The moment Harry and Cassandra stepped out of the Italian Ministry building, both of them froze—not because of danger, but because of shock.
The street outside looked… normal. Entirely, unmistakably, muggle normal.
Wizards in tailored suits walked past them with briefcases. A pair of witches in crisp blazers and trousers crossed the street while chatting about potion shipments. Two employees in Ministry lanyards stepped out of—Harry blinked twice—a silver Mercedes car, laughing as they headed toward the entrance.
Not a single cloak in sight.
No pointed hats.
No eccentric robes.
No old-world stiffness.
Just… everyday people blending into a modern world.
Cassandra's eyebrows shot up. "Are we—are we sure this is the Italian Wizarding Ministry? Because this looks like an muggle bank."
Harry glanced once more at the passing crowd.
"Welcome to Italy, Cassandra," he muttered. "Where apparently everyone decided to update themselves by a couple hundred years."
She nudged him. "Look! That wizard—he's wearing jeans! Actual jeans!"
A man in an expensive suit flicked his fingers discreetly, and the coffee cup he was holding refilled itself. No wand drawn. No theatrics. Just subtle magic woven into modern life.
Harry couldn't help but stare.
In Britain, even the Aurors still dressed in heavy robes like they stepped out of a medieval painting. Hogwarts students were practically wearing bed-sheet cloaks. And worst of all—everyone there insisted on pretending that the muggles were some backward species.
But here…?
Here magic flowed quietly through the seams of everyday living. Wizards looked like they belonged in the city, not like they were hiding from it.
As they walked forward, Cassandra whispered, "You know… if Muggles ever declared war on wizards, the Italians would disappear into society without anyone noticing."
Harry nodded slowly.
"And the British wizards?" Cassandra said bitterly. "We'd stand out like flaming peacocks wearing tent robes."
Harry snorted, but the truth hit harder than he expected.
British wizards were uneducated in the modern world.
Unprepared.
Technologically clueless.
Half the Ministry thought electricity was dangerous dark magic.
Purebloods still dressed like they lived in the 1600s.
If a conflict ever broke out…
The British wouldn't last a day.
"They think muggles are inferior," Harry murmured, watching an Italian wizard open his car door with a runic key fob. "But they don't even know what muggles are capable of anymore."
Cassandra nodded grimly.
"Imagine telling the British Ministry about airplanes, satellites, nuclear weapons or even CCTV cameras—they'd faint…"
"Or pass a law banning them," Harry added dryly.
Both of them laughed—but it was a tense laugh, the type born from realizing your homeland was embarrassingly behind.
The warm Italian air smelled of sea breeze and roasted coffee. The modern streets bustled with people, magical and non-magical walking side by side without fear. Harry tightened his hold on Cassandra's hand instinctively as they merged with the crowd.
He didn't say it aloud, but he thought it clearly:
If Britain ever wants to survive the future, they need this.
They needed progress.
They needed awareness.
They needed change.
But that was a battle for another day.
For now, his mission—and the treasure of Arcanus—awaited.
They stepped out of the Ministry building into the warm Italian sun, and Cassandra quickly hailed a taxi—an actual muggle taxi, bright yellow and humming with the rumble of an engine. Harry slid into the back seat beside her, still stunned that wizards in Italy used normal cars for transportation instead of brooms, Floo powder, or a violently spinning Portkey.
Cassandra whispered, "We blend in better this way."
Harry agreed. Discreet operations meant successful operations.
The cab ride took them through the narrow stone streets of Florence. Beautiful old buildings of warm terracotta rose on either side, charm spells subtly strengthening the old architecture without disturbing the muggles. Scooters buzzed past them. Italian wizards disguised themselves perfectly among the locals.
Ten minutes later, the cab stopped in front of a modest but elegant muggle hotel tucked between a café and a bookstore.
David had chosen well.
It didn't stand out.
It didn't attract attention.
It was perfect.
The receptionist handed Cassandra three card keys, each wrapped in a little envelope.
"All arranged under the reservation of Miss Vale," she said in accented English.
"Thank you," Cassandra smiled politely.
Upstairs, the rooms were laid out exactly as David had promised—three in a row on the fifth floor. Cassandra opened the one on the left, Jason and Cassia took the middle, and the third room remained reserved for David, Joseph, and Charles when they arrived.
Jason and Cassia's room was already occupied. Their luggage sat in the corner, and both of them were sitting on the bed surrounded by parchments, maps, and photographs.
Cassia looked up as Harry and Cassandra entered.
"Finally. The last party arrives."
Jason smirked. "Took you long enough. Busy admiring Italian fashion?"
Harry shrugged. "It's hard not to."
They all gathered around the table as Cassia tapped her wand, and the scattered parchments arranged themselves neatly.
"This is everything we've checked," Jason began.
A large map of Italy lit up on the table, glowing softly with scattered red and gold dots.
"Red marks," Cassia explained, "are places Gringotts did excavate. Gold marks are places they suspect the vault might be, but couldn't enter due to wards, muggle visibility, or property restrictions."
Jason pointed to a cluster near the countryside.
"Most of these places are old wizarding estates," he said. "Some abandoned. Some occupied. But all covered in high-level barriers."
Harry studied the map carefully.
Old estates—powerful wards—multiple dead ends…
Jason continued, "The goblins spent decades breaking into these places. Some they succeeded. Some they walked away from. But they narrowed it down to these thirteen locations."
Cassia tapped the map again.
All thirteen lit brighter.
"And all thirteen," she said, "lead nowhere. Wards inside wards. Rooms inside illusions. Dead ends."
Cassandra frowned. "So the goblins gave up?"
"No," Jason corrected. "They're close. They just need a breakthrough. Something different. Something… unusual."
Harry felt the weight of all their expectations shifting onto him.
With [Observe], he could spot hidden entrances that goblins, wizards, or curse-breakers couldn't.
He stepped closer to the map, eyes narrowing.
"I don't know the exact place yet…" he murmured. "But when we go to the sites, I'll find it."
Cassia nodded firmly. "We expected that. That's why you're the key to this mission."
Harry sat down, determination blooming in his chest.
"So what's our next step?"
Jason answered immediately.
"We wait for David, Joseph, and Charles to arrive. They went to meet some of their old friends. Tomorrow morning—"
"We begin visiting the warded locations one by one," Cassia finished.
Harry looked at the glowing map, and for the first time, he felt the familiar thrill rising again.
A new quest.
A new ancient secret buried under centuries of dust and magic.
Arcanus.
The Roman who created metal armies.
Whatever he left behind—knowledge, weapons, magic—would be worth the fight.
Harry's eyes flickered.
"Then let's find the treasure."
From the very next morning, the real hunt began.
The Serpent Court split up exactly as planned—Jason and Cassia headed north toward the countryside ruins, while David, Joseph, and Charles went towards the southern estates. Harry and Cassandra formed the last team, and together they moved through the sun-soaked streets of Florence, Venice, and finally into the quieter Italian wilderness where ancient wizarding manors lay forgotten behind olive trees and stone walls.
Harry had a good time in Italy. Out here, he was just a boy on holiday with his guardian—two tourists with a camera and an Italian guidebook. Cassandra embraced the act wholeheartedly. Every few minutes she snapped a photograph: Harry leaning against a marble fountain, Cassandra posing beside a medieval tower, Harry sipping espresso in a tiny café.
It made their presence invisible.
Just another pair of tourists enjoying the country.
But in reality…
Every site they visited was one of the gold markers on the Gringotts map—the places goblins believed the Arcanus chamber might hide.
And every time Cassandra raised her camera, Harry quietly activated:
[Observe] — Lv. 11
MP Cost: 15
Scanning…
He let the faint shimmer of system-magic pass through broken walls, dusty floors, and ancient Italian wards.
At an abandoned vineyard manor, [Observe] detected nothing but old protection runes and muggle-repelling charms.
At a collapsed Roman-era shrine, Harry found buried curse marks but no trace of Arcanus's magic.
At a seaside villa still occupied by a proud Italian wizarding family and a very old house-elf who glared at Harry suspiciously.
Each location felt promising at first glance—massive estates, crumbling fortresses, old wizarding tunnels—but the truth became clearer with each visit:
None of these gold-marked sites held the Arcanus Vault.
Cassandra didn't know about the system messages flickering in Harry's vision, but she noticed something else.
"Your expression changes every time we arrive somewhere," she whispered as they walked through the ruins of another old estate. "Like you're searching for something deeper."
Harry smiled casually. "Just thinking. These places… they all look promising."
"Promising," she agreed, "but wrong."
They continued their small "holiday" through Italy, blending sightseeing with investigation. Cassandra's camera soon filled with dozens of photos—Harry standing beside an ancient stone archway, Cassandra laughing as pigeons swarmed around a fountain, the two of them sitting on a bench eating gelato.
But behind every photograph was another failed scan.
The Gringotts gold markers were wrong.
All of them.
After a full week of travel, the conclusion was unavoidable:
Arcanus's Chamber of Secrets was not located in ANY of the marked sites.
Which could only mean one thing—
Someone had hidden the true location far more cleverly than the goblins anticipated.
And Harry, for the first time in days, felt the faint, familiar thrill of a real quest forming in the shadows.
"Cassandra," he said quietly as they boarded a train toward the next region, "I think Arcanus didn't leave his vault where people expected."
She raised an eyebrow. "Then where?"
Harry glanced out the window at the rolling Italian hills.
"That's what we're going to find out."
Harry woke slowly, blinking at the bright white ceiling of the hotel room.
A familiar blue screen shimmered into existence above his face:
[You have slept in a comfortable bed.
HP and MP fully restored.]
He dismissed it with a lazy flick of his hand.
The memories of last night returned one by one—
The Serpent Court gathered around the small dining table of their temporary Italian hotel room, discussing everything they'd learned so far.
They had all been so certain the Gringotts gold markers were useful. And Harry confirmed it waste:
"We're already several steps ahead of the goblins.
Gringotts still has to search every single gold-marked site.
By the time they finish, we'll be far, far beyond them."
Everyone agreed.
David and Joseph had spent yesterday reconnecting with two of their old mercenary friends—who, surprisingly, agreed to provide information not for money, but for the old times sake.
Jason and Cassia reported that every residential property they checked was perfectly mundane—ordinary households, old family wards, nothing remotely connected to Arcanus.
Harry had been exhausted, his MP drained from constant use of Observe and travel.
He must have fallen asleep during the final discussion—because the last thing he remembered was Cassia explaining Italian ward layering… and then darkness.
Someone must have carried him to bed.
Harry stretched, still feeling the echo of last night's fatigue somewhere deep in his bones, and padded toward the living room…
…and froze.
The moment he stepped through the door—
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
A loud chorus exploded around him.
The entire Serpent Court filled the living space—Cassia, Jason, David, Joseph, Charles, Sam, Cassandra—every single one of them grinning ear to ear.
A massive floating cake hovered in mid-air, held steady by Cassandra's wand.
For a second, Harry just stared—wide-eyed, stunned.
He had forgotten.
He had genuinely forgotten.
But they didn't.
He blinked rapidly, a sudden warmth blooming in his chest. His smile burst across his face like a sunrise.
"Wait—today… is my birthday?" Harry asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Cassandra laughed and nudged him gently.
"You might forget important things when you're hunting ancient Roman treasure, but we won't."
David raised a small enchanted sparkler.
Jason shifted the cake slightly closer so Harry could see the icing—dark green frosting with silver lettering:
"Happy Birthday, Lord Slytherin."
Sam clapped him on the back.
"You're nine years old today—and already making waves. Merlin knows what you'll be like at ten."
Harry felt something he seldom allowed himself to feel:
pure, uncomplicated happiness.
For the first time since he arrived in Italy, Harry laughed without restraint.
The Serpent Court—his strange, mismatched, wonderful family—burst into cheers as the cake lowered gently into his hands. The candles were shaped like tiny serpents, each hissing a little puff of green flame.
"Make a wish, boss," Jason grinned.
Harry blew out the candles in one gust, and the snakes hissed in disappointment before melting into harmless frosting.
David let out a deep, rumbling laugh—
the kind of laugh that shook his whole chest.
GIBBS-LAUGHTER, as the group teasingly called it,
because whenever David laughed, he resembled a roaring bear.
"Look at him!" David barked with joy. "Nine years old and looks like he's ready to conquer Italy itself!"
The room erupted with snickers.
Cassandra rolled her eyes, smiling warmly at Harry.
"You're not conquering anything today. Today, you sit, eat cake, and let us spoil you."
Joseph conjured plates. Charles conjured forks.
Sam popped open a bottle of butterbeer—one that refilled itself endlessly.
Harry sat on the couch as slices were delivered to him from all sides.
He felt overwhelmed.
Not by magic…
Not by danger…
But by affection.
He hadn't celebrated a birthday like this.
Not with people cheering for him.
The celebration was loud and cozy—
David recounting stories of his old mercenary days,
Cassia trying to frost Harry's nose with leftover icing,
Jason recording everything on a Muggle camera "for memories."
Harry's cheeks hurt from smiling.
And then—
A sudden WHOOSH of fire exploded in the air.
Everyone jumped back in alarm.
Harry instinctively summoned Death Ward, a faint silver shimmer coating his skin.
Sam almost threw his drink at the intruder.
Cassia screamed, "WHAT—?!"
A phoenix burst from the fire.
Red and gold flames curled into elegant wings.
A majestic creature hovered in the center of the hotel room, its cry both beautiful and haunting.
The phoenix circled once before lowering gently, wings folding with a soft rustle. In its beak was a small envelope sealed with a purple ribbon.
The Serpent Court stared in awe.
"Is that… Dumbledore's phoenix?" Cassandra whispered.
Jason swallowed hard.
"Yes."
Fawkes stepped toward him, head bowed.
Harry took the envelope, and the phoenix trilled once—a warm, comforting sound—before bursting again into a pillar of golden fire and vanishing.
Silence hung for several seconds.
Then Jason muttered,
"…Well damn."
Harry opened the letter.
Inside was a short message, written in elegant handwriting:
"Dear Harry,
I heard you are on Vacation with Miss Vale.
I hope this small gift finds you in good health.
Wherever you are, may the stars guide your steps.
—Albus Dumbledore."
Attached was a small wrapped package.
Harry unwrapped it carefully.
Inside was a beautifully bound copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, its cover decorated with silver constellations.
Cassandra leaned in.
"Is that the children's book?"
Harry nodded slowly.
"I've never had a children's book. The Dursleys… didn't allow magical books."
The Serpent Court's expressions softened instantly.
Jason gently patted his shoulder.
"Well, you've got a family now who will read it with you."
Harry smiled—soft, touched, grateful.
He placed Dumbledore's gift carefully on the table.
He looked at everyone—his court, his friends—and felt something warm bloom in his chest.
He wasn't alone anymore.
He didn't need the world's permission to be happy.
This was his family.
And it was the best birthday he ever had.
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