Chapter 39: Summer Shadows

After the wedding, life took on a new, chaotic rhythm. First, Hayato started visiting us almost every week, having somehow managed to start an affair with two young veela at once. Second, our kind neighbors — especially those with daughters — began dropping by more and more often, finally realizing that I was not just a boy, but possibly a veela. 

Why "possibly"? Well, I never used my aura in public, never transformed into a harpy, and as for fire — sure, I had an affinity, but does that mean everyone with a spark is a veela?

Still, suspicions were in the air. The only thing holding them back from dropping engagement hints was the tradition of waiting until fifteen — the age of majority for veela. But now, with the "train leaving the station," they were all trying to jump on board, even if only as a second passenger.

Yes, veela have a peculiar attitude toward polygamy, mostly because of our small numbers. To become a first, second, or third wife — or even just a mistress and bear a strong daughter — is seen as a good thing. Gone are the dark days when veela would kidnap men or seduce travelers, turning them into something like breeding slaves. Though, every now and then, a strong wizard would appear, and the veela would submit to him by right of strength. We are half animal, after all.

Sometimes I wonder: if not for mental and love magic, would I have become a rapist, brainwashing women around me? Or would I have ended up dependent on a strong veela? But, alas, I control my second form — not the other way around. I don't even partially transform under strong emotions, unlike many other veela.

Lerach was right: the combination of different magical arts, developing all the soul's shells, had its effect. I just hadn't noticed it before. I suspect I survived the nymph's ritual only because of this, and because I never stopped developing my astral body with small spirits and parasites.

On top of all that, my popularity soared after articles appeared in French and English newspapers, gleefully discussing the engagement of a veela's son of "unknown father" to the daughter of a dark pureblood family. Judging by the number of letters — some with curses, some with potions — we'd definitely attracted attention. The Blacks, of course, pointedly ignored the news, which only showed how closely they were watching.

I'm not a vengeful person, but I carefully collected the return addresses, aura imprints, and skin particles from the dumbest of the letter-senders. The smarter ones left nothing, unfortunately. I don't need extra conflicts now, but later… Later, these people will pay — with their health, their money, or their services.

Since I couldn't do much else, I kept drinking potions, teaching Dorothy to speak and use magic, and working on my computer prototype. It was so complex it looked more like a microchip than a ritual circle, with my own hair serving as the pathways. Of course, this wouldn't work for mass production, but for now, it was all about developing the technology and building a prototype.

The quartz crystals were made for me at the familiar factory, where they remembered me, loved me, and greeted me like family. If only ordinary people knew how much natural quartz of a certain shape costs in the magical world, they'd be outraged at how I was "robbing" them.

And so, another three months passed, and summer arrived.

***

[ June 4, 1973 ]

"Mom, have you seen Dorothy? That little rascal ran off again," I called as I came down to the first floor. I could have used telepathy or the familiar bond, but why bother her unnecessarily?

"She's in the garden, growing something again," Mom replied. Dorothy, true to her nymph nature, had a huge love for floriculture. She didn't need gestures or rituals — just a wish, a little mana, and red roses would turn blue. Or thorns would spread across the whole plot, grabbing at everyone while she laughed.

But, to be fair, none of her creations ever harmed me or anyone I considered close. So what if another guest with a daughter got bitten by a tulip? At least fewer of them started coming!

"Did you take your potions?" I asked, approaching Ariel. Her belly was just starting to round, and judging by the aura, the twins were growing into very strong veela. After all, Mom hadn't stopped developing her own reserves. If you don't count me and my stretched soul, she was the strongest veela in the settlement, and Ludwig was no slouch for a wizard, either.

Actually, conception among wizards isn't quite the same as with ordinary people. Physically, it's the same — sperm, egg, zygote, and so on. But on the magical level, conception releases a huge amount of magical, astral, vital, and maybe even mental energy from both parents, which mixes and creates a primary matrix. Into this, the fourth shell is drawn from unknown sources — or created. 

Using the parents' magical energy, the development of the soul and body's shells begins. This matrix is connected to DNA, but only indirectly. DNA is responsible for the physical body and prana, but the soul matrix can compensate for DNA errors — up to a point, at the cost of magical potential.

Among veela, thanks to the second form, this energy is strong unless overridden by the father's energy, and it shapes the appearance of all veela — beautiful blondes, nearly identical. I didn't read this in Lerach's book, but in my teacher's — Homo Magus.

"I took them. Did you take yours?" she teased.

"Oh, damn!" I pretended to rush back, then stopped and grinned. "Of course I took them."

"What's all the noise, but no fight?" Ludwig came in, wearing only pants, showing off his muscles. I could do the same, but I didn't want to embarrass Mom. I already looked like an eighteen-year-old gymnast at almost fourteen, which would be in a month. I got enough unwanted attention from the female sex as it was, and if I turned on my aura, I'd have to fight them off.

Yeah, it really wasn't on purpose. First, I chose a veela as my mother out of desperation, then, because of weak magic and the emblem, I became a veela myself. Then I was unlucky enough to train in Ryozanpaku, where you build muscle whether you want to or not. And not useless bulk, but real, functional strength.

"We're just taking care of each other while you're away," Mom said.

"Ah, so that's how it is! Betrayal?!" Ludwig scooped up his wife and spun her around, then set her down.

"Yeah, while you're sleeping, men are eyeing your wife. Watch out, they'll steal her!" I laughed, heading out to the garden, where I quickly found Dorothy working over a bed of petunias. She'd planted the seeds herself three days ago. That was the rule — if she planted it, she had to care for it.

She wore a light silk white dress — the compromise we'd reached. She used to run around naked, but we still couldn't get her to wear underwear. She'd just pull it off, like a cat or a dog.

"What are you doing?" I asked, coming closer.

"I want them to be taller!" she said, waving her hands. "Like an oak!"

"Haha, your business. Just don't let the roots go under the house — there's a basement there. And don't exhaust the soil like last time." Last time, she'd tried to grow a watermelon tree, and the tree ate itself and exhausted the soil. But she almost succeeded! For the same work, I'd have needed a lot of prep and rituals. She just wished, poured in mana, and voilà.

Dorothy's favorite plants were still my apple trees. She had a special love for them and often ran to restore the tree damaged in the ritual and nourish the others. This only helped me, since Medici sent many potions for the apples — not just for my recovery or for Ariel, but even youth potions.

You can only drink a youth potion once in a lifetime, and it rejuvenates you by ten years. But with my apples as catalysts, it's more like fifteen. We put five in the stasis chamber and haven't touched them yet — they work best at fifty to seventy, when you still have a lot of life energy. If you're already dying, the potion will just exhaust you, trying to fix a body that's too far gone.

It works by "rolling back" DNA and prana to a previous state. There are other ways to stay young — infusing someone else's prana, or the philosopher's stone elixir, which "freezes" your prana and body by constantly feeding you the elixir. But none of them give true immortality — only the eighth shell does. And they make you dependent on someone else's prana, turning you into a kind of vampire. Not the kind made by a magical virus, but one who's lost the ability to produce their own prana.

The youth potion has a drawback — your prana decreases, and restoring it is hard. But not for me, with my prana return. That's why, for now, this expensive, hard-to-make, and banned-in-half-the-world potion is my best way to buy time to find another path to immortality. The djinn sleep mentioned in Sumerian records doesn't suit me — I'm not a demonologist, and neither was Lerach, and the ritual isn't even described.

"Good," Dorothy said, concentrating as her petunias grew before our eyes. But the delicious smell of pancakes from the kitchen soon tore us away, and we went to eat.

Interestingly, Dorothy never seemed to mind us eating vegetables, fruit, or meat — she devoured everything. Maybe it was our bond, or her being half-veela, or maybe for children of nature, everything natural is fair game. If we started killing animals or cutting down forests for fun, she'd get angry. But that's what I taught her.

After breakfast, when an overly nervous Phineas showed up, I understood — something was up.

"Good morning, Ludwig," the teacher said, shaking my stepfather's hand. "And you, Ariel, you get more beautiful every day. May I speak with my student?"

"Yes, what happened?" Mom asked, not noticing me around the corner.

"We need to talk. Your workshop will do." My workshop was a small shed at the edge of our plot, but it could withstand a tank shell. That's where I assembled artifacts and tested not-so-dangerous experiments. The really dangerous ones I did in the desert, at least a hundred kilometers from the nearest settlement.

"What happened, teacher?" Inside, there was usually nothing — I transfigured furniture as needed, and brought in the enchanting table and tools in reduced size. Now, there was a pile of papers, tools, and my magicomp prototype.

"I'm afraid that by the time I finish your training, nothing will remain of my family. I don't want to rush you, especially since I've already asked a lot as payment for your training, but I have no choice." He clearly hated asking, but he really had no other option. They wouldn't let him near England, especially after the Dorothy incident.

"You're almost like a father to me, Phineas. Start from the beginning — what happened?"

"England's got a new future dark lord, that's what. And my little family is happy to join him…" According to Black, about ten years ago, or maybe earlier, an unknown Mr. Gaunt — who later called himself both the Heir of Slytherin and Voldemort — began gathering a group of young purebloods called the Knights of Walpurgis.

Like all pureblood groups, they wanted to preserve traditions, restrict muggle-borns, and get more privileges for purebloods. Nothing new. After Grindelwald's defeat, there were plenty of such groups.

It was a suspicious victory, too — Russian wizards stormed the Reichstag, but a little-known Hogwarts teacher, who'd spent most of the war in safety, got the credit. But that's beside the point. The important thing is, purebloods lost many relatives in WWII, while muggle-borns kept increasing.

The nationalist policy of wizard supremacy became unpopular after Grindelwald. Purebloods were pressured, so they formed political parties and groups. All would have been fine, but Gaunt — and I think I know which Gaunt — started gaining real power too quickly. "They got scared. They besieged him, so peaceful takeover is out of the question."

"But he didn't stop," I guessed.

"He didn't," Black nodded. "He only intensified, gathering as many supporters and 'meat' as possible. Often among children, to influence their parents. Three years ago, he moved to active measures, though no one connected it to him at first. A few 'muggles' disappeared, a muggle-born family burned in their house — who cared? The conflict hasn't gone hot yet, and the Auror Office has no proof of his group's involvement. But it's heading that way.

"And yesterday, my informants told me Bellatrix Black, my great-niece, was seen in Gaunt's inner circle. That means my family knows and approves of this freak's actions. Soon, they might all be marked by him."

"Marked?"

"Yes. Voldemort's closest supporters get marks as a sign of trust and honor."

"I only know slave marks," I said thoughtfully.

"That's exactly what they are. Purebloods letting their children be branded like pigs."

"But it's clear why they support him. When your son or daughter is a hostage, you don't rebel — unless you disown them. I get your request, but how do I get to England? It would look suspicious."

"And here, the English Ministry's proposal for a student exchange plays into our hands," Phineas said, relieved I didn't refuse. "They think it'll show everything's calm in their country."

"Who would send their kids to a country on the brink of war?" I asked.

"Durmstrang sent some — probably the ones already marked. They dumped their black sheep. Beauxbatons is still 'thinking,' but you can use that. By then, you'll be recovered."

"What about our lessons?"

"Did they cancel two-way mirrors? At your level, my direct presence isn't needed."

"Hm, alright. But you get to explain to my mother why I need this," I smirked. I didn't like the idea of flying to England so soon to save some Blacks. But I'd promised. And he was right — if we waited, there'd be no one left to save.

***

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Thank you for the help with the power stones!!!