Whispers of a Raven - As the Raven Flies

November 3rd, 1975 (3 months later)

Playing quidditch was not something he realised he had missed so much until he found himself in the air, once more training amongst a full team. From the adrenaline burst of pursuing a fleeing snitch to interrupting a play, and simply sharing his passion with others; he had missed it all.

It had been odd and rather sobering not playing with the likes of the Weasley twins, the three Gryffindor chasers and Oliver Wood, but he would not allow their absence to dampen the experience of being on the pitch again.

Here, he felt liberated, could escape everything else that was happening in his life and just enjoy something for what it was.

It had simply been by chance that he had come upon the notice asking for any prospective players to try out for a new team that was being formed. He had been passing through The Leaky Cauldron on one of his rare visits into Diagon Alley to stock up on his supplies when the unusually green parchment pinned to a board next to the bar caught his eye.

The word ‘Quidditch’ had been written in thick, gold letters and the rest had become history. After only ten minutes on his broom in front of the coach, he was the new seeker for the Hemel Harriers.

The team had no sponsors, would be in the lowest quidditch division and trained on a public pitch. However, no one had balked at his name and that sealed the deal for him.

The green and gold kit had initially put him off with it being like that of the Slytherin team, but he realised that such a trivial thing did not matter. He had left Hogwarts behind many years ago and refused to be held back by former grudges that were rather stupid on reflection.

No, despite not getting paid and the long training sessions, he was very content with this undertaking. Playing the sport that he loved was bringing him happiness, something he had not felt for too long.

“Another five minutes, Peverell, and I’ll release the snitch,” Jason Barnes, the team coach called up to him.

In many ways, Jason was similar to Oliver, just as fanatical about Quidditch but without the pressure of the entire Gryffindor house relying on him to lead them to victory.

Jason had been a keeper for a lower league team until an injury forced him to retire two years prior. Instead of moping around, he had begun the process of forming his own team, and here he was, doing just what he set out to do.

Harry nodded and readied himself.

It had become quickly evident as to why no one recognised his name when he had joined the team. Jason was a muggleborn who’d never had anything to do with the pureblood circles and the rest of the players were of a similar position; either a muggleborn or, as he suspected of one of the beaters, a half-blood like him.

Regardless, none had given any indication that they knew who he was. Perhaps the news of what had happened between him and Bellatrix had yet trickled its way down to them yet?

If they didn’t spend much time in the wizarding world, it may have slipped past them, either way, everyone else seemed to have learned about it over the past couple of months.

That’s the reason Harry told himself that he had kept himself to himself for the most part. Having endured the stares, whispers and questions for but a day, he had withdrawn to the privacy of his tent, hoping it would blow over.

The truth was he simply wanted an excuse to stay away. The missives from the lords continued to arrive and with increased frequency as more learned of what had happened at Potter Manor. He didn’t want to face it, not with everything else that he wanted to do.

For most, they had received a polite note that he was taking some time away, and others, he had outright ignored. It was impolite, but he did not care.

For once in his life, he was thinking of himself, enjoying his Quidditch and preparing for what was to come.

He could not avoid the wizarding world forever, but he would return on his terms and when he wanted to. He was beholden to no one and he intended on keeping it that way.

“GO, PEVERELL!” Jason shouted, pulling him from his thoughts.

Following the whizzing, golden ball with his gaze, he shot off on his recently purchased Comet 125 and gave chase.

Urging his broom to go faster, he slowly began closing the gap between himself and the elusive orb, whizzing between his teammates and even through one of the hoops as his pursuit continued.

He gasped as he instinctively shifted his head to the side, the bludger aimed his way almost cracking his skull as it whistled by his ear and he released a deep breath.

That was too close for comfort and came courtesy of Watson; his accuracy with his beater’s bat something to behold.

Switching his focus back to the now ascending snitch, he climbed with it until it suddenly dropped, and he found himself plummeting back towards the ground in a vertical dive, his eyes fixed only on the Snitch he was intent on catching.

“BLOODY HELL, PULL UP, PEVERELL!”

He heard the words of his coach but knew he could reach it in time. He did so, grinning triumphantly as he snatched it out of the air, only to have the wind knocked out of him as he slammed into the grass below, his efforts to recover from his descent all for naught.

“Are you alright?”

The voice sounded distant, as though muffled by a hand being held over the mouth that spoke.

He opened his eyes to see several blurred shapes standing over him, peering at him worriedly.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed as he tried to sit up, his spinning head making the simple task much more difficult.

“No, you’re not,” Jason sighed. “You’ve made a mess of your arm.”

When Harry looked down, he saw that his left arm was bent at a very odd angle, reminiscent of the time during his second year when Dobby had tried to save his life. It began to throb, and he clenched his jaw as the waves of pain washed over him.

“Bollocks,” he ground out.

“He’ll need to go to St Mungo’s for that,” Watson pointed out, grimacing.

“He will,” Jason agreed. “Bloody hell, Peverell, what were you thinking?”

Harry shrugged with the one arm that was usable.

Had he been on his firebolt, he would have managed the manoeuvre without repercussion and often forgot that he was not riding it when caught in the moment of chasing the snitch; not a mistake he would be making again.

“I’ve had worse,” he huffed as he pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the dull throbbing began.

“I’ll take him,” Alison Carrey announced, steadying him as she conjured a bandage that she used to hold his arm in place.

She was a chaser on the team and self-nominated medic. With cuts and bruises, she was useful to have around, but this was beyond her ability to fix and Harry was reluctant to allow her to try.

He did not want a repeat of what happened when Lockhart had insisted on doing so. He certainly did not want the bones in his arm vanished completely.

“You’re lucky St Mungo’s isn’t so far away from here,” Jason chuckled. “Get yourself fixed up and rest as much as you need. It’s still two weeks before our first game,” the man reminded him.

Harry nodded and settled himself on the back of Alison’s broom, his arm beginning to ache, something that was not helped by his teammate taking to the sky and begin flying them towards London.

(Break)

“This is what happens when you mess around with transfiguration spells, Mrs Whittaker,” Narcissa sighed having removed the teapot handle from the woman’s nose.

Merlin only knew how it got there and she dreaded asking. It wasn’t the first time Mrs Whittaker had been here and she doubted it would be the last.

“Thank you, my dear,” the woman said gratefully, offering Narcissa a toothless grin.

Narcissa shook her head as she escorted the elderly Mrs Whittaker out of the front doors of the hospital. It was barely mid-afternoon, and she felt as though she had already worked a double shift.

The only benefits to once more being on the day rota was that she did not have to deal with the fallout of the attacks and the visits from Lucius whilst she was busy tending to the patients.

Not once had he visited during the day. She understood that he was likely busy, but he was proving to keep very odd hours. She often found herself wondering when he slept but didn’t ponder it for more than a moment. Still, he would arrive at times during her night shift, usually when she was busy and spend a few minutes with her, asking about her work before taking his leave.

She shook her head at the thought of the man.

Over the past few months, he had made it abundantly clear, without needing to say so, that he was not interested in her.

He would offer her sweet words, make time for her once a week and then become rather aloof once more before repeating the cycle.

She didn’t expect to be wooed endlessly but there was not a single thing he had done that made her feel he held any affection towards her.

If truth be told, she felt nothing for him either, which begged the question why he was continuing with the charade.

Politics. It always came down to politics with the Malfoys, as her grandfather had so rightly pointed out.

What Lucius or Abraxus hoped to gain from a marriage between Narcissa and the Malfoy heir, she knew not, but it seemed that was the plan, even if it was being executed with so little enthusiasm on Lucius’s part.

She knew why.

Ever since word had gotten out of what Bella had done during the dinner with Harry, the name Black had been ridiculed. Not openly, of course, there were very few that would dare, but the popular opinion was that her grandfather had lost control of the family.

Abraxus was certainly not foolish enough to throw his lot in with them when they were seemingly as unpopular as ever, but he was not going to risk losing whatever it was he hoped to gain by abandoning his plan.

The tripe that Lucius was interested in her was something she had dismissed easily enough some time ago.

Lucius was only interested in himself and saw Narcissa as a means to gain something he wanted.

“Black, there’s a patient in room six with a broken arm. Quidditch accident,” Sandra informed her in her usual charmless way.

Narcissa huffed irritably as she took the indicated clipboard from the reception desk and began walking towards the room.

It was the same every year. Just before the quidditch season was due to start, St Mungo’s would see an influx of players that were injured during practices, usually because they were attempting something utterly ridiculous and hurting themselves in the process.

Broken arms and legs were common, as were ribs and rather nasty gashes. They were simple to fix but were an added element to the job she did not need.

“So, Mr…”

She paused as she took in the name written on the sheet before looking up at a face she didn’t expect to see again.

He seemed surprised to see her to and offered a wry grin.

“Trainee-Healer Black,” he greeted her.

She raised an eyebrow in his direction.

Almost three months ago, she had written to him and received no reply, not even to let her know that he was okay. And here he was, his arm being held by another woman that was staring awkwardly between them.

She didn’t know why she cared, but his presence irritated her more than it should have.

“Lord Peverell, I thought that you vanished from the face of the earth,” she snarked, the tone in which she spoke not her intended one.

“Lord Peverell?” the woman she did not know questioned confusedly.

“You get used to not being told everything by Harry,” Narcissa returned evenly, offering the woman a sarcastic smile.

“I meant to write back to you…”

“But you didn’t, now be quiet and let me do my job so you can get back to whatever you were doing.”

He sighed and nodded in reply and she set to work, unsure why she was so annoyed with him.

For one, he hadn’t written back to her. He wasn’t obligated to, of course, but after everything they went through, she at least deserved that. It wasn’t much to ask for, after all.

Also, with his disappearance, he had left quite the mess in his wake. She didn’t blame him for what happened, but he had simply gone, and her grandfather had been the one to manage the fallout of Bella’s actions. Again, not Harry’s fault but instead of soothing her irritation, it only furthered it.

Maybe she was looking for an excuse to be angry with him, or that the past few months had been difficult for her and the rest of her family and she merely wanted to vent at the person it had begun with?

She sighed and shook her head.

“It is broken in four places,” she explained having carried out her scans. “It will need to be set and a treatment of Skelegro will do the rest. Will you be remaining with him Miss…?”

“Carrey, and no, I’m sure Lord Peverell here can manage,” she replied with a smirk at Harry that annoyed the trainee-healer. “Don’t worry, I’ll let Jason know you’ll be fine for next week,” she added with a wink before exiting the room.

Narcissa watched her leave, unimpressed with how the woman carried herself. She was far from graceful and rather boyish in the way she had been seated and how she all but stomped from the room.

“A new friend of yours?” she asked as she began undoing the bandages wrapped tightly around his arm.

“Just a quidditch teammate, but she’s okay,” Harry replied, wincing slightly.

Narcissa hummed in response as she vanished the bandages and looked at Harry.

He looked well, much healthier than she had last seen him. He had gained a considerable amount of weight and his eyes were no longer so gaunt. He had been taking care of himself at the very least.

“Was it so much effort to send me a simple letter?” she asked.

“No,” he sighed. “I just needed some time away from everything. So much happened in such a short amount of time and I didn’t know what I was doing with myself. For what it’s worth I’m…”

He yelped as a series of snapping sounds could be heard around the room as Narcissa had taken advantage of his distracted state to set the bones back into their correct position.

“Bloody hell, you could have warned me,” he groaned.

“I could have,” Narcissa agreed, “but where would be the fun in that? I am a Black, am I not?”

Harry released a deep breath as he looked at her.

“I don’t think badly of your family,” he said. “Your sister is a raving lunatic and Walburga needs her head looked at, but the rest of you were respectful and I don’t hold you responsible for what happened.”

“I know,” Narcissa conceded as she took a seat on the bed next to him. “It’s just been a strange few months. My grandfather is dealing with people trying to take advantage of us and Bella… well she’s Bella.”

Her sister had barely spoken to her nor her parents from what Narcissa could tell. Bella had been all but absent these past weeks and it was anyone’s guess what she was up to when she wasn’t attacking muggles what seemed to be every other evening.

“You seem to be doing okay though,” Harry replied, nodding towards her wrist.

Instinctively, Narcissa covered up the platinum bracelet with the Malfoy family crest engraved into the clasp. It had been given to her by Lucius. She enjoyed the finer things in life, as she had grown accustomed to having with being raised a Black. This, however, was gaudy and insinuated that she belonged to him.

If it wasn’t for her father insisting that she wore it and pointing out it would be an insult not to, she would bury it at the bottom of the box that housed the rest of her jewellery and never look upon it again.

“I can’t complain,” she returned evenly. “I will have to marry one day, and I could do much worse than Lucius.”

Harry snorted.

“You could do much better,” he countered. “He spent half the meal staring at his own reflection in the back of his spoon, the pompous git. Sorry,” he added, “it’s not my place to judge him.”

“No, it isn’t,” Narcissa bit back, partly because he overstepped but also because he was right.

Lucius was not what she envisioned in her future husband.

“And what about you, have you had any other offers of marriage?”

Harry grimaced at the thought.

“I wish I bloody hadn’t,” he grumbled. “Another six! They must know I’m not a pureblood by now.”

Narcissa shook her head.

“They don’t care about your blood status when you have a name like yours,” she explained. “You’re just like me I suppose. They’ll want you for the name you carry and the influence of your family. The only difference is you don’t have someone who can give you away to the highest bidder.”

He was visibly stricken by her words and began stuttering an apology which she waved off dismissively.

“You are looking much better, forgetting your latest injury, of course,” she offered. “You’re playing quidditch now?”

Harry frowned but nodded.

“I’m playing for a new team, the Hemel Harriers,” he announced dramatically, eliciting a smirk of amusement from the woman. “Our first game is a couple of weeks away.”

“Well, you’d better rest that arm,” Narcissa advised as she stood and removed a bottle of blue liquid from within her healer’s bag before handing it to him and heading towards the door.

“Narcissa…”

She turned to face him, and he deflated, seemingly not knowing what to say to her.

“Good luck, with the quidditch, Harry.”

With her parting words given, she left, herself not knowing what more to say to him in that moment.

(Break)

Harry watched her leave and shook his head. It was still odd to think that this woman would one day mother a prat like Malfoy, but when he thought of just how terrible Lucius was, it made sense. Draco was just like his father.

Although he’d never spoken to her of where he’d came from, here, she certainly was not thrilled by the thought of marrying Lucius, and Harry could not blame her.

If anything, and as strange as it felt to feel such, he pitied her.

He released a deep breath as he shook his head.

She had not said as much, but his apparent snubbing of the alliance with Lord Black had caused a much more detrimental effect than he’d considered.

That was not what he wanted for Lord Black, and as he stood and contemplated what he could do to remedy it, he could feel the pull of wizarding Britain drawing him back in.

It was an inevitability, in truth, one he had avoided but could do so no longer. He had many things he needed to do and his reprieve from them had seemingly come to an end.

(Break)

As he took in the group of men and women seated around him at the table in The Hog’s Head, Albus couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for what they had achieved over the past weeks, each of them doing all they could to ensure their work was carried out.

From the efforts of these witches and wizards, a considerable portion of Britain was now being monitored, all in aide of putting an end to the violence of the pureblood movement that continued to occur up and down the country, seemingly randomly.

There was no pattern to the attacks other than the outcome; the masked and robed followers of the Dark Lord would arrive, cause utter carnage and make a hasty retreat, leaving death and destruction in their wake.

“I wanted to thank you all personally for your efforts,” Albus spoke, silencing the muttered conversations taking place around the table. “Without you, we would be no closer to seeing an end to this madness.”

“For all the good it is doing,” Benjy Fenwick replied irritably.

Nods and murmurs of agreement followed his reply and Albus followed suit, acknowledging the point with a sigh.

Despite what they had done, the difference the new sensors had made was marginable at best. They were managing to detect the attacks but the auror response had been lacklustre at best.

It was not their fault, not really. Mobilising the force in a way that was both efficient and in a way that mitigated the danger they would face was not simple, not with the threat they faced.

In the intervening weeks, three aurors had been killed already with nothing to show for their deaths.

The masked attackers remained elusive, fleeing when law enforcement arrived and resorting to escaping by any means necessary. In the frenzy of being caught in the act of carrying out their sickening acts, they had no qualms with delving into irresponsible and dangerous magic to ensure they were not apprehended.

It made for a very hostile environment to encroach upon for any, even those trained to handle these deadly situations, most not having faced such in the field until recently.

It was a terrifying as it was necessary.

“I understand your frustration, Benjy,” Dumbledore sighed, “but we are doing what we can.”

“No, Albus, we are not,” the large Irishman huffed. “We are alerting the aurors and nothing is being done.”

“He is right, Dumbledore,” Caradoc Dearborn agreed, his, strong welsh accent laced with the same frustration as Benjy’s. “We notify the aurors and they don’t move any quicker. I don’t know about all of you, but I joined this group to help people, not so I can learn of attacks that are not confronted.”

Again, there were murmurs of agreement and Dumbledore met the gaze of several of those gathered.

These were powerful witches and wizards in their own right. Both Benjy and Caradoc were amongst the most gifted he had ever met, as were Fabian and Gideon Prewett.

Edgar Bones was an excellent wizard and Dorcas Meadowes was simply spectacular. It would take much more than the average witch or wizard to defeat the dark-skinned and usually silent woman.

“Is this how you truly feel?” he asked, taken aback by their willingness to fight.

“Is that not what you did with Grindelwald?” Elphias Doge questioned. “Is that not what it took to put an end to his madness>”

Dumbledore nodded his understanding and released a deep breath.

“It is, however, this is not a duel with one man,” he pointed out. “We would be outnumbered, and we would not know who our foes are. The fallout of taking direct action could be dire for us.”

“For apprehending criminals?” Benjy snorted. “The Minister should bend over backwards to kiss our arses if we can stop these attacks and even more if we grab a few of the little twats.”

The agreement was unanimous amongst them and Dumbledore shook his head.

“I would not see any of you put needlessly in danger. Battle is a terrible thing and should be avoided at all costs,” he said.

“Even at the cost of innocent people that cannot defend themselves, Albus?” Dorcas asked.

Before he could respond, Benjy stood clutching his wand that was trembling in his hand, the tip of which was glowing a warning red.

“An attack in Gloucester,” he announced.

Dumbledore nodded and sent a patronus to Barty Crouch, his own adjustment of the spell allowing him to communicate with it.

The group waited with bated breath for the return message and it came only a minute later.

“No full team available, other attacks in progress.”

Dumbledore shook his head sadly as the ethereal eagle vanished. By the time he looked up at the gathered group one of the Prewett twins and Caradoc were standing, their wands too glowing red, indicating the attacks of which Barty had spoken of.

“I don’t know about you lot, but I’m sick of this,” Benjy declared. “I’m going to help these people. If any of you are coming, then we leave now.”

“I’m in,” Edgar Bones announced immediately and stood.

“And us,” the Prewetts agreed.

“Me too,” Caradoc and Dorcas added.

The rest of the group stood, even Aberforth who had his wand already in hand.

Albus sighed but could find nothing to disagree with as he too nodded.

If the Ministry could not fight this group alone, then who was he to deny these men and women who were so willing to defend those that could not?

“Then we shall go together,” he decided. “It will be dangerous, but it is the right thing to do,” he added, the very words he had spoken to Millicent playing over in his mind.

(Break)

Once again, Lucius found himself working his way through the chaos, cutting down the fleeing muggles as he sought out his own entertainment for the evening. He cared little for the violence he was able to unleash, but it was expected of him, so he would play his part as much as required.

No, the violence was rather dull and was best left to those with a less-refined taste for instilling fear and panic. Fools like the Lestranges would indulge in such, but Lucius preferred a more personal approach.

Spotting a house that had yet been ransacked by his companions, he kicked open the front door to be greeted by the sight of an elderly man and woman, both sleeping in their armchairs and seemingly unaware of what was happening outside their home.

He frowned beneath his mask, the woman not being to his taste, too old to be visually pleasing, but he was stirred, nonetheless. He was not one to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself so readily and he bound the slumbering man to his seat with ropes, waking him.

“What’s going on?” he asked confusedly. “Who are you?”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Lucius replied smoothly. “I am but a shadow in the night. When you wake, you will not even remember I was here. It’s a shame, but do be quiet and enjoy the show,” he finished as he approached the still-sleeping woman, loosening his belt.

The old man’s eyes widened in horror as he realised what was about to happen, something that only added to the excitement that Lucius felt.

“Get away from her, you bastard,” the man raged, fighting fruitlessly against the ropes that held him.

Lucius merely laughed at the struggling buffoon and struck him with the back of his gloved hand.

“I told you to be quiet,” he hissed.

The man whimpered, his cheek already bruising as he looked on helplessly. Ignoring him, Lucius turned his attention to the woman and sneered as he continued working on his trousers, pausing as a distant shout sounded.

“AURORS!”

Lucius growled, torn between finishing what had been interrupted doing and leaving. It would take some time before they reached him, after all.

“RUN YOU FOOLS!” another voice sounded, this one much closer than the last.

The intrusion angered him, and he refastened his belt and peered through the nearby window on to the street only to see figures in white masks and robes sprinting by.

“Cowards,” he spat as he turned towards the wide-eyed, old man. “It seems you are fortunate, this evening,” he conceded. “Perhaps I will return when it is quieter.”

With a muttered spell and a wave of his wand, the memory of his presence was wiped from the muggle and he slumped forward out of his chair. He would merely believe the bruise on his cheek had come courtesy of a fall and Lucius could make good on his promise to return when the aurors were gone.

However, as he exited the house, he realised that it was not the aurors that had intruded upon their activities this evening and he felt his heart sink into his stomach at the sight of none other than Albus Dumbledore stalking towards him, his long white beard unmistakeable even from this distance.

He cursed as he avoided the stunning spell sent his way, turning heel and running as his companions had. It was then he realised why they were running; someone had put up an anti-apparation ward.

Picking up his pace, he all but sprinted around the corner, avoiding another spell courtesy of his former headmaster and continuing his rather uncouth escape.

Dumbledore could outmatch him with his wand, but the aged man certainly couldn’t outpace him.

As degrading as it was to resort to such a measure, Lucius did so, cursing until he was clear of the village and was finally able to apparate away, breathing a sigh of relief that he had not been captured.

When he was safely back within the grounds of Malfoy Manor, he removed his mask, his chest heaving from the unexpected physical exertion and a layer of perspiration dripping from his uncharacteristically tousled hair.

What was Dumbledore doing there?

It mattered not the reason why, his presence had unsettled the blonde and would not be welcome news when it reached the Dark Lord, though Lucius was confused.

Was the Chief Warlock now working with the Ministry? Had they finally begun taking their attacks seriously? Regardless, it did not sit well with him and he could not help but think that things would change from here on out. If they were no longer being ignored, then they would meet resistance, and meeting resistance meant fighting would ensue, just as his father had predicted.

Would all this truly lead to war?

Lucius could not be certain, but he remained confident that he was on the right side.

Dumbledore was good, better than most he would begrudgingly admit, but he was old and not a match for the Dark Lord. Of that, he had no doubt.

(Break)

“Did you get any of them?” Caradoc asked as the group assembled in the centre of the village.

“The bastards ran like rats,” Benjy spat disgustedly. “Bloody cowards.”

“But we prevented any further harm being caused,” Dumbledore placated. “Was that not what we came to do?”

Benjy nodded reluctantly.

“Would have been nice to capture one of them,” he muttered. “Is anyone hurt?”

“No, I think we’re all okay,” Edgar spoke tiredly.

He too was frustrated the robed figures had fled.

“Then we should be thankful,” Dumbledore declared. “I do not expect it to be so simple in the future. They will expect us and will be prepared.”

“Good,” Benjy replied challengingly. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“And now all that is left to deal with the Minister,” Dumbledore sighed as a group of red-robed aurors arrived with their wands drawn and eying them questioningly.

“Ed? What are you doing here?” Amelia demanded.

“Apparently, your job,” Edgar replied unabashedly.

Amelia stared at him in disbelief and shook her head.

“Quiet lass,” Moody growled before she could respond. “You chased them off?”

Dumbledore nodded and Moody released a deep breath.

“You’d best be off before Crouch gets here,” he advised. “None of us saw anything did we?” he asked his team firmly.

“No,” one his colleagues replied. “The idiots in masks were gone when we got here, isn’t that right?”

“I didn’t see a thing,” another agreed, “but, I’m sure we are all grateful to those that put a stop to whatever was happening here.”

“Aye,” Moody offered with a grin. “Go, I will be in touch, Albus.”

Dumbledore nodded gratefully and gestured for those who had accompanied him to follow.

They may not have captured anyone, but they had made a difference and he was content with that. The others were disappointed for their own reasons, but he was proud of them. They had stepped up when the aurors couldn’t and had done so admirably.

He just hoped that their intervention would not become a regular thing, though he had the distinct feeling that was almost inevitable.

(Break)

None would dare say to his face what they whispered amongst themselves; it only made Arcturus respect them less. It angered him, but ultimately, they were cowards, yappy pups nipping at the heels of a wolf. With a single bite, they would be reminded where they were in the pecking order, and he was so very close to snapping.

If any had the guts to express what they thought to him, perhaps he would respect them, but they did not. They would continue to mutter in their circles and stare at him with their judgemental eyes.

He frowned as the Wizengamot chambers fell suddenly silent and turned towards the door where everyone else was now staring.

Much to his surprise, Lord Peverell had entered and he could already see the vultures twitching, anticipating their chance to pucker up and kiss his backside.

The young Lord, however, was unmoved by the coy grins sent his way and gestures of invitations for him to join them.

The first person he did greet was Charlus, shaking the equally surprised man’s hand and offering him a few words before doing the same with the other young man in the room; Lord Bones.

The two were on friendly terms and the other Lords and Ladies took note of it. Bones’ standing among them all would improve considerably from the brief interaction between the two.

The surprise Arcturus felt at his appearance paled in comparison to what he felt when the young man approached him with an accommodating smile, taking his hand in his own and placing the other on his shoulder in a display of warm familiarity.

“Lord Black, how is your beautiful wife doing?” Peverell asked, just loudly enough to be heard by those undoubtedly listening in.

Arcturus had to fight the smirk of amusement that threatened to form, the reaction of those who had only a moment ago been badmouthing him now thoughtful and questioning.

“She is doing well, Lord Peverell,” Arcturus returned. “I will as always, send her your regards.”

“Please do,” Harry replied with a respectful bow. “I’ve been indisposed off recently but have missed her company, and yours, of course,” he added as an afterthought.

Arcturus chuckled and patted the younger man on the back.

“I’m sure she will be pleased to know you’re thinking of her.”

Harry offered him another smile and nod before walking towards where he would be seated pausing and shaking his head disapprovingly.

Peverell was much shrewder than Arcturus had given him credit for. He did not know why he did what he had, but the gesture would silence those that had dared to speak ill of him, and for that, he was grateful.

He found himself nodding approvingly as the man did not take up residence with the darker families.

It was a bold message, but one Arcturus approved of. Without uttering a word, he had told them all that he would side with neither faction, would make his own choices and did not appreciate the attempt to coerce him.

It may have only been the placement of his seat, but it was key to how the Wizengamot was run, and he had handled the situation firmly but without causing offense.

(Break)

“Welcome, Lord Peverell, we have been wondering when you would join us,” a man to his left greeted him.

Harry did not recognise the lord but offered him a polite nod.

“I apologise for the delay in doing so, my attention has been required elsewhere.”

“Of course, I imagine a man such as yourself is sought after.”

“Unfortunately, that is true.”

Before the man could reply, Olin decided that this was the moment to introduce himself to the entirety of the Wizengamot by escaping the confines of Harry’s skin and taking to the air with a loud screech. He flew a lap around the chambers and settled on his shoulder, ruffling his feathers indignantly.

“DEATH!” he squawked.

The Lords and Ladies eyed him warily as Harry chuckled and stroked his dark plumage.

“Today could be the day, old friend,” he replied almost comfortingly.

Those within the room began muttering amongst themselves, their eyes barely leaving the bird as Olin’s gaze swept over them, seemingly scrutinising the witches and wizards.

“I must say, your...erm…friend is rather unnerving, Lord Peverell,” a wizard seated behind them commented.

Olin turned and tilted his head at the man questioningly before posturing up and flapping his wings frantically, squawking in displeasure.

Harry fought the urge to laugh as the man flinched, almost falling off his chair.

“I believe he has taken exception to what you have said, sir,” Harry said dryly.

“Then he has m-my apologies,” the man stammered.

Olin stopped flapping but continued to eye him, leaving the wizard shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.

“Lord Peverell, I think it would be best if your companion was no longer present,” Dumbledore called from his podium, seemingly having arrived during the raven’s display.

“Of course,” Harry complied. “Come on, Olin, back you go.”

The raven did not seem pleased and flew another lap around the room.

“DEATH! DEATH!” he offered and vanished into Harry’s ribs once more, much to the relief of the gathered lords and ladies, no more than the man seated behind him who breathed an audible sigh.

“Thank Merlin,” the man mumbled.

“Now that has been handled, I believe it would be prudent for us to begin our meeting,” Dumbledore announced, tapping the top of his podium smartly with his gavel.

Having achieved what he had set out to do, Harry leaned back in his chair and listened to the dull ramblings of the men and women around him who discussed a plethora of topics ranging from boring to unimportant, in his opinion.

Thankfully, the meeting only lasted around two hours, and when it was adjourned with another tap of Dumbledore’s gavel, Harry took his leave quickly, offering brief farewells to only a few.

He certainly did not want to be held back by those that wished to cajole him into a conversation.

They would have to wait another day.

(Break)

It was a bemused Arcturus Black that arrived home that afternoon, Peverell’s arrival in the chambers now the subject on the tongue of his peers. The very amicable interaction between the two could be missed by none and the stares sent his way had all but stopped.

If the Black patriarch were not so astute or he didn’t understand the younger man the little he did, he would question if what Peverell had done was intentional.

He had no doubt in his mind that it had been, the young lord once more proving his worth as a potential ally.

“What’s happened, Arcturus? You seem confused,” Melania commented, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek as he entered the kitchen where his wife was having tea with Narcissa.

She had been visiting more recently, not that he was unhappy with the development, but she had given no reason why. He suspected that the atmosphere within her own home was tense after what had happened between Bella and Peverell.

Arcturus certainly had not given Cygnus nor Bellatrix a reprieve from his ire since.

“It seems as though Lord Peverell has decided to take up his lordly responsibilities,” he announced.

“He has?” Narcissa asked, evidently surprised.

Arcturus nodded.

“The little sod walked in as brazen as ever, shook my hand and asked after you as though we were old friends,” he snorted to his wife. “It shut the other shits up in a heartbeat.”

Melania positively beamed as she rubbed her husband’s shoulder.

“I told you it would all work itself out, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Arcturus conceded with a sigh. “I don’t know what brought it on, but I can’t say I don’t appreciate it.”

“I do,” Narcissa piped up with an amused shake of her head. “He was in St Mungo’s the other day. He’d broken his arm playing quidditch and I explained what had happened since he had vanished. I didn’t ask him to do anything,” she added quickly seeing the frown creasing her grandfather’s brow.

He nodded thoughtfully.

“Then he is a much better man than I gave him credit for,” he mused aloud. “He could have hung me out to dry in there today, but he didn’t. He’s a good lad that one.”

Narcissa offered the man a smile, pleased that he already seemed less stressed than he had been these past few months.

Harry had come through for them without being asked and she couldn’t disagree with her grandfather’s assessment of him; he was a good man, despite how frustrating he could be.

(Break)

“And you are certain it was Dumbledore and not an auror?” the Dark Lord questioned.

“I am, my lord,” the masked man confirmed. “We were all lucky to escape.”

Voldemort hummed irritably as he stood and began pacing. After a moment of pondering the situation, he smiled.

“Then they are finally taking notice of us,” he muttered. “Dumbledore is inconsequential, but you must be prepared for him to arrive regularly. I will create portkeys that will bypass anti-apparation wards.”

“So, we will continue as we have been?” his companion questioned warily.

“We will, but with caution. A week or two break at most will allow us to prepare accordingly,” the Dark Lord replied. “If we were to cease our efforts any longer, all we have done will be for naught.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“I will even join you on some of your excursions,” Voldemort informed him. “Perhaps a reunion with the old fool will come sooner than I anticipated.”

He fell silent once more before nodding slowly, pleased by the prospect.

“It also presents the opportunity for us to advance with our plans. I would like you to pick our best twenty recruits. They will be marked this evening and shown how to announce our presence. I believe the days of us working from within the shadows has passed, my friend,” the Dark Lord finished.

“I will begin gathering them, my lord,” the man replied excitedly before taking his leave from the room.

Voldemort watched him leave before taking his seat by the fire and sipping his wine.

Things were beginning to come together, not necessarily how he envisioned it, but this could prove to be better than he imagined. If he was able to kill Dumbledore, the people would flock to him in droves.

Whether that would be from fear or admiration, it mattered not. His numbers would swell to where none could hope to oppose him.

Without Dumbledore, wizarding Britain would collapse easier than a house of cards.

The thought brought a smirk to his lips. All that remained was the admittedly arduous task of killing his former headmaster. Not an easy feat by any stretch, but Lord Voldemort had been preparing for this eventuality and he was as ready as he would ever be.

(Break)

“Alright, there’s no need to be nervous. We’ve been training for this,” Jason said as he paced around the rundown changing room they had been allocated.

“We’re not nervous, Jason,” Alison pointed out calmly.

“I was talking about myself,” the man huffed.

Harry grinned, Jason’s current demeanour reminding him of how Oliver Wood had been before a match.

Alison may not be nervous, but he was. He had been years since he had played a formal game and he had forgotten about the pre-match jitters. They were in full swing now and he found himself tapping his foot nervously.

“We’ll be fine,” David Jennings, Carl Watson’s beater partner assured the coach.

David was a thick-set man that somewhat resembled a gorilla. His accuracy with a bludger was questionable at times but Harry had never seen any hit one with more power.

“And even if we’re shit, Lord Peverell here will catch the snitch before they can pull too far ahead,” Jane added, smirking at Harry.

Jane Winter was another chaser on the team along with Alison and finally, rounding out the trio, Claire Lewin; all of whom being exceptionally talented, so much so that Harry was surprised they weren’t playing professionally already.

His status a lord had become quite the joke to them. At first, they had been surprised and had fumbled over their words when speaking to him. It wasn’t until he insisted they treated him as they had before that the formalities stopped.

His lordship was now used to tease him, which he much preferred to the awkwardness.

All his teammates had gone to Hogwarts and not had a good time with the pureblood students who were not shy to proclaim their superiority. That had not surprised Harry. He had seen it happen himself from the likes of Malfoy. As such, the team was relieved that Harry was not seemingly like the others

“Okay, it’s time,” Jason announced nervously, “Jack, guard the posts and the rest of you do what we have been in training. There’s no reason why we can’t win this.”

The keeper, Foley, a redhead in his early thirties nodded his understanding before leading them out of the dingy changing room and onto the pitch.

It was not a warm day, the summer having recently given way to Autumn, but it was not raining so no one was going to complain.

Today, they were playing the Luton Lions, another team in their league, this one, with a pitch of their own, though it had seen better days. There were four small stands that could only be standing with the help of magic. Surprisingly, quite a few people had come to watch the match and Harry even spotted a few wearing green and gold hats and scarves, the colours of his team.

Hemel Hempstead had never had their own quidditch team and it appeared as though some of the locals had travelled to see how they would fare.

“Ignore the crowd,” Jason urged worriedly.

“Speak for yourself, Barnesy,” Alison replied before taking to the air, not seeing Jason cringe at the use of his disliked moniker.

“She does it on purpose,” he grumbled.

“It could be worse,” Harry comforted. “You could be a lord.”

Jason offered him a smirk and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t be saddled with you lot if that was true. I might even live in a castle,” he sighed whimsically.

Harry chuckled and kicked off from the ground, readying himself for the match to begin, revelling in the mixture of excitement and nervousness quidditch brought him.

He had missed this, more so than he ever realised.

(Break)

The game had already begun when she arrived, and immediately, she felt out of place. She had attended the Slytherin matches at Hogwarts, but she would not profess to be a fan of the sport. In truth, she didn’t know why she was here. She had found the fixtures listed in the sport section in the back pages of The Daily Prophet, and here she was.

Perhaps she wanted to thank Harry for what he’d done for her grandfather or see for herself how talented he was, not that she could make such a judgement. She hadn’t ridden a broom since first year, and that had not been an enjoyable experience.

“Can I interest you in a scarf or hat, miss?” a small boy of around five asked, pulling Narcissa from her thoughts.

She looked down to be met by a toothy grin, his nose covered in freckles and his arms full of green and gold knitwear.

It was chilly, and though she had dressed for the weather, the added warmth would be welcome.

“I’ll take a scarf,” she replied, returning the smile of the eager boy.

“What number would you like?”

“Number?” she replied confusedly.

“Oh, sorry miss, the scarves have the players numbers on,” he explained.

“What number is Lord Peverell?” she asked.

The boys’ eyes widened at the mention of the man and he practically bounced on the balls of his feet.

“Harry is number seven, miss,” he answered. “I’m going to be a seeker like him one day. My dad is the coach,” he added.

Narcissa raised an amused eyebrow.

“Then you had better work very hard,” she said, accepting the proffered garment and handing the boy two galleons.

“I will,” he vowed as he frowned at the coins. “Sorry, miss, the scarves are only six sickles,” he informed her before rifling in a change purse he carried.

“Then keep the rest for yourself for being so helpful,” she insisted.

His eyes widened once more.

“Really?”

“Of course,” Narcissa replied with another smile. “It can’t be easy carrying all of that around.”

The boy nodded and all but skipped away with a grin plastered across his face and Narcissa turned her attention towards the game taking place above her.

She could only shake her head at the display of aerial acrobatics. It was no wonder quidditch players were injured as often as they were. It was not a sport for the fainthearted and she visibly flinched as two of the chaser came together in a rather painful collision. They, however, took it in stride and continued playing, unfazed by the incident.

Seeing that they were indeed okay, she sought out the man she had come to see.

Harry was a lone figure flying above the other players, his broom moving at a sedate pace as he scanned the area for the snitch.

Without warning, he dived from the hundred feet or so he was up, chasing something she could not see and was quickly followed by the opposing seeker.

Narcissa felt suddenly nervous as he plummeted towards the ground and almost screamed until he pulled out of the dive at the very last second. His pursuer, however, was not so lucky and hit the dirt below with a dull thud, eliciting a groan from the crowd.

A team of healers were with him quickly and he was on his feet only a moment later, waving cheerily at the crowd before mounting his broom once more.

She would never understand the appeal of playing the sport, though watching it was proving to be quite thrilling, in a strange way.

She did not have time to ponder that further as Harry once again spurred his broom into action and she could only watch open-mouthed as he manoeuvred his way around the pitch, twisting and turning his way through gaps in player formations and even the hoops with practiced ease.

It was as though he had been born atop the broom, his antics as dangerous as they were awe-inspiring. Even the supporters of the opposing team were taking note of him, some even beginning to cheer as he pursued a tiny golden ball, the opposing seeker failing to keep up with him.

Once more, she felt nervous, anticipating a crash and she released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding as he snatched the little snitch out of the air, beaming triumphantly as he held it aloft.

She clapped as the small group of supporters wearing green and gold cheered, cursing herself for being here but having enjoyed it, nonetheless.

She looked on in amusement as Harry landed and was tackled to the ground by his teammates, recognising one of the women as the one that had brought him to St Mungo’s.

Without thought, she began approaching the group with the rest of the crowd and another very jubilant man. He was with the boy she had purchased the scarf from; the coach, evidently.

“I knew you’d do it, Peverell,” the man whooped as he pulled Harry into a tight embrace and kissed him on the cheek.

“You can stop shitting yourself now, Barnesy,” the chaser she had met giggled, eliciting a frown from the man.

The woman sobered immediately as she spotted Narcissa and she began nudging Harry with her elbow. He frowned confusedly until, Alison, if she remembered correctly, pointed in her direction.

He was surprised by her presence, his eyebrows raised as he approached with a questioning look.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. Surprised by her appearance.

Narcissa didn’t know what to say. What was she doing here?

She shrugged, feeling nervous once more, though this had nothing to do with seeing him whizzing through the air on his broom, one mistake away from death.

“I saw that you were playing today,” she answered more confidently than she felt, “and I wanted to thank you for what you did for my grandfather at the Wizengamot meeting. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded and offered her an easy smile.

“It was the right thing to do,” he replied warmly, taking note of the green and gold garment around her neck. “You bought a scarf? Do I have my first fan?” he added dramatically.

She raised a delicate brow in his direction.

“I was cold,” she defended. “Besides, I think the little boy selling these is your first fan.”

“Well, I’ll have to settle for you being my second,” he sighed.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Peverell,” Narcissa returned with a smirk.

“You could have bought any other number, you know,” he pointed out.

“I could have,” she agreed, “maybe I like the number seven.”

Harry chuckled.

“I didn’t take you for one to have a favourite number.”

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” Narcissa returned.

“That is true,” Harry conceded, frowning as he opened his hand to reveal the snitch he had caught. “You don’t strike me as a quidditch fan either.”

“I’m not,” she denied, “this was my first game away from Hogwarts.”

“Then you should have a souvenir to remember it by,” he decided, taking her hand and placing the snitch in it.

“I can’t take that, it’s yours,” Narcissa said, trying to give it back to him. “Besides, I have the scarf.”

He refused to accept it and pushed her hand away.

“I plan on catching many more of those. I’d like you to have the first one. Without everything you did helping to get my leg better, I wouldn’t be able to play.”

Narcissa tutted and put it in her pocket.

“I was just doing my job.”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” Harry replied.

“Fine, I will keep it,” she agreed. “You’re a very frustrating man, did you know that?”

“I have been told,” he answered with a grin and Narcissa shook her head.

“Thank you,” she offered sincerely. “I will look after it, and again, thank you for helping my grandfather.”

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, surprising him and herself with the gesture.

As she walked away, she wondered why she had done it. It seemed like the right thing to do in that moment, but as she headed towards the entrance, she felt silly for doing so and dared not look back at him.

If she felt the way she did, Merlin only knew what he thought of it.

(Break)

Lord Voldemort smiled as he looked up at the Dark Mark in all its glory. The emerald skull with the snake protruding from its mouth would come to be something they would all fear.

The village below him continued to burn, the aurors were struggling to fend off his greater numbers and there was no sign of Dumbledore this evening, the doddering fool likely trying to intervene at another one of his attacks.

It mattered not. A meeting between the two was inevitable.

He did not wish to ponder that at the moment, however. He was celebrating, enjoying the carnage unfolding all around him.

Tonight, as with many more to come, the darkened sky was illuminated by his mark, something that had been a long time coming.