The first real breakthrough came quietly.
No spells.
No blood.
Just paper.
Harry stood in Grandpa Theo's suite once more, watching as the old necromancer carefully examined the contents of the dead wizard's trunk. Clothes had already been checked. Potions catalogued. Wands examined and ruled out as unremarkable.
What remained were documents.
Passports.
Letters of introduction.
Ministry permits.
Bank records.
All perfectly made.
Too perfect.
Theo's fingers moved slowly over the parchment, his eyes narrowing as he traced the ink, the pressure, the flow of the runes hidden beneath mundane script. He sniffed once, as if scent alone could betray a lie.
Then he let out a soft, humorless chuckle.
"Well," Theo said, setting the papers down, "that answers at least one question."
Harry straightened immediately. "You recognize anything?"
"I recognize the hand," Theo replied. "Not the name written on them—but the man who made them."
A faint shimmer appeared at the edge of Harry's vision.
[Investigation Progress Updated]
Forged Identity: Confirmed
Document Origin: Identified
Theo leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "These were forged by Julian Romera."
Harry blinked. "Who?"
Theo's lips twitched. "One of the finest document forgers alive. Spanish. Brilliant. Annoyingly boastful, for someone who breaks laws just for the sake of it."
"You know him," Harry said.
"We've known each other for decades," Theo replied calmly. "Old friends, if you can call people like us friends."
Harry's expression darkened. "So the man didn't just stumble into a fake identity. He paid for the best."
"Yes," Theo said. "And that tells us something important."
Harry waited.
Theo continued, "Julian doesn't forge documents for petty criminals. He works for people who are resourceful or someone who is desperate and running for their life."
Harry felt a cold knot settle in his chest.
"So someone powerful was after him," Harry said quietly.
Theo nodded. "Powerful enough that changing his name wasn't enough."
Harry's mind raced. The fake identity. The ritual secrecy.
And suddenly, the pieces aligned.
"He wasn't just changing who he was on paper," Harry said slowly. "He was trying to change who he was magically."
Theo's gaze sharpened.
Harry pressed on, voice low. "A name change hides you from people. But changing your magical signature hides you from spells. From tracking charms. From divination. From bloodline magic."
A notification pulsed.
[Hypothesis Formed]
Objective: Magical Signature Alteration
Method: High-Risk Ritual
Success Rate: Unknown
"That's why he came here," Harry said. "That's why he needed ritual magic. He already changed his identity… and now he wanted to disappear completely."
Theo did not confirm it.
He did not deny it either.
Instead, he stood and moved toward a writing desk, pulling out a sheet of thick, enchanted parchment. With careful strokes, he wrote a short letter—nothing dramatic, nothing revealing.
Then he sealed it with wax bearing a sigil Harry had never seen before.
Theo handed it to him.
"This letter is from me," Theo said. "Take it to Julian Romera. Whoever presents it, he will speak freely."
Harry took it reverently.
"Where is he?" Harry asked.
"Spain," Theo replied. "Seville. He doesn't stay in one place long."
Harry turned, already knowing the answer.
"David and Joseph," he said.
Theo nodded. "They're experienced. Cautious. And they don't draw attention."
Harry found them later that evening.
The hotel room was dimly lit, the air heavy with tension as Harry explained everything—carefully omitting the deeper ritual details, but giving them enough to understand the danger.
"You want us to go to Spain," Joseph said, rubbing his jaw. "To meet a world-class forger."
"Who may be under surveillance," David added calmly.
"Yes," Harry said. "And to ask him who Enzo Favara really was… and who wanted him erased."
David took the sealed letter, weighing it in his hand.
"We'll go," he said without hesitation.
Joseph grinned grimly. "I've always wanted to visit Spain once more."
A new quest branch unfolded before Harry's eyes.
[Quest Update: Blood Beneath Silk Sheets]
Sub-Quest Unlocked:
Follow the Forgery
Send trusted agents to Julian Romera
Discover the true identity of the victim
Learn who initiated the erasure
Status: In Progress
As David and Joseph prepared to leave the next morning, Harry stood alone on the hotel balcony, staring out over Knockturn Alley.
Someone had hunted a man so relentlessly that he had rewritten his name, forged his life, and risked a ritual that could have destroyed his soul.
And still…
They found him.
Harry clenched his fists.
"Who are you running from?" he murmured.
The mystery was no longer just about a murder.
It was about a shadow powerful enough to chase someone across borders, identities, and magic itself.
And now, the Serpent Court was following the trail straight into it.
The three days that followed were some of the most stressful Harry had endured in a long time.
There were no battles to distract him.
No dungeons to clear.
Just waiting.
David and Joseph were in Spain, chasing a ghost whose name had already proven false once. Every hour that passed without news made Harry more restless. He spent his days moving through Slytherin Castle on instinct alone—checking wards that didn't need checking, walking the grounds without purpose, pausing at windows as if answers might appear in the distance.
Even Shadow, usually glued to his side, sensed the tension and stayed uncharacteristically quiet.
On the fourth morning, the wards stirred.
Harry felt it immediately.
They were back.
He didn't waste time. Within the hour, the Serpent Court was summoned to Slytherin Castle once more. The familiar hall filled quickly—Jason and Cassia taking their usual places, Cassandra standing near the table with arms crossed.
David and Joseph looked tired.
Travel-worn. Alert. Serious.
Harry didn't ask them to sit.
"Tell us," he said simply.
Joseph exhaled slowly, as if letting go of three days' worth of tension. "The man calling himself Enzo Favara never existed as we all know."
A quiet ripple moved through the room.
David continued, voice steady. "His real name was Felix Gachet."
Harry's fingers tightened against the stone table.
"French," Joseph added. "Wizard. Low-ranking employee in the French Ministry of Magic."
Cassandra frowned. "Low-ranking?"
"Clerical division," David said. "Paperwork. Accounts. Nothing that should have put him on anyone's radar."
"And yet," Harry said quietly, "he ended up dead in my hotel after forging an identity and attempting a forbidden ritual."
Joseph nodded. "Exactly."
David reached into his coat and placed a thin folder on the table. "Julian Romera confirmed it. Felix contacted him through a colleague—someone they both knew from past… dealings."
Harry's eyes flicked up. "Who gave him Grandpa Theo's address?"
Joseph grimaced. "Mr Romera did.".
David went on. "Julius told Felix about Mr. Umbra. Told him there was a necromancer in Britain who operated outside Ministry oversight. Someone who could help him disappear properly."
Harry felt a chill.
"So Felix didn't just find Gothic Alley by chance," Harry said. "He was directed."
"Yes," Joseph confirmed. "And that wasn't the end of it."
They exchanged a glance.
"We followed the trail to France," David said.
Cassandra's posture stiffened. "You crossed borders without clearance?"
Joseph smirked faintly. "We didn't announce ourselves."
David laid out another set of documents. "Felix Gachet withdrew a massive sum of money from his personal vault shortly before he vanished."
"How massive?" Harry asked.
"Far beyond what a clerk could earn," David replied.
"And do we know where that money went?" Jason asked.
David shook his head. "No. That's the problem."
Joseph leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "There's no record of bribes. No known purchases. No sudden assets. The money vanished as cleanly as Felix himself tried to."
Silence fell.
Harry felt the shape of the mystery shifting again—growing deeper, darker.
"So," Harry said slowly, "a low-level Ministry employee somehow gets access to a fortune, forges an identity, seeks out illegal ritual magic to erase his magical signature… and is then murdered before he can finish."
Cassandra's voice was sharp. "That's not someone running from debt. That's someone running from exposure."
David's expression was grave. "Low-level clerks are dangerous, Harry. They see everything and are noticed by no one."
Harry closed his eyes briefly.
Then opened them, resolve hardening.
"This doesn't end in Britain," he said. "Spain was only the door. France is the corridor."
Harry looked around the table at the Serpent Court—his people, his family.
"We proceed carefully," he said. "No noise. No Ministry alarms. We find out what Felix uncovered… and why it cost him his life."
Shadow growled softly at his feet, as if sensing the danger ahead.
The name Enzo Favara was truly buried.
But Felix Gachet's secrets were only beginning to surface.
Harry sat alone in the hotel's private office long after midnight, the soft glow of enchanted lamps casting pale light across the desk. Before him lay a single sheet of parchment, covered in neatly written names.
Six.
Only six people fit the pattern.
That alone made his skin crawl.
Zeus Hotel was not a place people wandered into on a whim—especially not for extended stays. Most guests came with purpose, stayed briefly, and left quietly. Felix Gachet had been different. He had booked his room in advance, paid in full, and settled in as if he expected to remain unseen for a long time.
Anyone who booked after Felix, stayed as long as Felix, and left no obvious trail…
Harry's fingers tapped once against the desk.
They hadn't come for comfort.
They'd come because Felix was here.
He reviewed the list again.
Four wizards.
Two witches.
Different nationalities.
Different accents.
Different professions—at least on paper.
None of them stood out.
And that was the problem.
In the magical world, appearances meant nothing. Age could be faked. Bodies could be reshaped. Influence could be hidden behind proxies, vaults, and false identities. Even magical signatures could be masked—Felix himself had tried to do exactly that.
Harry leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose.
"Professionals," he muttered.
Hired hands.
Assassins who didn't care who Felix was or what he'd done—only that someone had paid them to ensure he never finished whatever ritual had brought him here.
A soft chime echoed in the room as the door opened.
Cassandra entered, arms crossed, her expression sharp even in exhaustion. She took one look at Harry's face and didn't ask if he'd found something.
"How many?" she asked.
"Six," Harry replied. "That's all that fit."
She whistled quietly. "That's… uncomfortably small."
"Exactly."
Harry rose and moved toward the table, spreading the parchment between them. Cassandra scanned the names quickly, her Auror instincts flaring.
"No obvious red flags," she said. "Which means they're very good at what they do."
"Or very well protected," Harry added.
He straightened and spoke clearly, voice carrying intent.
"We split the investigation."
Cassandra looked up. "Already decided?"
"Yes."
He turned as footsteps approached—Jason, Cassia, Charles, and David entering one by one. The Serpent Court assembled instinctively, drawn by the gravity in Harry's voice.
"Felix Gachet's past is in France," Harry said. "That's where the money moved. That's where the trail goes cold."
Jason nodded immediately. "France makes sense. Ministries hide more than they reveal."
"Cassia, Charles," Harry continued, "you go with Jason. Find everything about Felix—his work, his contacts. Dig until something bleeds."
Cassia smiled thinly. "Finally. Something worth breaking wards for."
Charles cracked his knuckles. "I'll bring the quiet tools."
Jason's expression was serious. "We'll stay off official channels."
Harry nodded. "Good. I don't want the French Ministry alerted."
He turned back to Cassandra and David.
"You stay here with me. We investigate the six guests—quietly. No accusations. No pressure."
Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Interviews?"
"Observation first," Harry said. "Patterns. Movements. Magical residue. Who avoids mirrors. Who wards their door at night."
David's lips curved slightly. "Assassins always think they're invisible."
"They're not," Harry replied coldly. "Not in my hotel."
The room fell silent for a moment.
Then Cassandra spoke carefully. "Harry… what happens when we find the one who did it?"
Harry didn't answer immediately.
His gaze drifted toward the window, toward Knockturn Alley below—quiet now, orderly, safe. A place he had rebuilt piece by piece.
"This isn't about Felix," he said finally.
Heads turned.
"It's not about justice. Or vengeance. Or proving anything to the Ministry."
His eyes hardened.
"This hotel is neutral ground. Sanctuary. Anyone who violates that… answers to me."
Harry folded the parchment and slipped it into his coat.
"Find the killer," he said softly. "Not because Felix deserves justice—but because no one spills blood under my roof and walks away."
The Serpent Court nodded as one.
The hunt had begun.
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