In a dream, for instance, you can hop between enormous flowers collecting bananas for the banana-nuclear reactor powering the interdimensional propeller in your cap, and it will feel utterly normal — you'll be entirely convinced that's just how things are, and that the little wings on your heels are as unremarkable as the sixth finger on your third hand. Under the effect of this potion, the logic of the world as you perceive it assumes similarly unruly forms. More precisely: the logic of both the world and your perception begins to be governed by external events.
In that same example with the young couple — through conversation with a hypothetical user of the potion who had chosen his words, details, and circumstances carefully — the young man would consider everything happening around him perfectly normal and head off to sample the buffet, while the young woman would go to assess the sheets. Both would find this entirely reasonable. However, if the events of the "dream" came into sharp conflict with one's psyche, there was a reasonable chance of "waking up."
And as always, the potion had originally been devised for no such manipulative purpose whatsoever. Simply a means of relaxing in the company of wizards who were trusted, but not intimately so — not closely enough for subconscious ease to come naturally. Just a little. A touch. And as always, a good idea would be debased by those with bad intentions. The same was true of Amortentia and other potions that affected the mind in any way. Not one of them had been created by its author for selfish ends — yet all of them were used by wizards for precisely that. The contraceptive potion alone had, about two hundred years ago, sparked a wave of Blood Feuds across magical France and produced its share of "victims" in other countries as well.
Returning from my thoughts, I noticed that Daphne had become slightly disoriented on the second floor — not so much lost as uncertain which rooms were worth looking into, which weren't, and what she might find if she chose the wrong door.
"Left corridor," I said quietly, letting her hear me through magic. "Fourth door on the right."
"Thank you," Daphne whispered equally quietly, and went in the direction I'd indicated.
Reaching the door, Daphne drew her wand, passed it over the handle, and turned it.
Inside was a small, cosy sitting room in dark tones, courtesy of dark wood panelling. The only light came from two lamps near a sofa and armchairs arranged in a crescent around a low table, and from the fireplace with its bright tongues of flame rising from a couple of logs. Three wizards of varying ages — none of them young — were seated on the sofa and chairs, drinking spirits, clearly discussing some matter of business — the documents on the low table hinted as much.
"Daughter?" Mr Greengrass looked up in surprise. "I thought I asked you to remain with guests your own age."
"Herr Hafner, Monsieur Rochon." Daphne nodded respectfully to the other two wizards. "Father — I've come to inform you that this — if you'll forgive the word — farce that the evening has become, thanks to certain individuals, inspires nothing in me but irritation and disgust."
Daphne's father frowned.
"I should also like to mention that your attempts to arrange introductions to 'suitable' wizards through indirect means — in contravention of certain agreements you are well aware of — are doomed to failure."
"Agreements?" said the not-so-young blond of distinctly Aryan appearance — Herr Hafner senior, clearly. "And here I was, rather hoping my boy would be settled into capable hands."
"Daughter." Daphne's father was visibly angry. "We will discuss your behaviour. For now — go downstairs and socialise with the other guests."
"And most importantly, for this evening — I am leaving. Good evening, Herr Hafner..."
Daphne gave a respectful nod to the older blond — receiving a nod and a smirk in return — and was about to acknowledge the second wizard when Daphne's father rose from his seat with surprising agility for a man who'd been drinking, and covered the few metres between them in short order.
"Don't you dare put me in this position, daughter, in front of respected wizards," he was clearly angry, but Daphne didn't flinch. I remained ready, as I had been throughout. "Your behaviour already casts a shadow over our family! And I couldn't care less about whatever you've decided regarding that Muggle-born wretch—"
"Ooh, a scene," Hafner smirked, extending his glass sideways toward the other wizard; they clinked. "Don't you find it rather amusing, Monsieur Rochon, that a son's romantic adventures are cause for pride, while a daughter's are cause for shame?"
Credit for the attempt to defuse the situation, gentlemen — but this particular subject struck too raw a nerve for Mr Greengrass, it seemed. The attempt failed entirely. Daphne's father didn't so much as glance away, continuing to bore into his daughter with a severe look. As for Daphne — she didn't bat an eye. It appeared that the steel nerve in their family — pardon the expression — ran through the female line.
. . . . .
"Your pathetic attempts to insult Hector are laughable, Father," said Daphne. "I made my decision long ago. Was it not you who taught me to follow one's goals and principles without wavering?"
"And my principles," Mr Greengrass said with controlled fury, "exclude even the possibility of your relationship, whatever stratagems you both may employ."
"Oh, it seems, Monsieur Rochon," Hafner smirked again, "that the children have outwitted our hot-tempered colleague on more than one occasion. To the children."
"To the children," they clinked again and took a sip of whisky.
"I sense trouble coming," I let my voice reach Daphne's ears alone through magic, and she understood. "I may well have to act."
What a circus, honestly. I was genuinely tempted to put my face into my own palm as a gesture of general commentary.
"There's no point talking to you now, Father. Nor at any other time, for that matter. As for Hector — I trust him with everything, and I made my decision long ago. If he one day decided to destroy the entire world, I would be the first to stand beside him. I am leaving—"
"Don't you dare defy your father—" Mr Greengrass raised his hand with evident intent to strike.
Well, what a ridiculous state of affairs. Was all of this truly necessary? The last thing I needed was to put my fist into my girlfriend's father's face. But if he insisted. The other two had read the situation as well and were clearly about to stop Mr Greengrass with magic — but their hands weren't keeping pace with their drink-addled minds.
Without any particular effort I intercepted Mr Greengrass's arm a fraction of a second before impact. Daphne didn't so much as blink at the intended blow, looking at her father directly, without compromise, and with something that resembled pity.
A precise application of pressure at the right point with one finger, a touch of force applied correctly — and basic mechanics and pain receptors did the rest. Mr Greengrass cried out in shock and pain and went down onto his knees. Raising a non-verbal Protego, I deflected the belated Stunning Spells from the two displeased elders, simultaneously dropping my invisibility and shifting the colour of my light trousers and the thin turtleneck I'd been wearing for cool night-time walks through Rome — turning them black, far more appropriate to the occasion. I did have something of a fixation on such details in clothing; nothing to be done about it.
"Good evening, gentlemen," I smiled as the last of the invisibility faded. "Oh — Mr Greengrass. Have you dropped something, my dishonest friend? Your dignity, perhaps?"
"You— ah—"
I applied a fraction more pressure, holding Mr Greengrass's wrist. Life magic was simply delightful, especially if you understood — or could at least visualise — how to apply it.
"How fortunate I caught your arm in time — you might have fallen even lower in search of... what exactly were you looking for, down there?"
"Hector," Daphne took my free hand. "Help my father up."
"Of course, how thoughtless of me..."
A sharp pull upward set Mr Greengrass back on his feet.
"Fascinating," said Hafner — he had simply been watching the proceedings, but hadn't put away his wand; it rested on the arm of his chair with his hand still loosely near it. "I don't wish to interrupt, but do introduce yourself, young man. Then carry on. What sort of evening would it be without a scene?"
"Hector Granger — sixth year at Hogwarts, potions apprentice, student of a master Healer."
"Is that so," the old German said, with evident surprise. "Ganz Hafner — simply a disgracefully wealthy old wizard. And beside me, Gilbert Rochon, roughly the same status, only also taciturn, which is frankly irritating."
"Mr Granger," said Mr Greengrass, looking at me with controlled fury. "How did you gain entry to this private gathering and this warded house?"
"Whatever happened to all that boldness and fire of a moment ago?" I tilted my head with a smirk. "Or did you lose that along with your dignity? Selling your daughter for a worthless patch of land and an antiquated business venture, violating not the letter but the spirit of our agreement, getting drunk, raising a hand against your own daughter — what comes next?"
"It's not your place to judge," Daphne's father snarled, rubbing his wrist. In the corner of my eye I caught a flicker of quiet disappointment in Daphne's expression.
"Quite right, who am I to say. You know — a few years ago I was confident that one day I would come to my girlfriend's home and, on the strength of reputation alone, without any need for force, receive her family's blessing. But it seems your dedication to ruining everything within reach may bring matters to a less pleasant conclusion sooner than that."
"Spirit of the agreement? Don't make me laugh, boy. Whatever we may have signed, I will never sanction my daughter's involvement with a filthy half-blood—"
"In that case," I ignored Mr Greengrass's words entirely, "to prevent you from driving things to some point of no return by introducing Daphne to 'suitable' wizards, I shall invoke a right as old as the world itself."
I released the full extent of my magic outward — every bit I could produce — pressing down on everything around me except Daphne, until the wood cracked, until the glass groaned in its frames, until the elders present let out surprised, strangled sounds, until Daphne's father dropped back to his knees. And to complete the picture, I brought my phoenix-self out of invisibility — it settled on my shoulder and spread its truly enormous black wings, together with its energy, which resembled nothing so much as a Dementor's.
"I am taking Daphne. By right of strength. Take her back — if you can even manage to stand."
He couldn't.
"Good evening, gentlemen," I nodded to the room.
My phoenix-self simply took us — lifted us out of that house and deposited us on a hillside nearby, with a view over a large city. By the stars — somewhere near Berlin.
"I knew from the very beginning that something like this would happen," she tightened her grip on my hand and pressed herself closer. "He'll be very offended now. And he'll certainly make some kind of move."
"Did I overdo it?" I put my arm around Daphne in return. "I genuinely didn't want to do something like that. And I feel rather like... a thug. A thug who carried a girl off from her parents by force."
. . . . .
"I know him perfectly well," she seemed to be smiling. "He'll rage, then let it go. But what a line, though."
Daphne looked up at me, smiling.
"'By right of strength,'" she was clearly imitating me. "How is it that you said it and I'm the one who's embarrassed?"
"Deeply embarrassed?"
"Just a little."
"That calls for something to eat. I know a wonderful little restaurant that stays open at night. In Rome, as it happens."
"A date in the Holy City? A date between two wizards?" A glint of mischief appeared in her eyes — clearly visible even at night, by starlight and the faint glow of the not-so-distant city. "Your sister really did end up in Gryffindor for a reason. Blood tells. Lead on, my formidable kidnapper."
My phoenix-self, having slipped back into invisibility out of habit after the transfer, swept us once more into the vortex of its particular, phoenix-style Apparition.
My Roman holiday was turning out to be very strange indeed.
---------------
Give me Powerstones if you like the story.
If you want to read 60+ advance chapters, you can do so on my Patreon.
Patreon(.)com/TheRedSpell