Chapter 08: Tutors and Horcruxes

To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you'll be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

…

Long after they had returned to their office that day, Mammon still sat at their desk. They turned a gaudy golden locket over in their hands, and went over R.A.B.'s note inside their head…

They read it so many times already that they had the note memorised – but although there was something about it, something that felt like it was right on the tip of their tongue, no answers came to them that day…

Nor the next day.

Or the day after.

Cigno, who handed in his report on Wednesday morning, made sure to provide Mammon with his own assessments and thoughts on the note. He'd gone through the trouble of consulting Lady – who was apparently English herself – and they had both come to the same conclusion.

That R.A.B. had most likely been a follower of Voldemort's.

The note had been addressed to the Dark Lord, rather than to Voldemort, and continued on with I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret, before ending with R.A.B.

Implying acquaintance if not familiarity.

Like those words would mean something to Voldemort, and he would know exactly who R.A.B. was because of them. It did make sense, Mammon thought – a follower who went astray and betrayed their master fit the bill precisely, and a Death Eater definitely would have had more opportunities than most to discover Voldemort's secrets…

The big question, of course, remained who –

Who had stolen the horcrux?

Who was R.A.B.?

Bel – for one – was convinced of the stranger's noble upbringing. It was all in his style and penmanship, he insisted: as neat and as impeccable as his own could be… when he wasn't going out of his way to inconvenience everyone at the Varia by making it entirely illegible.

So they were looking for a witch or wizard from an old magical family, who had also been a Death Eater – or had at the very least been sympathetic to Voldemort's cause. Possibly middle-aged or older because horcruxes were a very rare piece of magic, and not something you might come across by accident in your local library. Cigno had therefore suggested looking for somebody who knew a lot about the Dark Arts. A curse breaker, or scholar, for example…

And it was then – at this suggestion – that something suddenly clicked. Mammon went completely still for a moment or two, before they threw the locket aside and left their office in a hurry.

They went straight to the Mist Suite. There, behind a door that only appeared for Mammon, a pocket of Mist Space lead into a hidden room. It functioned as storage for Mammon's correspondence and research, and consisted of many rows of bookshelves, each filled with dusty, old boxes, books, and parchments.

Of course – of course, that was it.

That was why R.A.B.'s note had seemed to ring a bell.

Mammon had met the witch in question some twenty years ago – a curse breaker who had taken an interest in some of their research, back when Mammon was still obsessively looking for ways to break the Arcobaleno Curse. She had always signed off in a fashion very similar to R.A.B.'s…

Where was it… where was it – aha!

Pulling the box off the shelf, Mammon succeeded in submerging themselves in a cloud of dust – coughing, and with their eyes stinging painfully – they managed to get away and sit down at a table they had just conjured, opening the box to examine the contents.

Letters. About two dozen of them, all neatly sorted by date.

Mammon picked up the letter sitting on the top of the pile and unfolded it quickly, putting it down on the table. Next they took out the note, put it down next to the letter, and compared the two:

R.A.B.

Whose identity they didn't know.

And C.V.B.

… Cassiopeia Black. The renowned curse breaker.

Of course, Mammon breathed out, how hadn't they thought of it sooner?

Creating a pen and some paper out of Mist Flames, Mammon started writing a letter immediately.

…

Hel's new lessons started on Wednesday, at nine o'clock, in the library.

Nante walked into the room holding a large pile of papers, and put them down on the table with an audible thunk.

"Newspapers." He explained with a sort of half-smile, catching sight of Hel's expression, "You will be Queen one day, so you should make a habit out of being well-informed while you're still young – here, let's start with national news – I see Karkaroff's made the front page…"

Picking up the newspaper on top of the pile, Hel glanced at the headline:

DURMASTRANG INSTITUTE TO RECEIVE GENEROUS DONATION, it read.

Beneath these words was a large picture of two men shaking hands. The younger of the two was a man with dark, slicked back hair and a goatee, who looked very much like a suck-up in Hel's opinion. The other was slim and taller – impeccably proud and aristocratic – and much older than his companion.

Sharp-chinned, with relatively short white hair and a meticulously groomed beard and moustache that wouldn't have looked out of place in some old painting at an art gallery, he seemed to be reaching for a handkerchief the moment he was no longer holding Karkaroff's hand.

"This is Irgor Karkaroff," Nante informed her, tapping his finger lightly on the image to point out the younger of its subjects, "Headmaster of Durmstrang since last year, so it's likely you'll have to deal with him once you start school. He's got quite the reputation, but we'll get to that later – I trust you don't need me to tell you who the man shaking his hand is?"

Hel had never seen him before, but something about the man definitely reminded her both of Princess Jophiel and of Papa. She couldn't explain exactly what it was, but making a guess at his identity wasn't all that hard:

"It's the King…?"

"His Majesty, King Rasiel III, yes. Your great-grandfather." Nante took a seat on the table, made himself comfortable, and went on: "Now, some background information. Well, first of all you should know that Durmstrang's history has long been entwined with the Red Kingdom's. It has enjoyed the Royal Family's patronage for centuries, a fact that goes right back to its very founding. While Professor Nerida Vulchanova certainly founded Durmstrang Institute and stands known as its first headmistress, she did not have the funds to actually build the fortress herself… well, Princess, that's where Konrad II comes in."

By the time Hel left the library, her head reeling with heaps of new information, it was lunchtime. She headed downstairs to grab something to eat, and then met Lady Matilda back at the library.

While Prince Nante's lesson had given Hel a lot to think about and remember, Lady Matilda's lesson was definitely the more challenging of the two. It required lots of note-taking and concentration, and focused heavily on what Matilda called the basics: what magic could and could not do, the different disciplines that existed, and what each one was and could be used for. Before the end of the lesson, a book had been pushed into her hands, and Hel's first assignment for her Magical Theory lessons was to read the first chapter by their next lesson and write up a summary.

The last of her new lessons didn't come until the end of the week, when on Friday morning, Princess Jophiel arrived at the castle to pick her up – ten whole minutes early, the nerve of some people! – and looked down her nose at Hel's outfit like it had insulted her entire family…

That rather set the tone for the rest of their lessons.

…

"Princess Hel. What – on Earth – are you wearing?"

The old woman standing in front of her – dressed in a conservative, high-collared, beige dress today, looked to be genuinely torn between bafflement and contempt as she took in the sight before her: Hel was wearing her shorts and a white T-shirt, with ankle socks and running shoes beneath them. Because it was going to be the hottest day of the entire week.

"They're called shorts." Hel said airily, arms crossed and holding her head up high – daring her great-grandaunt to challenge her, "And this here is a T-shirt."

"Well, I won't have you wearing these… shorts in my house. Or that wretched tea-shirt. Go back and change into something more appropriate." She waved her hand in a dismissive motion, like the conversation was already over and done with.

"But it's going to be the hottest day of the entire week today! Why isn't this appropriate? I wore the same shorts yesterday and nobody had a problem with it."

Jophiel threw another dismayed look around, and her eyes lingered on a passing assassin – and his uniform.

"Yes, well. I do have a problem with it, however. Now don't give me that look - you'll survive. I haven't keeled over and died from a heatstroke yet, have I?" No, Hel thought privately, and what a pity that was, "So go change into something presentable, please – a dress. And see to it that the hem comes to no higher than your knees. I'm sure your esteemed father has bought you something that matches that description?"

Hel could see that Princess Jophiel wasn't going to take no for an answer.

How annoying!

"I'm sure I can find something." Hel said stiffly, "I'll be right back."

And with that, she turned around and walked (stomped) back up the stairs, straight back to her room. She threw her wardrobe open and started to look through her dresses, intending to find the single most garish, distinctly muggle dress she could get her hands on, and force Jophiel to look at it all day.

Maybe one of Lussuria's creations…? Those always looked modern. And very… designer, too.

Yes, Hel thought with a grin. That would be just the thing.

…

Xanxus leaned against the wall and watched his goddaughter walk back down the stairs again a few minutes later, wearing a dress he was very sure he'd never seen her in before: an asymmetric, brightly-coloured monstrosity that had Lussuria written all over it.

It did cover her knees though, the Varia Boss thought, not bothering to hide his smirk.

Cheeky.

…

An owl had arrived on Thursday morning, clutching Cassiopeia's reply in its beak. It was an invitation:

Please meet me at Atlas House for tea tomorrow afternoon, at three o'clock.

By five o'clock on Friday evening, Mammon had returned home – one more of Voldemort's horcruxes taken care of, and gone for good.

"I had been right to suspect a connection after all." They explained it all to Bel that night, "R.A.B. turned out to be Ms. Black's great-nephew, a boy named Regulus Black. We compared the note to a handful of his letters, and the handwriting matched. So did the signature, of course. It seems to have been something of a family tradition. Anyway… he apparently found out what Voldemort was doing, decided that him leaving his servant to die in that cave was the last straw, and went on a suicidal and distinctly Cloudy vendetta against him."

"Very Cloudy," Bel agreed mildly.

And doubly so if Regulus Black had happened to be attached to that elf of his. Which it very much sounded like he had been. The boy had only been eighteen at the time of his death, but Clouds marked out their territories early in life – whether that be a location, like Decimo's Cloud Guardian, family or friends, or something else entirely, no Cloud would tolerate outsiders trampling on what was theirs.

Turned them vicious.

Hel was starting to show signs of this possessive streak, too… particularly where Blaise was concerned. And come to think of it, he should probably have a talk with her about it: make sure it didn't tip over into anything more sinister or problematic over time, because Aurelia was unlikely to appreciate that.

He'd much rather not make an enemy out of the Black Widow if he could help it. He enjoyed her company far too much.

Putting that thought aside, Bel returned his attention to the matter at hand. The second of Riddle's horcruxes.

"So it's gone?"

"Oh yes, Cassiopeia insisted on doing the honours herself."

"That's two down, then." Bel said, "And who knows how many more of them to go…"

He had personally overseen the ritual and destruction of the ring three nights ago, and now the locket was gone too… but although the creation of multiple horcruxes was entirely unheard of, it would be very lucky for them indeed if Riddle had stopped at just those two…

It was a lucky possibility, but the Varia didn't believe in luck – so look for more horcruxes they would.

Mammon hummed in agreement, "We should send someone to snoop around Hogwarts… Riddle spent most of his formative years there, and both the ring and the locket were found in places that were significant to him in some way… fits the pattern."

The illusionist continued muttering, something about search parties and expenses, and Bel decided to leave them to it. Glancing at the time, he got up. Hel would be getting ready for bed by now, so she'd better hurry up if he still wanted to say goodbye.

He was leaving for a relatively long mission tomorrow morning, so it would be their only chance.

…

Hel's first real day off came on a Saturday almost two weeks into August.

The weekend before it had been too hectic to be considered a proper day off: between Hel's new tutors still settling in and wanting to spend some time with her to get to know her better, and then Don Vongola's impromptu visit on Sunday, it hadn't been much fun. Nono's visit had left Hel's godfather in a bad mood, so the atmosphere around the castle had been heavy, and subdued.

But on Friday Papa had returned from Norway with presents, and took a day off to spend all of Saturday with her, so that was much better. Hel was now reading through Dragon Species Native to Europe in her free time, and so regaled her father with all of her new knowledge on the subject because dragons were cool, and had he known that Swedish Short-Snouts could breathe blue fire? How neat was that?

Very unfortunately, Papa did not agree to buy Hel a pet dragon, but did suggest having a look into the handful of dragon sanctuaries around Europe, and inquiring into whether or not they might be able to visit one of them. Satisfied with this concession, Hel agreed that it would be a great idea.

On Sunday morning, Hel visited Blaise.

"I want to show you something," He said as soon as she arrived, taking Hel by the hand and leading her to the back garden, "I was going to show you on my birthday, but you didn't stay for the sleepover, and I couldn't show you him with everyone else around."

'Him' turned out to refer to a snake – the same snake the two of them had snuck out of the Concert Hall where they first met each other and became friends. Jörmungandr still remembered her, and gave a lazy hiss of acknowledgement as he basked in the sun, wrapped around a tree branch.

"Mother thinks he's very handsome. And it's sort of an inside joke – 'cause my father was in Slytherin."

Hel switched to English, shooting Blaise a confused look, "What does that mean?"

"It's one of the Houses at Hogwarts. There's four of them: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin."

"Oh." Hel sat down, "Your dad went to Hogwarts? I thought he was Italian?"

"No," Blaise shook his head, "He was an English wizard. It's my mum who's Italian – she went to Beauxbatons. Because it's the closest one to here, you know."

Translation: the closest of the three big European schools. There were others, too, but those were smaller, more local, and less well-known. Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts, on the other hand, were each old and prestigious.

Hel had never heard Blaise talking about his father before, so was curious.

"What was your dad like?"

Blaise shrugged, a little listlessly, "I never met him – he died before I was born. Mum says he was a hopeless romantic, and funny – and a brilliant duellist." Blaise picked up a stick off the ground and gave it a determined sort of wave, pretending to do magic, "What about your mother?"

Her mother?

It wasn't a question Hel had been expecting.

"I don't know," She admitted, "She died when I was really young. She was really pretty though, and I think she must have been a really strong witch."

"Of course she was! Your dad would never date a weakling!"

Hel made a vague sort of sound. Truth be told, Papa had never even met Lily Potter… but it wasn't like she could tell Blaise that. She had already told him too much as it was. To distract them from this subject, Hel looked around for another fallen twig to pick up.

"I have an idea, let's duel!"

…

Bel left the fireplace and stepped out into a wide entrance hall of red walls and heavy woodwork. A large, medieval tapestry was the first thing to meet his eyes… followed by a servant a little bit to the right, who had been waiting to bow and greet him.

"Princess Jophiel is in her drawing room, Your Highness." The servant said, straightening up again. "This way, please."

Bel followed him through the halls of Jophiel's Sicily home, taking in the surroundings without much interest. His great-aunt had this house built for herself after agreeing to tutor Hel. She had told Bel this was because she wanted to have her own space, but the Prince suspected she just couldn't stand the thought of mingling with the Varia. This suited Bel perfectly, because it meant that the occasions on which he had to see and interact with Jophiel were few and far between – which was no great loss in his opinion.

This morning he had received an invitation to tea, however, because Jophiel wanted to talk about Hel. He'd already had his chats with Nante and Matilda, so he couldn't exactly weasel out of it this time.

When they finally reached Jophiel's drawing room, Bel found his great-aunt sitting at a round table, having her 11 o'clock cup of tea. She was wearing a pair of small, round glasses on her nose, and was holding a newspaper in front of her – reading.

The servant announced Bel's arrival and she looked up, folding the newspaper.

"Ah, Asriel. Thank you for coming – do sit down." She waved her wand, and the chair facing her moved back a little to allow him to sit down in it. "How was Norway? Here, have some tea – the Prime Minister of Bulgaria has just sent me a most exquisite blend back from his recent trip to China."

"It was fine." Bel said shortly, taking a seat, "And you'll have to excuse my rudeness, Great-Aunt, but if I'm going to have to sit through a conversation about everything that's wrong with my daughter, and how I'm not even raising her correctly, I think I'm going to need something a lot stronger than tea."

Especially since his grandfather had made it perfectly clear that he was not allowed to kill his sister, nor maim her. Not unless she tried to attack him first, at least, and Bel recognised that she was vanishingly unlikely to do something that stupid.

"Well. I can certainly see where that girl got her impertinence from." Jophiel sniffed, "Contrary to what you seem to think, I did not call you here to insult you. I think your daughter is quite the entertaining pupil, actually. But tell you what, I have an unopened bottle of firewhiskey and I've been looking for an excuse to open it – I could do with a drop, as well." At this, she nodded at her servant, who bowed again and left the room.

"You think Hel is entertaining…?" Bel asked suspiciously.

"Oh yes. Quite the challenge. She's a very headstrong girl, and smart too. It makes for a troubling combination – your daughter hasn't stopped trying to make my life hard since she first set foot inside this house, you know."

Yes, Bel had heard about that: Hel seemed to be trying to wage psychological warfare on Jophiel by following her rules to the letter, but intentionally misinterpreting them just a little bit to the left to be contrary. Bel had never seen his daughter wear so many of Lussuria's creations before, and rumour had it that she had already asked the Varia's Sun Officer to make her some more.

Lussuria had definitely been in an excellent mood this morning, talking about fabrics, zippers, and faux-fur to anyone willing to listen.

"You like the challenge." Bel realised.

Princess Jophiel took this cool accusation in stride, smile nowhere near friendly. Bel recognised the look – his great-aunt was having fun.

"What can I say, an old woman's life can get dreadfully boring at times. The occasional challenge can be very uplifting to the spirits."

Just then the servant returned with the pottle of firewhiskey, and it was only after Bel had a glass of it in front of him and Jophiel had added some to her tea, that Bel spoke up again.

"So how is she doing?"

"Her work is satisfactory." Jophiel announced, "She pays attention and does her work, and I've started her on hierarchy and proper forms of address. I'm having her keep a diary as well – to practice her penmanship. Aside from the attitude, I'd say she's doing quite well. See? No insulting your precious darling. Although – speaking of – don't you think she's a little too attached to you?"

Ah – the tips of Bel's lips twisted upwards humourlessly, and he leaned back into his chair – here it was.

Jophiel frowned. "It's not a joke. You coddle her way too much – what are you, some common peasant?"

"I wasn't aware loving your children was a right only reserved for the peasantry."

"You know very well that's not what I meant. It's not about not loving them – it's that showing too much affection makes them soft. We can't afford a soft Crown Princess, Asriel, heaven knows you're smart enough to understand that. Do you want your daughter to end up like Ferdinand? Or would you rather she end up like your brother, instead?"

The words might as well have burned him – either way, they stung the same.

"If you think Rasiel was soft, you're delusional."

"Of course he wasn't soft, he just wasn't strong enough to make it. A lot of us weren't. Do you really want to risk that with your own daughter?"

Neither royal spoke. The silence was so thick and loaded that Bel felt he could have cut through it with a knife. The moment lasted long, a bit too long, but finally Bel spoke.

"Hel is well-protected." He said quietly, "And she's not soft – she's a child. Let her be one." Jophiel opened her mouth, but Bel was faster, "You have already shared your opinion on the matter, Princess Jophiel. Thank you."

That shut her up.

It was a clear dismissal, and Princess Jophiel clearly still remembered her place. As her Crown Prince, Bel outranked her – it was not her place to speak. The Prince enjoyed the silence, and the firewhiskey, for a blissful five more minutes before Jophiel spoke up again, changing the subject.

"I plan on introducing the Princess to a few children her age these coming weeks. Suitable companions for a young princess. A little girl needs friends." Or connections to cultivate, Belphegor thought shrewdly, because there was always some ulterior motive to being introduced to someone in his family, "I trust you do not have any objections to this?"

Loath as he was to admit it, Jophiel did have a point. Hel needed more friends her age… and Lussuria and Aurelia had both already suggested he try and find her some. The lack of age-mates had never bothered Bel before, but the Prince could acknowledge that he hadn't really been a typical child.

"Who did you have in mind?" He wanted to know.

"Her distant cousins in Sicily and France, to begin with… but that might take a while to set up. In the meantime, I thought we could visit Lady Vichtenstein. She has two children her age. I'll be introducing your daughter to Ernst, of course – and we might as well visit your aunt's youngest and meet the baby. She has a son, too… but I think he might be a little too young to make friends with a six-year-old at this point."

Only family, in other words.

There was nothing actually wrong with Jophiel's suggestions, and Hel might actually enjoy it, so Belphegor didn't protest.

"I'd like to call over a tailor to take her measurements as well. She needs some more appropriate clothes if she's going to be making a good first impression."

Another point he couldn't argue with, as Hel didn't really have any dresses his great-aunt would consider 'appropriate' for a royal visit – most of Hel's clothes were of the muggle variety: firmly rooted in the present, and not the 1800s.

"Owl me his rates and I'll send over the gold."

"I will." Princess Jophiel agreed, apparently satisfied that she didn't have to fight him on this point. She picked up her teacup and brought it to her lips, staying silent until the cup was on her saucer again, "By the way, Asriel, my brother urges me to ask you if a Princess Consort might be joining our family anytime soon. He is very glad to see His royal bloodline continued – and to have magic back in the ruling line at last – but He believes it would be prudent not to hinge all of your hopes and plans on this one child."

"He wants a spare…" Having once been the spare, he was very familiar with what that life entailed. But he didn't need two children – right now, he had his hands full taking care of just the one. "You can tell His Majesty that the Prince has no plans to marry at present. Should he change his mind, however, He will be the first to know."

Jophiel glanced at him, "If you wish me to. But you are aware he won't be pleased, right?"

"When have I ever done anything to please him, Great-Aunt?"

"Yes, when indeed…? If we tallied it all up it would surely be a very short list. You are nothing like your father at all, in that regard." The subject of parents seemed to remind her of another, for she went on: "Whatever did happen to Princess Hel's mother? I know my brother knows, but he's been very tight-lipped concerning the matter."

She sounded as though this fact annoyed her, and Bel couldn't help but find it amusing. Of course, nobody but the King and the entire Varia knew that Hel was his by adoption. It wasn't like royals went around sharing their life details with their subjects, so people had been left to assume as they would.

"Passed." Bel said simply, "When Hel was a little over a year old."

"I see. My condolences."

Bel accepted them, as would be appropriate, and downed the last bit of firewhiskey in his glass. He set it down. Next to him, Jophiel seemed to be done with her tea, too.

Good – that meant that he could leave.

"Have you considered any matches for your daughter yet?"

Bel had been so sure Jophiel was finished talking, that the question actually surprised him.

"What?"

"Marriage." She clarified, "Have you given much thought to who you'd like your future son-in-law to be?"

"Considering I haven't even given much thought to who I'd like my future Queen to be, no – not really." Bel said coolly, but it didn't dissuade the old vulture.

"Well, you should. It's never too early to start considering alliances, and your daughter is going to be a fine and strong witch one day. A worthy Queen, provided she gets the right guidance..." High praise coming from Jophiel, Bel thought dryly… but in that moment, Bel also realised something different. It was a suspicion so outlandish it sounded almost entirely impossible: that Jophiel didn't just find Hel amusing – but that she actually liked her. "If I may be so bold to make a suggestion, My Prince? I have a great-grandson the same age as Princess Hel. Ernst manifested magic last month, so they will be attending Durmstrang together in a few years' time. I believe he would be an asset to your daughter, and a fine Prince Consort."

Bel scoffed derisively, an asset to his daughter.

An asset to Jophiel, more likely!

"Princess Hel is not looking for a fiancé at the present moment, so I must turn down your generous offer, however regretfully," He said cooly, following the formal script, which wouldn't allow Princess Jophiel to twist any of his words, "Her Highness will not be betrothed before she is seventeen, and is to have full control over the choice of whom to marry when that does happen. Now, if you'll excuse me – "

Bel turned on his heel and left the room, shrewdly making a mental note to make an adjustment to his will, so it included that last bit.

Better safe than sorry.

…

Over the next few months, Hel went on a lot of trips with Great-Grandaunt Jophiel and met a lot of people.

First among those people was a boy named Ernst, whom she met on a dark and rainy September day, as her great-grandaunt made them sit through and practice their etiquette during a twelve course meal.

Then there were other children as well: Eduard and baby Viktoria, and Felix, Amalthea, and Charlotte, and Prince Claudio and Princess Isabella of Sicily, who lived much closer to home.

European magical history, as Hel was finding out from Nante, was a really interesting subject. But although the two of them were frequently linked, the modern history of Magical Europe was very different from its muggle counterpart… this could largely be attributed to the instatement of the Stature of Secrecy, in 1692.

Italy was a convenient example of this, as the Unification of Italy had not yet taken place when the Secrecy Laws were passed. The result was that there was no such thing as a 'Magical Italy' on any magical map, and the territory was instead composed of a handful of Kingdoms, Republics and Duchies, all of which had different governments and leaders, and did not consider themselves to be a part of the same country.

So while Hel was at the Varia, she was in Muggle Italy – but she was also in the Kingdom of Magical Sicily, whose royal family was related to Hel's own through the daughter of a Kingdom Princess who had married one Cosimo of Sicily… although Hel couldn't remember which Cosimo that had been, exactly, at the moment.

Why did Royals name their children after themselves? They should show some consideration towards future generations of princes and princesses, forced to remember the difference between more than a dozen of identically-named kings!

But the visit to Sicily turned out to be great fun at least… even despite the face that Princess Jophiel was with her. Isabella and Claudio were ten and seven years old respectively, and Isabella was the coolest person Hel had ever met! She had a Kelpie, which she kept as a pet!

After a luncheon with the Crown Prince and his wife, Princess Jophiel insisted on a visit to the National Art Gallery, where they got a long-winded, guided tour by a wizard who had to be at least a hundred years old – but after that, Princess Estelle was able to convince Great-Grandaunt Jophiel to join her inside for a cup of tea, and Hel, Claudio, and Isa got to play outside until sundown.

All in all, Hel enjoyed the visit, and returned to the Varia satisfied – happy to have two new friends to call her own.

A/N: Hello again! Thank you all for your support so far, and as always, please leave a review and let me know what you thought of this chapter!