Arya climbed out of bed. After giving his stiff body a brief stretch, he folded the thin blanket neatly and placed it at the foot of the bed. He washed up quickly, then opened the refrigerator. Empty. He stared at the barren shelves for a moment, sighed, and turned back toward the desk near the window. Pulling open a drawer, he found a dozen Francs—just enough to survive for two more days.
Pocketing all the Francs, he left the small room and stepped outside. The French village looked particularly bleak in the winter light. Only four living souls resided here: three elderly Muggles and himself. He exhaled a puff of white air into the cold morning, then dragged out a rusty bicycle leaning against the fence. Mounting it, he began pedaling toward the city.
Not only did he need food, but he also needed to earn his daily living—he performed minor magic tricks in a local bar. The journey from the village to the city took nearly two hours. This winter in Pessac was unusually harsh; it wasn't even Christmas yet, but snow had already fallen twice.
As arya pedaled through the biting wind, he imagined the bicycle was a flying broomstick, soaring over hills and valleys. A small, dark shadow followed him in the sky, descending as he stopped for a rest. It landed directly on his handlebars—a cat owl.
Gai frowned. Contact with the wizarding world was dangerous for him right now. Still, he took the letter from the owl's leg, released it, and pushed his bicycle into the small wooded area beside the road. After confirming no one was nearby, he unfolded the letter.
"My Grandson, G.A.:
Our family is finished.
The rampant Fire Serpent Party has ruined the Merlin City project, resulting in a total loss. We are now over 300 million Galleons in debt. I was forced to sell off the family's remaining assets and flee Britain.
I'm currently in Algiers and will soon move on to Cairo.
Gai, meet me there. We—grandfather and grandson—will rebuild our fortunes with the 200,000 Galleons still in our possession.
Previously, I called you back to Britain, but you didn't come. This time, you must come to Cairo. This is a matter of survival for our family.
You are my only remaining heir.
Your loving grandfather, Ollivander Avery"
Gai sniffed, folded the letter carefully, and placed it in his left pocket. Feeling the crinkle of Francs in that same pocket, he hesitated. Then, pulling the letter back out, he tucked it into the inner lining of his jacket instead—somewhere safer.
Should he go to Cairo? The thought weighed heavily.
He remembered the last letter he received from the old man, stating that he had been pardoned by the Ministry of Magic and urging him to return to Britain. But before Gai could even approach the French Ministry, he received another letter—this one from Dumbledore.
Dumbledore warned him not to return.
The Avery family had become the target of a formidable opponent, he wrote.
This adversary was not only wealthy but also extremely powerful.
If Gai returned too soon, he might not survive.
Arya had always been cautious. After receiving Dumbledore's letter, he abandoned his apartment in the Nicolas Flamel district in Paris and moved to this remote, sleepy village. With Nicolas Flamel dead, Gai could no longer rely on protection in that neighborhood.
Cairo sounded tempting—he hadn't seen his grandfather in years. And though the family had crumbled, the letter suggested hope. Perhaps all was not lost for the Averys.
He looked southeast, his thoughts drifting.
If the enemy had already driven them out of Britain, and his grandfather had fled to Cairo, then—by Wizarding World conventions—perhaps they would not be pursued across borders.
Yes, maybe it was safe.
As he debated, another cat owl arrived, this one more aggressive than the last. It landed squarely on his head and began pecking.
"Alright, alright!" Gai grumbled, pulling the owl off and retrieving the new letter.
"Arya
Do you remember what I told you last time about your family's opponent?
That individual is not only wealthy but now wields alarming influence.
If you're discovered, I may not be able to protect you.
Please remain in hiding.
Do not return to Britain.
And above all, do not meet your grandfather—I strongly suspect he is under surveillance.
Protect yourself.
I will find a way to resolve the enmity this individual holds against you.
You were an unknowing participant in its origin, so I believe there is room for compromise.
Enclosed is a small amount for your living expenses—a token of my concern.
Albus Dumbledore"
As the letter closed, it automatically incinerated into embers. From the ash, a small cloth pouch materialized in the air and dropped into Gai's hand. He opened it—inside was at least a thousand Francs.
Gai tucked the pouch into his jacket and shook his head.
Dumbledore truly cared. More than his own grandfather ever had.
Pushing his bicycle out of the woods, he continued pedaling toward Pessac. He had made up his mind: he would follow Dumbledore's advice and remain hidden. When Voldemort returned—and Arya
Arya was certain he would—he would still be alive and useful to the Wizarding World.
By the time he arrived in Pessac, his legs were numb from the cold and exertion.
He bought meat, some wilted vegetables, and a dozen hard loaves of bread—the kind that could double as blunt weapons. But instead of heading to the Rose and Serpent Bar where he usually performed, he opted for a decent restaurant.
Casting a quick Confundo charm on his bicycle and a Transfiguration Charm on his shabby clothes, he stepped into an alley. When he emerged, he looked polished and impressive—radiant, even.
Don't ask where the food went. Every experienced wizard carried a bag enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm, even if it was technically regulated by the Ministry.
Upon entering the restaurant, he was immediately noticed.
"Sir, would you like to dine with us?" the waiter asked.
"Yes," arya replied.
"How many in your party?"
"Just me."
"Right this way."
The waiter led him to a table near the floor-to-ceiling window. Arya sat, ordered a few simple dishes, and leaned back in his chair, lost in thought.
He didn't mourn the family's downfall.
In his view, the Avery name had long decayed. As Dumbledore predicted, the tide was turning: Muggle-born wizards would one day stand equal to pure-bloods. Their growing numbers would eventually tip the balance.
To survive that shift, Gai believed, the only way forward was with Dumbledore.
Voldemort…
He was the physical embodiment of pure-blood supremacy in Britain—and he had to be stopped.
While he pondered the future, a conversation at the next table caught his ear.
"Did you hear? The title of Count of Pessac has been inherited."
"Really? When did that happen?"
"Two years ago, I believe."
"Isn't that just a vanity title? Someone bought that abandoned castle on the outskirts, right?"
"Not exactly. That 'pile of ruins' has been fully restored. I checked—it's livable now."
"But the new owner doesn't live there?"
"Apparently not. Just bought the title and the estate."
"Still, what's the point of a title these days?"
"Well, among old families, it still carries weight."
"Maybe. That sort of thing is far from our world, though."
"Not necessarily."
"Why do you say that?"
"The castle's hiring. They're looking for maintenance staff."
"Seriously? You applying?"
"Why not? Good pay, minimal work. How often do you get that chance?"
"You've got a point. Who's the new owner?"
"Name's Dantes. Supposedly from the East."
"Dantes? From the East? Sounds like The Count of Monte Cristo!"
"Haha, that's what I said!"
Arya raised an eyebrow.
Castle maintenance?
That sounded like a safe and stable job—much better than performing magic tricks in bars and risking exposure to the French Ministry of Magic.
He leaned forward slightly, considering his options.
Perhaps fate had offered him a new path.
For more chapters
patreon.com/Liamlivingstone