Elemental Alchemy

Chapter Three

5:59 pm - Hogsmeade Station - Hogsmeade

Seven hours later, the train came to a halt at the Hogsmeade station. The early September sunset was painted pink and orange over the Eastern sky. Robert knew, by the time he had gotten off the train and claimed his baggage, it would be dark.

During the remainder of the train ride, Robert, Harry, Ron and Hermione shared mainly small talk. Robert told them the stories of how he and Vittoria Vettra had been a part of the very, well, interesting Vatican conclave and Illuminati mystery just a year ago.

"I read about that!" Hermione said. "No wonder why you look so familiar!"

He also told them about how he and Sophie Neveu broke the code Sophie's grandfather left on the floor of the Louvre Museum, leading them to his killer and the location of the Holy Grail. "O Draconian Devil, O Lame Saint..."

The kids, while impressed and engrossed in Robert's stories, were not as forthcoming about their own histories. Judging, however, from the jadedness Robert sensed in Harry Potter, Robert knew that the boy must have lived through some horrific experiences. Even after hours of conversation, all Robert knew was that Harry Potter was essentially a marked man, and that he played some part in the resurrection of his potential killer - or, according to the prophecy - his potential victim.

As Robert never really committed to helping the kids with the deciphering of the prophecy, Robert understood why he never really gained their trust. Here he was, a Muggle, an art scholar, and someone, Robert thought, whom they perceived could blow the lid off the entire wizarding world and gain significant fame and profit from it. From what he could tell, Harry, Ron and Hermione were trained to keep their abilities a secret from Muggles like Robert.

Despite the fact that Robert's escapades were just as unbelievable and fantastic as the existence of true magic, and that a wizard, Paolo Zabini, had obviously trusted Robert explicitly with this secret, apparently, these children had been burned before. After a rather rude remark from Harry, albeit directed towards Hermione, about people putting their noses in where they didn't belong, Robert knew to quit asking questions.

As the doors to the train opened onto the station, Robert said his goodbyes and shook hands with his compartment-mates. He then followed the line of students out onto the platform. As he emerged, he heard a booming voice.

"Firs' years this way, now. Firs' years, yer comin' with me. Line up and get on yer boats! Firs' years goin' ta Hogwarts!"

As he was looking around for the source of the voice, Robert felt a large hand clap him roughly on the shoulder. As he turned around, he distinctly heard the silky, yet strangely-accented baritone voice of his old friend.

"Surprised, Roberto, il mio amico? Welcome to Hogsmeade, Dolphin! It's so good to see you. It's been so long! Dio mio!"

Robert couldn't help but smile. "Paolo, voi vecchio cane! You old dog, you!"

The two men clapped at each other's shoulders in a male version of an embrace. A second later, Robert found himself wrapped tight in the taller man's arms, and being lifted off the platform.

"Ugh! Put me down, man!" Robert exclaimed. Paolo put him down, and held Robert out at arm's length. Robert brushed at his now-crinkled Harris tweed. "Any excuse to show you're still stronger than me, eh?"

Paolo cocked his head, and his mouth turned up on one side in a smirky grin. His pale blue eyes flashed. "'Il Delfino ha capelli grigi!"

"Yeah, so what, so I do. Gray hair makes me look dashing despite my bookish occupation." Robert ruffled Paolo's salt-and-pepper mop of hair. "What about you? What happened to all that brown stuff up there? You have more gray than I do, so I wouldn't talk."

Paolo turned and wrapped his arm around Robert's shoulder, leading him toward the luggage claim. "Did you have a nice train ride?" Paolo asked.

"Now that you mention it, Paolo," Robert said. "The ticket could have come with some instructions. I had no idea I'd be looking for a platform that for all intents and purposes doesn't exist! I had to do what no prideful man likes to do - ask for directions!"

Paolo laughed. Robert stopped at the haphazard pile of luggage sitting on the platform. He immediately found his black Coach leather suitcase. It stood out like a sore thumb in among all of the immense, red, green, yellow, and blue student trunks. Paolo retrieved the case for him and the two continued down the platform.

"Seriously, though," Robert continued. "In all the years I've known you, you never told me that you were - well, about your - your, uh..."

"That my son and I are wizards, and my wife is a witch?" Paolo finished the sentence for Robert.

"Well, yes." Robert blinked.

"We all have our secrets, don't we, Robert?" Paolo said mysteriously. "I know our friendship meant, and still means, a lot - to both of us. Trust me, Robert, when I was at Harvard I wanted to tell you. I think it would have made you understand why I was so fascinated with alchemy and runes."

You're right, Robert thought. Not so strange now that you think about it. Makes sense.

"But," Paolo's voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "You must understand that you are coming here at great risk to me, to the wizarding world, and even, Robert, to yourself. You must also know that there are those who object severely to your being here, and may insist that your memory be modified before you are even permitted to leave."

Memory...modified? Yeah, great, some vacation, Robert thought. Just what I need, more danger, not to mention the opportunity to likely have my brains scrambled like so much egg.

"There is a statute of secrecy I am bound to uphold at all costs. No one outside our world is to know about magic and wizardry. I actually had to get permission to even get you that ticket."

"You make it sound like you had to ask for a special dispensation from Pope in order to let me come here." Robert joked, helping Paolo carry the suitcase down an immense flight of stairs.

Paolo, however, did not joke. "Essentially, I did." Robert stared. "I had to ask Professor Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster at Hogwarts, and a member of the Wizengamot, if you could come here. He, in turn, had to get a majority vote from the Wizengamot."

"The Wizengawhat?" Robert found himself muddling words in this fashion more times than he would have liked to today.

"The wizarding judicial council, so to speak." Paolo explained.

"So," Robert sighed. "I take it I'm here for more than some rest and relaxation as you so tantalizingly promised." Although Robert fought it, he could not help but allow his voice to swell with anger and frustration. Whether it was aimed at his friend or the situation, Robert did not know.

"Paolo," Robert's voice became hollow. "The last thing I want right now, especially after the past year - the whole Vatican debacle, almost dying in Paris -- is another quote-unquote adventure, another puzzle to solve." Robert could hear his voice percolate now with growing anger. "All I want right now is rest. Uninterrupted rest. I'm on sabbatical, man! Honestly, I don't want there to be another opportunity for something or someone to finally snuff me! Merda, Paolo!" He swore, "I hauled my ass on this bizarre train for nearly an entire day, all the way up here to get away from all that - not dive headlong into it again!"

Paolo's eyes fell, and he dropped his head into his hand. "I am sorry for la bugia, il inganno, the lie, Bobby, but it was necessary. You are needed here. If there was a wizard who had your knowledge and skill, trust me, they would have called on that person first."

"But you, Paolo! You have that skill! I taught you everything I know about symbology! You even taught me some things!"

"Believe me, Bobby. I do not, and I am not the person for this job. You are. I am, let's just say, too close to it. I, literally, cannot touch it."

Before Robert could continue the interrogation, the two approached a long line of coaches, drawn by something -- some creatures -appearing, Robert thought, to be a cross between a dragon, a lizard and a horse.

"What in the bloody hell are those things?" Robert's jaw dropped.

"Ah, very interesting," Paolo said. "You can see the Thestrals?"

"Well, yes, of course I can see them, whatever they are. They're right there, right in front of me." Robert eyed Paolo suspiciously. "Why, can't you see them?"

Paolo shook his head. "Fortunatamente, no." Robert was again, completely nonplussed.

"What do you mean, 'fortunately, no'? What, are they, invisible, or something?" Paolo nodded. Robert noticed that the boy, Harry Potter, was standing next to one of these Thestrals, and was actually petting it -- stroking its long, scaly nose. Robert pointed at him. "That boy, the one I met on the train -- Harry Potter -- he can see them, why can't you?"

"Because, Bobby, I have not yet suffered ill effects from another's death. Young Harry Potter, on the other hand, has horrors in his past which are, well, most unexplainable. He has seen death, on more than one occasion, and it has scarred him severely." Paolo paused. "You can only see the Thestrals, Robert, when you yourself have met death, and have been emotionally affected by it."

Death. Over the past year, Robert had his fill of death. Leonardo Vettra, the four Cardinals, Camerlengo Carlo Ventresca, Jacques Sauniere, just to name a few. Yes, Robert mused, I most definitely have met death - know him personally, in fact.

As if purposefully breaking Robert's ruminations, a short, stocky, dark-haired young man walked up from the Thestral-drawn carriages and met Paolo and Robert at the edge of the paddock. He was wearing black, silver and green robes with a green patch over the left shoulder. The patch, Robert noticed, bore a single, twisted serpent, with the word, "Slytherin." Robert recognized him immediately.

"Blaise? Blaise Ettore Agostino Nicomedo Zabini, is that you?" Robert dropped his bag and held his arms out for the boy. "Dio mio, it's been so long since I've seen you! Look at you, Blaise! You make me feel like an old man!"

The boy, however, returned neither the embrace nor the smile. "Hello, Mr. Langdon. Hello, Father." Blaise shook hands with both of them.

"Hello...Mr....Langdon?" Robert blinked with mild surprise. "What happened to 'Ciao, Delfino!' or at least a 'Hi, Uncle Bobby?'"

Blaise was unmoved. "I am not nine years old anymore, sir," he snapped. "But, it is lovely to see you again." Blaise's face showed no sign of a smile, or that he actually believed it was "lovely" to see Robert.

Just then, the girl, Hermione Granger, along with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, walked past the frontmost Thestral, heading toward the carriage it pulled. Hermione caught sight of Robert, and waved heartily. Robert returned the wave.

Blaise scowled. "Anima fangosa," he spat. Whatever are you waving at her for? Do you actually know, actually consort with that - that Granger girl?"

Robert knew enough Italian to translate that phrase. Anima fangosa - Muddy blood. He had never heard that phrase before, at least in this context. Robert remembered that Hermione had told him her parents were Muggles. Was this some sort of quasi-racial slur? Robert also knew, judging from Paolo's now uncharacteristically stone-set and furiously-reddening face, that it likely was.

"Leave, Blaise. Now." Paolo's words were sharp and steely. "I will not have you treat my friends - especially Robert Langdon -- with such disrespect! Furthermore, I shall not ever hear you use that horrible name again, whether in English or in Italian. How dare you, especially with your mother, la vostra madre, Blaise! Calling anyone, especially one's schoolmates Mudblood is not the proper way for a Zabini to behave. Even if that Zabini was, Dio mio, sorted into Slytherin house."

Silence. Without so much as a "goodbye, Father," Blaise turned on his heels and strode away, joining a group of similarly dressed boys at the edge of the paddock. After a moment, one boy, a pinch-faced lad with white-blonde hair, turned and looked at Robert with what appeared to be severe disdain.

It was as if Paolo was reading Robert's mind. "That boy - that is Draco Malfoy. He comes from a long line of, well, I will say, overly aristocratic and fanatically puristic wizards. I believe he is the reason - it is his influence that has made Blaise the complete asino that he is today. I'm only sorry that you had to see him behave that way. I am also sorry that you had to see me lose my temper so, Bobby. That was not the reunion with Blaise you were hoping for, I know."

Draco. The words flooded back. O, Draconian Devil, O, Lame Saint. Robert shook the thought out of his head.

"What was that emblem on Blaise's uniform? That snake?" Robert asked, as they climbed into one of the Thestral coaches. The coach gave a great lurch, and they headed down a darkened stone path.

"That is his house symbol. Blaise is in Slytherin house."

Robert thought hard about the meaning. "The snake," he muttered to himself, but Paolo did not hear him.

This - the serpent -- Robert thought, was an interesting symbol of choice for a group of adolescent students. The snake had many meanings, but they were generally common to all cultures. It was one of the few symbolic animals to have such a commonality. The snake meant elusiveness or stealth. It also stood for psychic energy, elemental energy, or creative power. Perhaps most importantly, the serpent signified the water element - which also, in turn, meant immortality, rebirth, resurrection, or transformation.

Robert wondered if the students in Slytherin were placed in that house because of qualities commensurate with those meanings. If so, the Slytherins would be quite a group to reckon with. The name of the house, Slytherin, was very appropriate. Robert also wondered if the other houses, as there must be other houses, had symbols of equal impact and power.

Paolo continued, as if answering Robert's mental ruminations. "The school, Hogwarts, has four houses. On the first day of school, there is, well, let's just say, a process, for sorting students into the houses. When I was at Hogwarts, I was in Ravenclaw, and Victoria was a Gryffindor. Your friend, Harry Potter, is also in Gryffindor. So is Hermione Granger. The other house is called Hufflepuff."

"You went to Hogwarts? You slick little bastard, you told me you went to Eton!" Robert laughed at Paolo's mock-innocent shrug. "And what about Slytherin?" Robert asked.

Paolo frowned. "Slytherin prides itself on taking in and teaching only pureblood wizards, to the general exclusion of others."

"To the exclusion of those, like Hermione, born from, well, normal parents?" Robert was beginning to catch on.

"Yes," Paolo sighed. "And, like Blaise, actually. Blaise is really a half-blood. I am pureblood wizard. Victoria's a witch, no doubt, but her family is pure Muggle. She's the exception in her family. She was Muggle-born, like Miss Granger."

"But then, how did Blaise get into Slytherin?"

"We pureblood wizards, Robert, are a dying breed. If Slytherin house were to take only purebloods to this day, no one would be sitting at that left-hand table. Slytherin house would be no more. So, you see, Robert, there's no choice. Even kids like our Blaise get sorted into that house. Even though Blaise is half-blood, he has pureblood ideals, pureblood thoughts, and now, thanks to that Malfoy boy, a pureblood attitude."

Knowing the symbol, Robert knew there must be more to this house than the "pureblood attitude." Robert had met up with his share of fanatics to know that a "pureblood attitude" was an erroneous and dangerous one - and often went hand-in-hand with ideals such as immortality, stealth, and psychic power. Opus Dei, the Illuminati, the Nazi Party - these were all groups upholding a zealously puristic ideal. All were, in one form or the other, deadly.

Paolo, again seeming to sense Robert's melancholy, broke the silence. "There it is," he pointed.

Robert strained to see. "There what is?" Robert saw nothing in the distance except for what appeared to be a large, run-down and burnt-out warehouse. "I don't see anything except that old rickety building. Looks like it should be wrecker-balled!"

Robert felt a sudden wave of panic. "Oh crud! I've got a stack of essays to grade before I get back! I have to do them now! Take me back to the station! I need to get back to Boston!" He turned and began to unzip the front pocket of his suitcase, searching for the non-existent papers.

"Oh, yes. I forgot. Robert, you're a Muggle."

"What is that supposed to mean? That doesn't change the fact that I'm a tenured professor at Harvard! I have duties to perform there! Tests to grade, students to teach! I have to go!" Robert looked out the carriage toward the Thestral, looking for a driver - someone to take him back to Hogsmeade Station, immediately.

Paolo laid a calming hand on Robert's arm. "It is okay, Robert. It's just a spell. Hogwarts - it has anti-Muggle charms on it. Any Muggle that gets within visual distance of the school sees only that dilapidated old building. Furthermore, that Muggle suddenly remembers something intensely important that he has to do - so he simply leaves. Let me fix that." Paolo pulled his wand from within his robes, pointed at the old building and intoned, "reseropatesco!"

The warehouse morphed - literally, morphed, into a stunning building -- a castle. Robert abruptly, and rather sheepishly, realized that he'd been on sabbatical. There were no papers to grade, and no real reason to go back to Boston just yet. For the second time that day, Robert's jaw seemed to come unhinged. Yes, Dorothy, you are in Oz....you and your little dog, Toto, too!

"See it now? Ah, yes -- you do. I can tell. Well, there it is, Bobby. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Paolo smiled.

"We're going - there?" Robert was mystified. "But, I thought we were going to your place! I've got my taste buds ready for Victoria's capellini pomodoro!"

"Not tonight, my friend." Paolo patted Robert hard between the shoulder blades. "I have been instructed to bring you to someone who needs most desperately to meet you."