Harry Potter: Sectumsempra Chapter 01 | Seven Years of Chaos Book 2

Harry Potter expects a quiet summer visit, but nothing prepares him for the staggering luxury of Villa Zabini on the Italian coast, and the woman who rules it. Inside the Contessa’s home, Harry finds something he’s never had before: safety, attention, and a kind of ruthless polish that feels like both a gift and a challenge.

As Blaise’s mother takes a sharp interest in Harry’s future, she offers elocution lessons not to change who he is, but to make sure nobody ever uses his background as a weapon against him. Between sunlit swims, forbidden books, and late-night debates about “dark” magic and who deserves power, Harry’s time in Italy becomes more than a holiday. It becomes training.

Then Harry’s birthday arrives with a flood of letters, dangerous gifts, and one surprise that hits harder than all the wealth in the villa: proof that people are starting to see him as someone worth loving, worth investing in, and worth fearing. 

Transcript

**Sectumsempra by Jessalyn Michele**  
**Chapter 1: Villa Zabini**  

“Welcome to the Villa Zabini,” Blaise said proudly, spreading his arms wide. He chuckled at Harry’s astonished expression until Harry shot him a scowl.

“This is where you live?” Harry asked, incredulous. “Sometimes,” Blaise admitted.

“We also have homes in France, England, the States, and I think one in Taiwan.”  

“What the heck?” Harry muttered quietly. Blaise laughed, imagining how much his mother would adore Harry.

“Come on, let’s go inside and meet the Contessa.” He pulled Harry through the yard and up to the villa entrance. Harry turned slowly, his mouth agape as he gazed at the ocean the villa overlooked.

“Wow,” he whispered. “That’s nothing,” Blaise said, waving off Harry’s awe with a wink.

“Wait until you see the pool.”  

“You have a swimming pool?” Harry exclaimed as they stepped into the parlor. “My, my, language please.

There are ladies present,” Blaise teased, just as his mother descended the stairs toward them. She had clearly prepared for their guest, adorned with royal jewels that sparkled in her dark hair and around her slender neck.

“Blaise, my dearest amati, welcome home,” she said warmly, embracing him and kissing both of his cheeks. “I trust your year was well?”  

“Yes, Mother.

Hogwarts was as wonderful as you told me it would be.” He thought to himself that it was all thanks to Harry. Blaise was certain it would have been dreadfully dull if they hadn’t been classmates.

“Eccellente,” she said, patting his cheek fondly before turning her attention to Harry. “And this must be the Harry Potter that I’ve heard so much about!”  

She leaned toward him, her intentions clear, and to Blaise’s surprise, Harry allowed her to kiss both of his cheeks lightly.

Blaise had never seen Potter let anyone touch him like that, except for Susan Bones, and even she couldn’t do it without eliciting a flinch or a glare from him. “Thanks for inviting me,” Harry said softly.

“Of course, dear. You are an ally of the Zabinis, are you not?” Juliana smiled gently at him and patted his cheek.

“You are always a welcome guest for as long as we are tied together, Harry Potter. Casa mia è casa tua—my home is your home.”

Blaise nearly laughed at the look of awe on Harry's face.

He knew his mother would love him. Juliana Zabini was not a woman easily impressed.

With seven deceased husbands to attest to that fact, she had seen it all. But Harry Potter was a marvel.

He carried himself with the wariness of a battle-hardened soldier, his facial scars only reinforcing that image. Despite his tough exterior, he spoke softly, communicating much through his enchanting emerald eyes.

Juliana could sense the power emanating from the delicate boy, power that he seemed to manipulate with ease. Blaise had written many letters to her, highlighting Harry’s numerous qualities and the lessons he imparted on respecting power to other students.

The child was quick-witted, cunning, clever, and after many discussions, he appeared to be entirely Grey-oriented. Meraviglia.

A couple of days after the boys’ arrival, she ventured into the backyard and found them both lounging on chaise lounges, laughing. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she called, gracefully taking a seat next to her son.

“Evening, Mother,” Blaise replied dutifully. “Hello, ma’am,” Harry said softly.

Juliana resisted the urge to grimace at the child’s speech; she had too much grace for that. Still, it reminded her of her hopes for the next twelve days.

“Harry, darling, I wonder if I could convince you to take a class with me during your stay here?” 

Harry, ever the clever child, shot her a shrewd look. “What kind of class, Countess?” 

She let out a small laugh, the air filled with anticipation.

The child’s consistent politeness was a significant part of his charm, even if he clearly misunderstood her title. “Contessa, Harry,” she corrected gently.

“But as I’ve told you before, please call me Juliana.” 

Harry blushed and gave her a small nod. “And since I believe you will become incredibly important to the Wixen World, I wondered if you might see the benefit of elocution lessons?” 

Harry glanced quickly at Blaise, confusion evident on his delicate, fae-like face.

“Electrocution lessons?” he asked, scrunching up his nose. “I’m sorry, I don’t get it.” 

Blaise laughed at Harry’s puzzled expression.

“Elo-cu-tion,” he pronounced slowly. “It’s a fancy word for speech lessons.” 

Harry, bless his heart, turned an impressive shade of red.

“No thanks. I’m fine,” he mumbled sullenly.

Juliana moved to Harry’s chair and slowly sat down beside him. “Harry, my Meraviglia, do you really think I would insult you in such a way?” 

Harry ducked his head but shook it slowly.

“No, ma’am.” 

“And you’re right, I wouldn’t. You understand that we are allies, yes?” 

Harry looked up at her, his large green eyes wide.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She gently placed her hand on his cheek. “As your ally, I only wish the best for you, right?

I want you to succeed because as you rise, we rise together. Now, I find your accent to be part of your...

fascino rustico, your charm. But there will be those who won’t appreciate it, who will look down their noses at my tesoro Harry for his pronunciation.

And I won’t have it. Not if I can prevent it.

Will you do a lady the favor of spending just one hour in the afternoons learning to speak with pride?” 

Harry studied her carefully. She believed he was rather adept at reading facial expressions before he nodded.

“Okay, I can do that.” 

“Fantastico!”

She said brightly, “We shall begin after our evening meal, yes? Yes!” Blaise smirked at Harry’s politely confused expression.

Yes, Harry Potter was truly a marvel. Harry couldn't believe how incredibly posh Blaise's home was.

He felt he could spend the entire two weeks just exploring the house and still not see everything! Blaise hadn’t exaggerated about his library—it was magnificent.

Rows upon rows of books lined the shelves, boasting fascinating titles like “Wixen Culture: The Forgotten Ways,” “Defensive Magik: A Complete Guide,” and “Spells to Stop the Heart.” There were even three bookcases dedicated solely to 'dark' and 'grey' classified spells, which, as Blaise informed him, Hogwarts absolutely did not have. Harry spent his mornings in the library, eagerly reading as many books as he could and taking careful notes on the spells he was itching to try.

After breakfast, when Blaise finally woke up, they usually headed down to the beachfront, which Harry loved. Alternatively, they swam in the pool, an activity Harry enjoyed much more after Blaise taught him how to swim.

One particularly fantastic evening, they ventured to the nearest Wixen village and practiced team dueling with some local boys. Apparently, Italy didn’t share the same restrictions on underage magic that Britain had.

Brilliant! After dinner, Harry sat in the study with the Contessa, focusing on “proper pronunciation.” It felt rather ridiculous, but he couldn’t deny he looked forward to their lessons.

Even though she spent a lot of time correcting his speech, the Contessa was wonderful, eager to discuss and debate a variety of topics with him. He appreciated that they shared many views—“Calling it ‘dark’ magic is just a way to make it sound dirty,” she had said.

However, there were a few topics on which they disagreed. “Creatures are simply not as intelligent as we Wixen are,” the Contessa stated.

“With the exception of the Fae, who hold a seat on the Italian Council, they should not—”

“Do we really need representation just to muddy the waters of our governing bodies?” 

“What about werewolves for thirty days of the month?” Harry countered. “Or goblins, who we trust with our gold?

How many of your house-elves know your family secrets? How can you trust them to keep your secrets but not to have an opinion on their own lives?

Think about it.”

---

On the morning of his birthday, Harry woke up to find an entire flock of owls perched on the generous windowsill outside his guest room. “Merlin,” he breathed, opening the window to let them in.

He chuckled as six owls seemed to compete to be the first one he approached. “Calm down, calm down, will you?” he said, carefully undoing the packages and scrolls attached to each owl, stroking their feathers and pointing toward the owlery window.

“Go there, okay? You can fly right in, and there’s all sorts of good food waiting for you,” he murmured softly.

Five of the owls took off immediately as soon as they were relieved of their parcels. Only one remained—a tiny, fuzzy black feathered creature with big yellow-green eyes, hopping around on the dresser and hooting happily.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Harry crooned. “No?

Okay, you can stay for a while.” He gently stroked the excited little owl’s feathers and moved the packages to his bed. “Are these all for me?” he whispered in awe.

He was grateful that Blaise was still asleep, as he struggled to hold back the hot tears that threatened to escape. You will not cry over this, he told himself firmly.

It was just… he’d never had a birthday present before, had he? Slowly, he opened the first box and scanned the letter, recognizing Ron's handwriting.

“Happy Birthday, mate! Sounds like you’re having fun in Italy!

Maybe next summer you can come stay here for a few days? It’s no villa, but I’ve got a lot of brothers we can play Quidditch with!

Mum made this special for you; I told her it’s your favorite. Can’t wait to see you on the train!”

Harry grinned as he read Ron’s short and straightforward letter.

He pulled a metal tin out of the box and was delighted to discover it contained his favorite treat: treacle tart. It was still warm and smelled as if it had just come out of the oven.

He picked out a small piece and nibbled on it while he opened the next parcel—a thick, heavy envelope from Neville. As he pulled the parchment out, a little silver figurine tumbled out alongside it.

He laughed when he saw it was a perfect model of a Devil's Snare, complete with a stamped insignia of a knight’s helmet surrounded by floral engravings right on the front. “Hey Harry, Happy Birthday!

I miss you all and can’t wait for school to start back up. It’s been an oddly good summer with Gran.

She seemed really pleased that we were friends, even more so when I mentioned our alliance. She didn’t seem to understand gangs much, but I’m not sure I do either.

She told me that sometimes allies give tokens to each other—something that holds meaning for us both. So here’s a little Devil's Snare for you, with the Longbottom family crest on it.

I’ll see you on September 1st. Your friend, Neville.”

Harry felt a surge of happiness knowing that Neville had remembered his birthday, which was the day before his own.

He had sent Neville a book on magical plants; Neville probably hadn’t received it before writing his letter. With a smile broader than usual, Harry eagerly opened the next package.

To his surprise, it was a banned book on blood magic from Theo, along with a short note reminding him to “disguise the cover lest you get caught with it and we both end up as potion ingredients.” 

Harry smirked, immediately placing his hand over the cover to make it look innocent... and legal.

He chuckled when he saw the title now read, “Magnus Bane’s Trip to Mexico! A Graphic Novel.” Theo was going to be in for a surprise when he saw that.

Harry peeked inside just to make sure the content hadn’t changed, and he sighed in relief when the index still highlighted the sections he was interested in. Harry opened the next package, which turned out to be a book, accompanied by a six-page letter from Hermione.

He shook his head in disbelief. Who writes that much?

He skimmed through most of the letter, promising himself to read it more thoroughly later. He couldn’t help but laugh when Hermione mentioned she had bought him a book on healing spells because, as she put it, “who knows what nonsense you’ll get into this year?” Hermione could be quite funny when she wanted to be, and it was easy to see why she belonged to witty Ravenclaw.

Next, he pulled towards him a box clearly labeled “FROM SUSAN BONES AKA YOUR BEST FRIEND.” He smiled at the ridiculous number of stickers the witch had covered it with. “HARRY!

I’m not going to write and write and write because I’ll see you in two weeks! But you have to use your present to take a million photos (oops, that’s a hint, isn’t it?) of Italy and Draco’s home!

I can’t wait to see them and you! Happy happy HAPPY birthday!

Love, Susan.”

Harry thought Susan’s letter sounded just like her—bubbly, enthusiastic, and outgoing. Basically, the opposite of himself.

He eagerly took out her gift, a green magical camera, and went to the window to snap a few photos of the view. He’d have to ask her how to develop the film when he saw her in a couple of weeks.

The little black owl flitting around his room hooted until Harry took a photo of it too. “You’re needy, aren’t you?” he laughed.

Just then, Blaise burst into the room, clearly hoping to catch him by surprise. “HARRY!

Happy Birthday!”

“Ugh,” Harry pouted. “How are you always awake before me?”

Harry had been sleeping much better now that he had learned to clear his mind each night, but he still got less sleep than his dorm mates.

“Probably because you’re lazy,” he joked. “Lazy and proud of it,” Blaise declared, flopping onto Harry’s bed.

“What’d you get?”

“Here,” Harry said, shoving the pile of opened gifts towards Blaise. “You can look while I…”

Harry reached for the thin, square parcel, eager to see what it contained.

To his surprise, it wasn’t from Draco; it was from Professor Snape. “Potter, I hope you are managing to stay out of trouble, although I find that idea laughable.

Ensure that you are studying hard, keeping up with your summer assignments, and practicing Occlumency as often as you can. I believe you will understand the significance of the included package.”

As Harry pulled the gift from the wrapping, a broad smile spread across his face.

“What is it?” Blaise asked, his curiosity piqued. “It’s a CD,” Harry replied, his excitement palpable.

“Led Zeppelin, my mum’s favorite.” 

“It’s a Muggle thing?” Blaise inquired. “I suppose so,” Harry shrugged.

“But Muggle items don’t work in areas with high amounts of magic. How will you use it?” 

“Ugh, I don’t know.” Harry turned back to Snape’s letter, hoping for some instructions on how to get a disc player to work at Hogwarts.

“I believe you will understand the significance of the included package. I am sure you are cunning enough to find a way to utilize it this year, despite the belief that it is meant to be impossible.” 

Harry chuckled; Snape really was something else.

“He said he’s sure I can find a way to do the impossible.” 

Blaise rolled his eyes and peered inside the empty envelope. “You’re his bloody favorite—wait, there’s another scrap of paper in here!” 

He pulled out a small note and read it aloud: “Potter, this owl is an unruly nightmare who has given me constant headaches.

I believe you two will be a perfect match. He does not have a name but looks remarkably like a demon to me.

Write to me, brat.” 

Blaise glanced at Harry, who was staring, wide-eyed, at the flittering owl. “You’re mine?” Harry asked quietly.

The owl hooted and nipped at his ear. “You know,” Blaise said, smirking, “I bet Snape likes you more than he does Draco.

And Draco is his godson.”

Blaise laughed as Harry stroked his new owl, giving him a playful smirk. “I guess Snape just has good taste,” Harry said.

“I almost wish Ron were here,” Blaise sighed. “He’d take me up on the bet that Draco will either curse or cry when I tell him Snape prefers you.” 

With that, Blaise jumped off Harry’s bed and opened the door.

“Come on! Mother wants to spoil you with a ridiculous breakfast spread and gifts before Draco shows up to whisk you away to his Manor.” 

Harry perched the tiny black owl on his shoulder and followed Blaise down to the dining room, where he stopped in shock.

“You did all this for me?” he asked, wide-eyed. The room was decked out in green and silver balloons and streamers, with a large banner hanging across one wall that read, ‘Buon Compleanno Harry!’

“Of course, Harry dear!” the Contessa said, gliding over to him and kissing both his cheeks.

“You only have a birthday once a year, yes?” Harry hesitated to tell her that this was really the first birthday he’d ever celebrated officially. “And who is this beautiful creature?” she cooed, gently petting the owl's head.

“Thank you, Contessa,” he replied shyly, ducking his head. “He was a gift from Professor Snape.”

“No need to thank me, my Meraviglia.

We are like family now. Come, sit, and bring your darling companion.

Trilli will bring us food while you open your gifts, yes?” 

Harry allowed himself to be led to the table, where the Contessa seated him at the head. “Here,” Blaise said, shoving a box toward Harry.

“Open mine first!”

Harry carefully unwrapped the package and gasped softly at what he found inside. “These are brilliant,” he sighed.

“Do not shorten your words, Harry dearest. Brilliant,” the Contessa corrected him gently.

Harry grimaced; she was always correcting him about how he spoke, and he apologized while Blaise laughed. “They’re dragonhide!

And they’re charmed to grow as you do,” Harry exclaimed. “...to three sizes!” Blaise explained eagerly.

“They’re the most fashionable and practical boots for wizards.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, stroking the obsidian-scaled boots. “They’re brilliant.”

“Much better, my dearest,” the Contessa praised him.

“And this is from me.” She levitated a small box to Harry, who accepted it with a slight blush. “You guys didn’t have to do all this,” he protested weakly.

The Contessa moved closer to Harry, placing her small hands on his cheeks. “We did, because you are familiare.

And we spoil our familiare when we can.”

Harry didn’t understand all the words the Contessa used, but he recognized ‘familiare.’ He had to will himself, for the second time that day, not to cry. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling more than he intended.

The Contessa kissed his forehead, and Harry remained very still while she did it. She wasn’t scary or threatening; it felt almost like what having a mum might be, he thought.

“Will you open the gift now, my Harry, so that my Blaise has a chance to be jealous?” she asked with a soft laugh. Harry grinned at her, saw her wink at Blaise, and happily opened the gift.

He pulled out what looked like more dragonhide; it matched his boots, but he had no idea what it was. “Er, thank you?” he said.

The Contessa and Blaise both laughed, though she quickly corrected his speech. Apparently, ‘er’ wasn’t a proper sound for a young man of his standing to make.

Harry would have rolled his eyes, but he worried she would scold him for that, too. “It is a holster for your wand,” she told him.

“Allow me to help you attach it to your forearm?” 

Harry tentatively held out his right arm, watching her warily as she took the holster and secured it. “You slide your wand in here, yes?

The material is charmed to be impenetrable. Only you will be able to summon your wand from it, which you can...”

“...easier to manage with a small flick of your wrist,” she explained.

“Harry doesn’t use a wand, Mother,” Blaise scoffed. “I don’t think he’s used it at all, except in McGonagall’s class.

Have you?” 

Harry thought for a moment; he was sure he had used it a couple of times but couldn’t quite remember. “I used it last summer,” he finally said.

“See?” Blaise laughed. “He just terrorizes everyone with his hands.” He wiggled his fingers like a spider, making his point.

The Contessa smiled fondly at Blaise. “Which is all the more reason for him to carry his wand, yes?” 

“Why?” Blaise asked, his dark brows furrowing.

“Doesn’t he look more powerful without it?”

“He does not need to look powerful,” she corrected. “His allies know he is powerful, yes?

It’s about his enemies underestimating him. Imagine their shock when our Harry is disarmed and still attacks without a wand.” 

Harry could picture it perfectly and offered the Contessa a sharp smile.

“That’s genius,” he said. “It is strategy,” she replied simply.

“You will learn, my Harry. I will teach you.” 

Harry smiled throughout the rest of breakfast.

That is, until Draco interrupted, showing up four hours earlier than planned. “Um, excuse me,” he said, blushing faintly.

“I suppose the, uh, time difference threw me off...” 

Blaise and Harry exchanged skeptical glances before bursting into laughter. “I told you he’d be early,” Blaise said.

“Bet you got up before the sun, didn’t you?” 

“Of course not,” Draco haughtily denied. Harry smirked at him.

He didn’t like to bet like the other Slytherin boys did, but he’d almost be willing to wager that Draco was lying. “Suuuure,” Blaise drawled.

“Well, you might as well sit down and eat. Mother won’t let Harry leave until he’s overly stuffed.” 

Harry scowled at Blaise, but the Contessa easily agreed.

“Our Harry is much more manageable when he’s well-fed.”

"Too thin," she said lightly. "He needs to be reminded to eat more." 

Harry mentally groaned at the gleam in Draco's eyes.

He wasn’t fond of betting, but if he were, he’d wager ten galleons that Draco would pester him about eating more over the next two weeks. After breakfast, Harry reluctantly packed his birthday presents into his trunk, positioned his new owl on his shoulder, and cast one last mournful glance out the window.

"Write to me, won’t you, my Meraviglia? Put your charming new owl to good use, yes?" 

Harry nodded shyly.

"Yes, Contessa. Thank you for inviting me." 

She smiled warmly, her brown eyes sparkling.

"Of course, my darling. You are always welcome.

Casa mia è casa tua, Harry Potter." 

As Harry flooed away with Draco, he felt his throat swell with tears. He had never truly had a home.

"Don’t cry over things you can’t have," he reminded himself harshly. "Weaknesses get you killed." He couldn’t forget one of the earliest lessons he had learned in his life.