The owl arrived at noon, its wings beating a steady rhythm through the quiet stillness of the afternoon.
Morwenna was asleep in the library, sprawled across the thick Persian rug with Cinder stretched over her stomach like a warm, breathing scarf. Beside her lay a heavy book on ward theory, abandoned face-down with its spine bent dangerously wide.
She had meant to keep reading. Truly. But the silence of the library, the warmth of the sunlight, and the scent of old parchment and leather had slowly pulled her under.
Time moved strangely in the library. Slow and heavy, softened by dust and golden light spilling across the floor like melted honey.
Morwenna had been drifting through half-formed dreams of glowing ward lines and invisible lattices when a soft, persistent tapping interrupted them.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A large barn owl stood on the sill, its feathers ruffled by the wind and its leg weighed down by a thick, heavy envelope. This wasn't the usual post; the seal wasn't wax, but a piece of dark metal pressed into the parchment that glinted with a sharp, silver light in the afternoon sun. Morwenna sat up, causing Cinder to slide off her lap and land on the rug with a soft, muffled thump. The fox huffed, circling once before settling back down.
She opened the window, and the owl hopped inside immediately, its talons clicking on the wood. It held out its leg and waited with an air of impatient patience. Once she untied the envelope, the bird gave itself a vigorous shake, preened a stray feather, and flew back out into the bright afternoon without waiting for a treat.
"That's a Gringotts owl," she muttered to Cinder, who had sat up and watched the whole exchange with detached interest. "Either someone's left a will, or someone's going to get a very serious talking‑to."
The silver seal bore the unmistakable, sharp-edged mark of Gringotts.
Morwenna broke it, the metal popping off the paper, and pulled out the letter. The parchment was thick and cool to the touch, and the handwriting within was sharp, angular, and hurried.
Miss Keith. You are required at Gringotts immediately. Present yourself at your earliest convenience. The matter is urgent. — Threndak
She read the brief message twice, her brow furrowing. Then she stood up, gently nudging Cinder aside with her foot, and walked toward the study. Jack was at his desk, the scratch of his quill the only sound in the room, and Jane was settled in the armchair near the window, lost in a book of her own.
"Gringotts," Morwenna said, holding up the letter for them to see. "Threndak summoned me. He says it's urgent."
Jack took the parchment, his eyes moving quickly over the lines before he handed it to Jane. He didn't say a word, but the line of his jaw tightened.
"Then we go," Jane set her book aside on the small table and looked Morwenna over from head to toe. "You will bathe first. You were in the garden yesterday. Your hair carries the dust, and you smell of the fox."
Morwenna touched her head, her fingers coming away with a faint coating of grey dust from the dry earth. "I don't smell."
"You smell like a fox. Bath. Then we go."
Morwenna looked down at Cinder, who looked back at her with unblinking eyes. The fox offered a small yawn, showing his teeth.
The bath was hot and much-needed, the steam rising to fog the mirrors. The water turned a dull brown, then a murky grey, before finally running clear as she scrubbed. She washed her hair twice, making sure to get every speck of garden soil from beneath her nails, and dried off with a towel so large it could have wrapped around her twice over.
Jane had laid out clothes on the bed—dark green robes with delicate silver embroidery at the collar that looked like intertwined vines. They weren't overly formal, but they carried an undeniable weight of importance.
She dressed and braided her hair, noting how the silver sections caught the light like spun metal. When she went downstairs, the entrance hall was full. Jack and Jane stood near the fireplace while Aldric and Seraphina waited near the fountain, their expressions solemn and their voices low. Harry sat on the bottom step with Cinder curled in his lap, his small hands buried in the fox's fur.
Harry looked up at Morwenna as she approached, his green eyes wide. "What is Gringotts?"
"The wizarding bank," Aldric answered for her, his voice echoing in the hall. "Goblins run it. They manage the gold, the vaults, and all the most important documents of our world. They are the keepers of secrets and wealth."
Harry's eyes went even wider. "Goblins? Real ones?"
"Yes," Aldric said. "They are shorter than humans, very clever, and incredibly strict about their rules. You don't want to find yourself on the wrong side of a goblin's ledger."
Harry looked at the fireplace, then at the heavy front door, before finally settling his gaze on Jack. "Can I see it?"
Jane's expression softened. She crossed the room and crouched in front of him, her hand moving to smooth the hair back from his forehead with a light, affectionate touch.
"Not yet," she said softly. "Not here. But when we go to France, there is a Gringotts there too. They have a branch in Paris. It is not as large as the one in London, but it's still impressive. We will take you. You can see it then."
Harry's fingers stilled on Cinder's fur, his gaze fixed on hers. "You mean it?"
Jane's thumb brushed over his brow, tracing the scar without looking at it. "I mean every word," she said quietly. "You will see tunnels carved deep into the stone, and trains that run faster than the wind, and vaults that feel like the bones of the earth. You will see it all."
Harry nodded, accepting the promise without argument, his fingers still tracing the line of Cinder's spine.
Jane stood back up, and Jack opened the lid of the ceramic pot on the mantel to take a handful of silver-grey powder and throwing the grit into the grate.
The fire roared into a vibrant, emerald green. Jack stepped through first, his silhouette vanishing into the light, followed by Jane, and finally Morwenna.
. . .
Threndak's office smelled of old parchment, wax, and cold, damp stone. A low fire burned in the grate, the flames tinted a strange blue at the edges. A tray sat on a low table near the chairs, offering tea, biscuits, and small sandwiches with the crusts neatly trimmed away, though no one moved toward them.
Threndak stood behind his desk, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. His sharp eyes moved slowly between them. His long, thin fingers tapped once against the edge of the polished dark wood.
"An event has occurred," Threndak said. His voice was dry. "One the founder anticipated."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick envelope. The paper was heavy and cream-colored, the edges soft and frayed with age.
"The founder left specific instructions," Threndak explained. "He placed several letters in our keeping that were enchanted. We weren't to open them until they began to shine with their own." He held up the envelope. "This one shone this morning."
He slid the envelope across the desk. Morwenna picked it up and saw her name written on the front—neither Nimue nor Morwenna, but a single phrase in a sharp, elegant handwriting she didn't recognize.
Litel Thynge.
She broke the seal, the wax falling away in dark red flakes that looked like scabs. The parchment inside was ancient, the ink faded to a dull brown in places. The words were slanted and the letters were shaped differently than modern English, written in a form of Old English that made her head swim.
"I cannot read this," she said.
Jack held out his hand, and she passed him the letter. He read it aloud, his voice steady and low, filling the small office.
---
Little thing,
If you are reading this, you have saved your family. Good. I knew you would.
There are things I need you to do.
First, there's a box. There's another letter. Take them both to Beaumont, in France. Tell them it's the Salvatio Malfoire continuation. Don't read the letter. Just give it to them, and tell them to read it before anything else.
Second, go to Uncle Nicholas. Bring the one you saved. Ask him to look at their soul. He will know what to do from there.
I hope you are safe and sound.
Welcome back, little thing.
— S
---
Jack lowered the parchment, a thoughtful silence falling over the room. The only sound was the crackle of the flames in the hearth.
Jane's eyebrow went up. "Malfoire?"
Jack looked at her, the letter still gripped in his fingers. "You know that name?"
"The Malfoire family is old," Jane said, her voice dropping an octave. "Very old, and quite prominent in France. Their standing is almost the same as Beaumont or Valcourt." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "The Evans are beneath them in rank, but the LeFay are not."
Jack leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking. "Malfoire is the main branch of the Malfoy family. The British branch split off from them centuries ago during the transition of the crowns. I remember now."
Threndak opened a lower drawer and set a small wooden box on the desk. The wood was dark and polished so finely that the grain looked like ripples on water, with silver binding the edges. Beside it lay a sealed letter on the same cream paper, pressed with that same indigo wax.
"The founder's instructions," Threndak said. "You have them now."
Morwenna picked up the box, surprised by how light it felt, as if it were filled with nothing but air. She didn't shake it, instead tucking the letter into her robes while the box fit neatly into her other pocket. She looked at Threndak, her silver and red eyes focused and unwavering.
"Salvazsahar was a seer?"
Threndak remained quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes hooded. "No," he finally said. "He wasn't a seer."
Morwenna waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't, his face remaining a stony mask.
"I will not discuss the nature of his sight," Threndak said. His tone did not change. "It is not seersight. You will understand when the time requires it."
Morwenna's mouth opened, then closed again, the questions pressing against her teeth like bright stones.
"He's right," Jack said softly, his hand closing over the box before she could protest. "Some threads are not meant to be pulled until they're ready to unravel."
Threndak stood up to signal the end of the meeting, his height barely reaching the top of the desk. "I will contact you if there are further developments."
They stood in unison. Jack shook Threndak's hand, and Jane gave a polite, distant nod. Morwenna followed her parents to the door, her mind racing with the weight of the name Salvatio Malfoire.
. . .
Dinner that evening was quiet at first, the only sounds the clink of silverware and the ticking of the clock. The candles burned low, and the table was filled with rice, fish, and a steaming bowl of soup that smelled of ginger.
Tilly had placed roast chicken and a mound of buttery mashed potatoes near Harry's place, along with a small dish of peas. Harry sat between Jane and Morwenna, eating slowly and watching the adults with a quiet intensity.
Jack eventually set his fork down. "The summoning," he said. "It was about Harry."
Harry's head came up immediately, his fork stopping halfway to his mouth, a bit of potato falling back onto his plate.
"The letter Morwenna received was from Salvazsahar, the founder of our vaults," Jack explained. "He wrote it centuries ago, knowing she would read it today. He saw this moment."
Harry blinked, his glasses sliding down his nose. "He knew? Back then?"
"He knew." Jack paused, his gaze softening as he looked at the boy. "The letter said she had saved someone—her family. That someone is you, Harry."
Harry's hands tightened on the edge of the table until his knuckles were white.
"There's were instructions," Jack continued. "First, she must take a box and a letter to the Beaumont family in France. Second, she must bring you to Nicholas Flamel so he can check your soul."
Harry went pale, the color draining from his face until he looked like marble. His fork clinked against his plate as he set it down with trembling fingers. "My soul?"
The word sat in the air between them, heavy and cold.
Morwenna looked down at her plate, her fingers tracing the edge of her knife. "Sal knew about Harry. He knew about me. 'Welcome back, little thing'. He knew about the other life, too. A power that reads the threads without being a seer."
Jane reached across the table and took Harry's hand. His fingers were icy and stiff.
"Does it hurt?" Harry asked, his voice very small and thin.
"No," Morwenna answered, looking at him directly. "Grand-père Nicholas will put his hands on your head. He will look for what is hidden. That's all."
Harry looked at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "How do you know?"
"Because he did it to me. After I died."
The table went perfectly still. Harry stared at her, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find words that wouldn't come.
"You died?"
Morwenna shrugged as if she were merely discussing the weather. "I died. Then I returned. It took a long time to recover—more than half a year of sleeping and waking."
Harry did not know what to do with that information. His head was spinning. His thoughts were a chaotic jumble. He pressed his hands flat against the table and looked at them, grounding himself. "I won't tell anyone," he promised.
Aldric nodded, his expression grave. "We think this might be connected to the night your parents died. The timing is too suspicious, the magic involved too dark."
Seraphina's frown deepened, her eyes flashing with a rare anger. "If the ancestor is asking us to have his soul examined, there must be something that needs attention. Soul matters are delicate and sensitive beyond measure."
She shook her head. "Dumbledore shipped him away without checking for damage or performing a single examination. How could he not think to have him fully checked before placing him with his aunt?"
She paused, her expression unchanged but her voice cooling. "It was not negligence. It was calculation."
Harry's impression of Dumbledore, which was already poor, sank even lower, settling into a cold knot in his stomach.
No one offered an answer to Seraphina's question; the silence was answer enough.
Jane took a sip of her water. "I will write to Viviane and grand-père Nicholas tonight. Viviane is my best friend and Morwenna's godmother, so we won't need to queue or make formal appointments to meet the Beaumonts. We will go as family."
Seraphina turned back to Harry, her voice softening into a comforting hum. "Don't be afraid, dear. We will be here with you every step of the way. You aren't alone anymore."
She reached across the table and touched his hand, her fingers feeling warm and solid. Harry looked at her, then at Jane and Jack, and finally at Morwenna, who was still staring at her plate with a distant expression.
He gave a small nod. "I'm not afraid," he said.
It wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't entirely a lie either, and he felt the knot in his chest loosen just a little.
Morwenna's hand drifted toward his under the table, her fingers brushing his wrist in a gesture that was almost accidental.
"You don't have to be," she said, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "If grand-père Nicholas doesn't like what he sees, he will tell everyone and then we will make them afraid instead."
A startled laugh hiccupped out of Harry's throat, and the knot in his chest loosened a little more.
= = =
Hi guys, I have some news for you.
So... I got a job. A real job. LOL
I am still in the probation period for the next three months, but yeah, I am officially working now.
Because of that, updates for this fic will probably slow down a bit. As you know, I usually post around two chapters per day, but I honestly do not know if I can keep that pace anymore. Updates will most likely become significantly slower.
Thanks for understanding.