front of him.
"You really should start giving yourself some credit," Lysandra facepalmed before her attention was caught by the runes lighting up on what appeared to be a mannequin.
Noticing her curious look, Alaric stopped.
"It's a homunculus," he said, trying to quench her curiosity. "Well, a semi-one. Full autonomous homunculi are currently banned by the Ministry from being created. Not like I can create a full one yet, anyways"
Lysandra stepped closer to the doll, touching the now-fading runes that were embedded into it.
"What do you plan to use it for?" she asked, captivated by her brother's latest creation. Suddenly, the mannequin's eye-like openings lit up with a bluish glow and, reminiscent of Viktor Frankenstein's creature, it slowly raised its torso from the table.
"It's alive!" exclaimed Alaric, unintentionally making a reference that would resonate with some of the muggle-born and half-blood students, startling his sister in the process.
The newly formed homunculus turned its neck towards its creator, Alaric, and stared at him with a glimmer of comprehension in its eyes, as if awaiting instructions.
"Walk around," Alaric commanded, his voice tinged with a touch of magic. In an instant, the wooden doll left the table and began to stride around the room.
"Pick up the box," Alaric continued. Obeying the boy's orders, the doll reached for and lifted the box that lay nearby.
"Place it on the table," Once again, the doll complied, setting the box atop the very table where it was conceived.
Like a mad scientist, Alaric burst into uncontrollable laughter. Observing the boy's behaviour attentively, the homunculus replicated the laughter, albeit with a noticeably artificial voice.
For a brief moment, creator and creation laughed in unison, while Lysandra cautiously distanced herself from the pair.
"Ahem," Alaric coughed, attempting to regain his sister's attention. When she turned towards him, he extended his arms wide, presenting the mannequin. "Lysandra, I present to you my latest and greatest creation. The ultimate... SHOPKEEPER!"
"What—"
"It doesn't require food, water, a place to stay, or even a salary. It only needs regular maintenance to remain functional! But that's not the best part!" Alaric declared, turning to face the doll. "Thing, execute your first pre-enchanted command."
"What are you talking abo—" Trying to make sense of everything unfolding before her, Lysandra tried to pose her question to her brother, only to witness a red spell emanating from the "Thing's" hand. Her astonishment grew as she saw the spell strike the wall, producing a distinct sound that reverberated through the room.
"A stunning spell..." she murmured in awe.
"That's right!" Alaric laughed. "Thing here has a Stupefy spell precast on its right hand, and on its left..."
If it were possible for Lysandra's mouth to widen further in disbelief, it would have. From the doll's left hand, a small translucent shield materialized—a simple Protego charm, but nonetheless quite robust.
"What the fu—"
"THAT'S RIGHT! A SHIELDING CHARM, AHAH!"
Once more, Alaric and the newly named Thing laughed together, one with natural excitement in its voice, while the other not so much.
A few minutes later, the twins were sitting in front of each other, Alaric having explained to Lysandra the "why's" of the Thing's creation. The homunculus in question was carefully brewing some tea for the siblings.
"How long did it take?" the girl asked, feeling happy with the giddy expression that was adorning Alaric's face.
"Can't remember. Two years, maybe more? This was one of my first projects. It was supposed to be a simple assistant, but then we opened the shop," he said.
Thing, with a steaming teapot on its hands, slowly served the twins with jasmine tea.
"Thank you, Thing. Fetch us some sugar please," said Alaric. He brought the teacup to his mouth for a taste, indulging in its rich flavour.
"Anyways," said Lysandra, taking a sip from her tea. "Back to the last topic,"
"As I said before, Potter could've just learned it from somewhere. I already told you, but there are some tribes in the Middle East that have books so those who aren't born with the gift can learn Parseltongue. He could've just picked up a book from them in some library," Alaric sighed at Lysandra's insistence.
"Still, Harry Potter, the so called Britain's magical Messiah, whose dad detests anything related to snakes, learned Parseltongue? Something that's considered a dark wizard's mark? Something doesn't add up," Lysandra retorted.
The twins stayed silent for a while, lost in thought. The only sound heard in the dark room was the occasional mechanical-like sounds Things would give.
"Do you think..." Lysandra said, unsure of what she was about to ask.
"That he's the heir? As annoying as he is, Potter's a good person. If the heir is actually a student, we should be looking at the more bigoted noble scions, not The Boy Who Lived," Alaric said. With a click, he placed his teacup on the table and got up.
He still had much work to do.
__________
Meanwhile in the USA...
New York's the most populated city in the United States of America and consequently, one of the most important world centres, being it the Muggle world or the Magical one.
It's also home to the Magical Congress of the United States or MACUSA, for short, being hidden in a part of the famous Woolworth building, a sixty-story skyscraper located on Broadway, recorded as the tallest structure in the world until 1930.
Being one of the epicentres of the world not only attracted wealth but also trouble.
In 1926, Newton Scamander, the world-renowned Magizoologist and author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, travelled to New York after a year-long research trip.
With him, he brought a magically expanded suitcase filled with magical beasts, beasts who ended up escaping.
It was also at this time Gellert Grindelwald, disguised as none other than Alaric's current fake persona, Percival Graves, infiltrated the ranks of the MACUSA.
At the same time, an Obscurial caused havoc around New York, committing murder and tearing up buildings and streets. Scamander and ex-Auror Tina Goldstein helped MACUSA solve the mystery of who the Obscurial was and why the dark power was unleashed, stopping Gellert in his tracks... for a while, that is.
Those were dark times for the city of New York.
Since then, the security around the Wizarding population of the US tightened, as the MACUSA implemented even stricter policies than before.
Deep down in the sewers of New York, a tall, buxom woman, with long brown hair and steel-grey eyes, wearing a black dress, walked along the sides of the tunnel, avoiding the river of garbage flowing right by her side.
A translucent bubble appeared to be protecting her from most of the filth, but her face still sported a disgusted expression.
"Stupid Guillaume. What a bright idea, moving the headquarters to the fucking sewers,"
She complained but nevertheless continued to walk. Her scarlet high-heels clicked against the stone floor of the sewers passage, and her face scrunched up in distaste the deeper she walked.
Eventually, she stopped near a seemingly normal wall and quickly went through it, walking past a barrier.
The moment she walked in, the air around her changed, and a palpable aura of darkness clung to every corner of the room she just entered.
Beyond the threshold, a breathtaking expanse unfolded before her — a grand chamber bathed in ethereal light cast by the moon.
Smooth and polished, the walls bore intricate reliefs depicting ancient tales and forgotten legends. Every curve and contour seemed to breathe life into the rock itself, an exquisite dance of artistry and craftsmanship. Softly lit alcoves housed carefully curated artefacts and mementoes, evoking a sense of reverence for the history that lay within.
The woman stepped through the entrance, disregarding the breathtaking sight of the architectural marvel before her.
On the other side, a massive double door loomed, crafted from ancient materials that would baffle most contemporary wizards.
"How did he manage to transport this enormous hunk of metal from the old base?" she pondered, reaching for her wand and gesturing toward the door.
With a resounding bang, the door swung open, unveiling another chamber resembling a grand throne room.
Within, numerous hooded figures stood side by side, their wands ablaze like flickering candles, forming a pathway for the woman to traverse.
A scarlet carpet guided her toward the throne, a fusion of steel and an enigmatic dark alloy.
Yet, the throne remained unoccupied, while a man bearing a striking resemblance to the woman stood beside it.
"Ah, Jeanne, you've finally arrived!" he exclaimed, brimming with excitement, only to earn a sharp glare from the now-named Jeanne when he attempted to approach her.
Chuckling awkwardly, he returned to his position, executing a courteous bow. "My apologies, dear sister. Puer Mortis," he greeted her.
"That's better," Jeanne chuckled. In the same manner, she gracefully bowed, reciprocating the formal salutation to her supposed brother. "Puer Mortis,"
Both siblings seemed to hold a higher rank than those standing at a distance from the throne, yet none dared to occupy it.
"I trust you bring good tidings," Guillaume's expression suddenly transformed into a zealous smile, fanatic even.
"I do, brother, I do!" Jeanne exclaimed with equal fervour. "I have finally discovered who he is!"
**********
A/N: Miss me? I hope you did! I'm currently doing an Inter-rail around Europe with my friends, so I barely have any time to write, and when I do, I'm either hungover or lacking sleep, just like now.
But in the end, fear not! Because I love writing this story.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
