Yggdrasil_Loki
patreon
Harry Potter In The Witcher [27]
🕑 Added 2025-06-05 13:20:08 +0000 UTC"There is nothing in your power that you could give me that I would want," Harry said to her, his tone polite but firm, as she began to lead him through the bustling city streets towards the imposing Cintra castle.
"Perhaps not," Queen Adalia replied, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, not letting Harry's dismissive statement get to her in the slightest. "But I shall offer anyways, Black Mage. You may one day change your mind."
They approached the tall, formidable castle, its stone walls gleaming in the afternoon sun, and walked through its main gates with no problem at all.
It was, Harry mused, the first time he had ever been willingly invited into a royal palace and not had to sneak in secretly, under the cover of darkness or disillusionment charms.
As they walked through the castle's grand corridors, random maids and liveried servants would stop their work and bow deeply as they passed.
Harry found it a little weird, and frankly, a bit uncomfortable, as they were also bowing respectfully to him, simply because he was in the company of their queen. He wasn’t used to that kind of deference.
"It is just up through here," Adalia said, gesturing towards a wide, sweeping stairwell that led to the upper levels of the castle.
Harry nodded and continued to follow her, his long black cloak swishing silently behind him. After ascending a few flights of marble stairs, they came to a beautiful, ornately carved wooden door.
"Wait here," Adalia told the two guards who had been trailing them silently. This command seemed to upset the guards once more, their already stern expressions tightening.
"My lady," one of the guards started, his voice hesitant but clearly concerned, "I do not wish to question your judgment, but… wouldn't it be safer if we at least…"
"We shall be perfectly fine," Adalia cut him off, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "I have absolute faith that the Black Mage will look after me if any… trouble… should arrive. Why don't you both go and attend to my husband, the King? I'm sure he could use your diligence."
The guards still looked decidedly uncomfortable, their eyes darting nervously towards Harry, but they bowed stiffly before reluctantly departing. With them finally gone, Adalia turned back to the ornate door and gently pushed it open a crack.
"Calanthe, dearest?" Adalia asked softly into the dimly lit room beyond. "Are you awake, my love?"
"Mama…" a soft, weak voice replied from the darkness within.
Adalia entered the room and then gestured for Harry to do the same. Harry walked softly into the darkened room, his eyes quickly adjusting, and did a quick, cursory look around.
It was decorated in a way in which he fully expected a young princess's private chambers to be decorated plush carpets, expensive-looking tapestries, delicate, feminine furniture.
The only unnatural, and rather telling, thing was that most of the furniture had been pushed haphazardly against the walls, as if to clear space, or perhaps to prevent someone from bumping into it in the dark.
Harry moved closer to the large, canopied bed in the center of the room, where he got his first proper look at the young girl who would, if his calculations and Ciri’s stories were correct, one day be Ciri's grandmother. Calanthe.
He’d heard the name correctly. She was a young, blonde-haired girl, probably around seven or eight years old, and she was incredibly, almost translucent, pale and alarmingly skinny.
Most likely due, Harry surmised, to her prolonged illness. He also noticed small, angry-looking red spots, like a rash, on certain parts of her visible skin her arms, her neck that caused Harry's eyes to narrow in concern and dawning recognition.
"I have brought a… a special man here today, Calanthe, to look over you and see if he can help you feel better," Adalia said gently, stroking her daughter’s forehead. "Please, my sweet, listen to what he tells you, okay?"
The girl, Calanthe, seemed to nod weakly, her eyes fluttering open to look at her mother. Harry took that as his cue and walked quietly over to her bedside. He pulled up a nearby, ornate chair and sat down next to the frail-looking girl.
"Hello, Calanthe, was it?" Harry asked her gently, his voice soft and reassuring. He subtly, almost invisibly, cast a series of complex diagnostic charms on her as he spoke. "That's a very pretty name. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I'm… I'm approaching my eighth year, sir," the girl whispered, her voice barely audible. She looked up at him, her blue eyes surprisingly bright and intelligent despite her weakened state. "What is your name?"
"My name?" Harry said, caught slightly off guard. He hadn't expected her to ask. "Ah, well… you can call me Apollo. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Calanthe. Eight years old, you said? Wow. You're getting pretty grown up then, aren't you? I'm sure, before you know it, you will be a beautiful, strong young maiden, and all the young boys in the kingdom will be clamoring for your attention someday." He finished his spells, the magical feedback already filtering into his mind.
The girl managed a small, weak smile at his words. "Perhaps," she said, her voice still faint. "Or perhaps not."
Harry had to physically keep himself from frowning. While the young girl didn't sound entirely defeated, not yet, she did seem to possess a grim, weary acceptance of the reality of her dire situation, far beyond her tender years.
"Oh, I'm quite sure of it," Harry said with a confident smile he didn't entirely feel. "Now, can you give me just a moment, Calanthe? I'll be right back." He got up from the chair and went over to a small, elegant writing desk that was pushed against the far wall.
He tapped his wand lightly on its polished wooden surface, and faint, shimmering words, visible only to him, began to appear on the wood, giving him the detailed magical diagnosis of the girl's condition.
Queen Adalia, who had been watching him with a mixture of hope and anxiety, walked over to him while he was doing this.
"What… what are you doing?" Adalia asked eagerly, her voice a hushed whisper, clearly trying to keep quiet so her daughter wouldn't overhear their conversation. "Have you… have you found what's wrong with her?"
