In the Shadow of What If's

The Shadowed Path to Pompeii

"What if I by some very unlikely chance get lost, or kidnapped. You don't know that."

"That wouldn't happen. Although I do no one thing for sure." She raised an eyebrow at him. "You'll pass out from heatstroke if you keep that robe on. Come on—my grandmother's already picked out something for you. She and Lady Longbottom are waiting."

Walburga hesitated. Her elf gave her a small nod.

With a sigh that felt far older than her years, she followed Thomas up the winding path.

The villa's atrium was buzzing gently with preparation. Harrison stood on the balcony above, shirt sleeves rolled up, wand in hand as he levitated boxed lunches into a wicker hamper. Fleamont sat nearby, sipping a bitter espresso and reading the paper with raised brows at some scandalous mention of Ministerial incompetence. Euphemia and Alyssa Longbottom, however, were at the heart of the commotion—waiting by the sunroom with a neatly folded dress laid out on a cushioned chaise.

"There she is!" Euphemia said warmly, rising to her feet. "Walburga, darling, welcome. Alyssa, do come help—she'll need a quick charm for the hair."

Walburga looked overwhelmed but didn't recoil. She gave a shallow nod, her face carefully blank.

"This is... kind of you."

Euphemia knelt slightly, not condescending, just considerate. "We won't tell your mother," she said in a low voice. "But if you wear that robe another five minutes, you'll faint. And if you faint, I'll have to explain it to the tour guide, and she's a Muggle-born witch with a sharp tongue and no patience for politics."

Alyssa added, "The shawl will help cover your shoulders. Modest enough for a Black, but not enough to cook you like a Sunday roast."

Thomas tried not to smile. Walburga eyed the sundress suspiciously—pale lavender cotton with embroidered flowers at the hem—but after a moment, she nodded once.

"Fine. But only because I don't want to embarrass myself."

Half an hour later, Walburga emerged from the villa wearing the dress, her dark hair lightly enchanted into a tidy braid. She looked... softer. Like a girl again, rather than a statue carved from ancestral expectations.

She joined Thomas near the portkey circle, where the adults were checking timepieces and adjusting sunhats. Even Fleamont had swapped his robes for crisp linen trousers and a white shirt that he filled out rather impressively for a man his age.

The portkey was a bronze sundial, enchanted and locked for a single trip. As the group gathered around, Harrison counted them off. "Hands on. No jostling. We'll be met by Alessia—the local guide. Speak English unless otherwise requested. Magical discretion, please."

Thomas touched the dial beside Walburga, feeling the thrum of it under his fingertips.

Walburga didn't look up, but she spoke.

"My parents wouldn't have let me come if they knew I'd wear this."

"They don't need to know," he replied.

"They'd say I'm losing myself."

"Maybe you're just finding it."

The portkey activated.

They landed in a quiet clearing just outside the modern entrance to the Pompeii ruins. Waiting for them was a slim woman in her forties with sharp eyes and sun-browned skin, wearing an airy blouse and enchanted sandals.

"Benvenuti," she greeted. "I am Alessia Volturna, your guide. My family has lived near these ruins for generations—and yes, I am both witch and historian, before you ask."