Whispers of a Raven - Come What May

It was a rather subdued Millicent Bagnold that was seated in her office with Albus and Barty having joined her at her request. The latter of the pair was his usual self, his demeanour giving nothing away as to what he felt and the former, though grim did not appear to be any more disturbed by what had transpired in Cornwall.

For the headmaster, she suspected this was nothing new. He had been there for the conclusion of the Grindelwald era, had lived through the horror of the 1940s and ultimately put an end to the infamous Dark Lord.

For Millicent, however, the fighting was still something she was becoming accustomed to, and she doubted it was something she would ever be comfortable with.

The violence had escalated and would continue doing so, this very fear the reason for the meeting she was hosting.

“Thank you for joining me,” she offered politely. “I apologise that this has taken several days to arrange but I wanted the facts to be established before we discussed them.”

Dumbledore gave her an encouraging smile, and though it didn’t settle her, she appreciated the gesture.

“Barty?” she urged.

“There’s not much to say,” the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement shrugged. “The Death Eaters attacked, and they ended up much worse off. We lost three aurors, only one of our own and they lost fourteen, including the Lestranges.”

Millicent released a deep breath.

“Any word from Corvus?”

Barty shook his head.

“What would he have to complain about?” he asked. “His sons were killed in what I would deem to be a bid to overthrow the Ministry. He will get no sympathy or support from the Wizengamot were he to take issue with what happened to them.”

Millicent nodded her agreement.

“No, he would not,” she agreed. “Already I have received and influx of missives from several lords and ladies warning me against attempting to bring Peverell to justice for his actions. To most, the man is a hero and is the one leading the charge against the Dark Lord.”

“And his actions are justifiable,” Crouch added. “It was Bellatrix Lestrange that murdered his wife. Him seeking recompense through her husband and brother-in-law will be frowned upon by few.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore broke in. “Although I do not agree with Lord Peverell’s actions, Barty is right. If any attempt was made to vilify him, it would cause an uproar. Legally speaking, he was within rights to do what he did and that would be made known to everyone.”

“I was not suggesting such action should be taken,” Millicent explained. “I myself find it difficult to sympathise with any of them that have aligned themselves with the Dark Lord. If anything, I am grateful for what Peverell has done, but we cannot be seen to support his actions.”

Barty snorted.

“Speak for yourself. I have a team of aurors down there singing his praises, as am I for that matter. Those bastards out there deserve no sympathy and everything they get coming to them. Did you know that Rabastan Lestrange strangled two babies before Peverell caught up with him?”

Millicent swallowed deeply and shook her head.

“I have a mind to make sure The Prophet learns of that and anything else I can dig up on the bastards,” Barty declared. “We are at war, Minister. I’d prefer to have the Dark Lord and his followers rounded up and brought before the Wizengamot, but that isn’t going to happen. They have already proven their willingness and preference to die than be brought in. I say we give them what they want. The longer this continues, the more innocents will die. If there is no deterrence in place to stop them joining him, if they are not stopped by any means necessary, we may lose this conflict.”

The Minister turned towards the Chief Warlock who reluctantly nodded his agreement. If Dumbledore was willing to concede such drastic measures, then things were much worse than she thought.

“So, Peverell?”

“Has done nothing wrong as far as I’m concerned,” Crouch replied, “according to old law, of course.”

“And I still believe him to be a righteous man,” Dumbledore interjected. “He acts to put an end to Tom, and he has voiced this to me himself. As much as I abhor violence, we are at war,” he reiterated, “and we need someone like Harry to fight the battles we cannot.”

Millicent nodded thoughtfully.

“I agree entirely. These are desperate times for us. I say so long as Peverell does not overstep, we allow him to continue.”

“And what would you consider overstepping?” Crouch probed. “For all intents and purposes, any of the Dark Lord’s followers could have been in some way responsible for what happened to his wife or party to the attempted kidnapping of his daughter. They do hide beneath masks, after all.”

“That is one way of looking at it,” Millicent mused aloud.

“For our own benefit, I believe it is the only way of looking at it. My aurors are too busy with attempting to fend off their attacks to investigate the matter fully. I am all for allowing Peverell to shoulder that responsibility in the hope that he finds the justice he is looking for. I have received no complaint or report that suggests he wishes for us to be involved. From that, I assume he wishes to do so himself. As I said, I am content with allowing that, so long as he remains within the parameters of the law.”

It was a shrewd approach by Barty, and one that Millicent could not find fault in. With the Dark Lord’s followers hiding their identities, it could be argued that Peverell was within his rights. It was a loose argument, of course, but one that would unlikely be disputed.

Not when Peverell was as popular as he was with the public, many of the prominent lords on the Wizengamot and even the aurors that were fighting day after day to ensure the Dark Lord was not successful in his efforts.

Peverell was all but untouchable, and though such a thought should leave the Minister feeling distinctly uncomfortable, it served to bring her some much-needed relief for the first time in weeks.

(Break)

So few had arrived to pay tribute to his sons, those within wizarding Britain not willing to mourn for Rudolphus and Rabastan openly. Those that were in attendance could be counted on one hand; his wife, himself, Commodus Selwyn, Floella Parkinson, and Bellatrix who looked bored, unmoved by the death of her husband.

Worst of all, there was little that Corvus could do about what had occurred. How could he when they had lost their lives in the service of the Dark Lord?

He snorted.

This was to be his family legacy, and though he did not regret trying to bring change upon the world, his line would be remembered as traitors.

The Lestrange reputation had never been a stellar one but never had the name been held in such disgrace as it was now. Even his oldest friends in the Malfoys and Notts offered no condolences, nor had they accepted the invitation to be present as Corvus said goodbye to his boys.

“And so, we lay to rest two young men in their prime, Rudolphus leaving behind a doting a wife and Rabastan his intended. May their souls rest,” the Minister presiding over the ceremony finished, his hands resting on the coffins of the Lestranges.

“May their souls rest,” Corvus murmured.

The room fell into a sobering silence, only the gentle sobbing of the Lady Lestrange heard through the din, though it lasted but a moment until a loud cawing was heard.

“DEATH!”

The white-eyed raven mocked them from the rafters above, its gaze sweeping across the room almost amusedly as it flapped its wings.

Bellatrix growled as she drew her wand but paused as the bird spoke once more in a familiar voice.

“I was just ensuring they are indeed dead and wished to offer my condolences, not my sorrow mind. May the bastards continue to suffer on the other side, and perhaps some of you will join them soon enough.”

With the warning of Peverell ringing in their ears, the raven took flight and left through the front door, followed by a screeching Bellatrix.

Corvus could not deny that he was unnerved by the arrival of the bird. Having already lost his sons to Peverell, he feared what would happen to him and his wife. Should the man seek further vengeance against his family for the actions of his daughter-in-law, he knew he would be powerless to stop it.

“Damned woman,” he grumbled, placing a comforting arm around the shoulders of his wife.

“He’s going to kill us, isn’t he?” she whispered.

Corvus shook his head.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” he declared. “I will request a meeting with him. You nor I have harmed him.”

“But Bellatrix…”

“He can take the damned woman if he wants her,” Corvus snapped. “She has been nothing but a hindrance to us.”

His wife looked uncertain, but it was the voice of Selwyn that addressed him next.

“Might I offer an alternative suggestion?” he asked.

Corvus frowned and nodded.

“Perhaps there is a way we can deal with Peverell,” Commodus declared.

Corvus shook his head.

If the man wished to pursue a foolish endeavour of retribution of sorts for what happened to his son, he would do so alone.

“No, I have already lost my sons to the man. I will not risk my wife nor anything else.”

“He murdered your sons and mine,” Selwyn hissed, his eyes almost bulging out of there sockets.

The man was unhinged, Corvus realised, and drunk judging by the smell of whiskey on his breath. More so, he was a fool if he believed there was anything to gain from being at odds with Peverell.

“Then seek whatever recompense you see fit,” Corvus suggested, “but I will have no part in it.”

With the service for his sons concluded, he saw no reason to linger in the company of the delusional lord and helped his wife from her seat.

He would not have her living in fear of Peverell coming for them next.

“It got away,” Bellatrix huffed as they met her outside.

Corvus could only shake his head at the woman.

Ever since he had arranged the marriage between her and Rudolphus, his family had been plagued with bad luck and nothing fruitful to show from the marriage.

Ignoring Bellatrix’s own unhinged ramblings, he led his wife away and apparated them home.

He had a letter to write.

Corvus Lestrange was finished with whatever the Dark Lord’s intentions were. He would sit out the remainder of the conflict in the hope that he and his wife could live the rest of their days out in peace.

Already, they had lost too much to the madman’s cause and he refused to lose more. If that meant striking a deal with the devil himself, that was what he would do.

If Harry Peverell was the devil incarnate as many believed him to be, so be it.

The war for Corvus Lestrange was over and all that remained was to salvage what he could of the frayed reputation of his family in the hope that what remained was left alone.

(Break)

“Better,” Harry praised.

Narcissa’s breath was laboured, but she nodded and wiped away the sheen of perspiration that had formed around her neck and chest.

“Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be able to beat you,” she teased.

“It could happen.”

Narcissa snorted.

“We both know it won’t. I’m just grateful I have other ways of getting the better of you,” she replied, purposely pushing her bust towards his face.

“That’s not fair,” Harry huffed, the grin tugging at his lips belying his words.

“All is fair in love and war,” Narcissa returned with a smirk of her own before giving him a searing kiss.

Harry could only stare at her with his mouth agape.

“You’ll catch flies if you stay like that,” Narcissa chuckled as she left the basement.

Harry frowned and shook his head.

“It’s still not fair,” he muttered, following her into the kitchen where his wife was relieving Dobby of taking care of Helena.

The strange little elf adored the girl, and her him. Even when he hadn’t been called, Dobby would spend time with Helena after his other tasks had been completed for the day.

It warmed Harry to see the elf and the little girl playing together.

“Master Peverell, Sir. Two letters came for you,” the elf informed him, offering the missives.

“Thanks Dobby,” Harry replied as he opened the first and sighed.

“Bad news?” Narcissa asked.

“No, they’ve managed to reschedule the Quidditch matches but they’ll be taking place in Bulgaria. We play the Magpies on Friday.”

“That soon?”

Harry nodded.

“I suppose they don’t want to delay it any longer. It’s only a couple of months until the new season is due to start.”

Narcissa offered him a sad smile.

“I won’t be able to go, will I?”

Harry shook his head.

“No. We can’t risk anyone seeing you, not until the time is right.”

“I know,” Narcissa mumbled, “but I’ve never missed one of your games.”

“It won’t be much longer,” Harry assured his wife as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “It will be all over soon enough.”

Narcissa nodded though she took little comfort from his words.

“You still have another letter,” she reminded him.

Harry scowled, recognising the coat of arms formed in the wax seal.

“Lestrange,” he muttered.

Were there any unpleasant or dangerous magic imbued into the parchment, the wards would have alerted him to it. As such, he opened the note, his frown deepening as he read.

To Lord Peverell,

I would formally request and audience with you so that we may discuss any conflict that exists between our families.

I do not wish for there to be further action taken on either side and seek a peaceful solution to whatever quarrel is ongoing.

Please respond with a suitable date and location for this to take place.

I eagerly await your reply and wish to ensure you of the veracity of this request.

I seek only peace and safety for my lady wife and myself.

Lord Corvus Lestrange

Head of the Lestrange Family

“What’s left of it,” Harry grumbled as he read the final line and handed the letter to Narcissa. “What do you think?”

“I think it is genuine,” she replied when she had finished reading. “Corvus is not one to attempt anything when he knows he will lose. I believe he wants to put an end to any hostility you feel towards him.”

Harry snorted.

“If he believes he is that important, then he is a fool. I killed Rudolphus and Rabastan because they deserved it. Corvus is a shit, but not one I care about enough to go out of my way for.”

“So, what will you do?”

“I’ll give him what he wants, so long as I get something out of it,” Harry mused aloud, retrieving a quill, some ink and a piece of parchment to send his reply.

“What is it you want?” Narcissa asked curiously.

“Death,” Harry muttered, “and then peace.”

“Death!” Olin cawed from where he was perched near the door leading to the grounds.

“Soon, old friend. Very soon.”

(Break)

Since he had learned of his uncle’s passing, Sirius had been busy setting the man’s affairs in order. It wasn’t that there was much to do but he had never tackled such a task and the sadness he felt helped little with seeing the niggly things through to the end.

Lulu had been pleased to see him; the months gone by without her former master having been lonely. She had continued with her duties but was pleased by Sirius’s appearance who, if truth be told, had no idea how to keep her occupied.

He’d never had a personal elf. Kreacher would never follow his orders and he had eventually done everything for himself until he had left Grimmauld Place. It was a learning curve for the young man, one he would get used to.

With Alphard’s will executed, he had inherited a home, and elf, and a small fortune in gold. Along with this, Alphard’s motorcycle had also been gifted to him.

Sirius had always admired the bike when he came to visit, and Alphard had warned him that it was not a conventional machine. True to his word, when Sirius had taken it for a ride the previous night, it had proven to be much more.

It flew! He had screamed when he pressed the little red button next to the throttle and found himself soaring above Diagon Alley.

The aurors on duty had not been as exhilarated as him, and when he managed to land it, he became the recipient of a 5 galleon fine.

It had been worth it. The motorcycle had now become his most prized possession. He just needed to work on not getting caught again.

The disillusionment enchantment would certainly help with that, and as he flew over Potter Manor to attend his first training session with his grandfather and Charlus, he knew Alphard would be pleased his old bike would be appreciated.

“What the bloody hell is that thing?” Arcturus demanded as Sirius came to a skidding halt outside the front door.

Evidently, the presence of the bike had alerted Charlus, and he and his grandfather had come to investigate the disturbance.

“Alphard left it to me,” Sirius explained.

“That is amazing,” James declared, his eyes wide as he took in the magnificent machine. “I need one of those.”

“You do not!” Dorea countered. “It’s bad enough seeing you on a broom, I will not tolerate you on that death trap.”

“Mum,” James sighed.

“When you move out and you run your own life, then you can kill yourself. You will not do it under my roof!”

Sirius smirked at the chastised James, never failing to be amused when Dorea told him off.

“Where’s Peter and Remus?” he asked.

“They’ll be here soon,” James answered.

Although they would not be going into the auror academy, James thought that his two other friends could benefit from some extra tuition, Peter more than Remus.

The werewolf was quiet and rather introverted, but he could certainly handle himself with a wand. Peter, on the other hand, needed all the help he could get.

Sirius nodded.

“So, what will we be doing?” he asked.

“That will be up to Peverell. He will be helping you this evening.”

Sirius felt a jolt of nervous excitement.

Peverell was undoubtedly the best Defence Against the Dark Arts professor they’d had, and he was looking forward to learning more from the man. Still, there was always that sense of apprehension whenever he was around the ominous.

He exuded an odd coldness, everything about him screaming of danger.

“Ah, there’s the others,” James announced, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Nice bike,” Remus commented. “You’re not having a midlife crisis already, are you?”

“No, my uncle left it to me when he died,” Sirius explained.

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Remus offered apologetically.

“It’s alright,” Sirius assured him, waving the werewolf off. “It’s nice having it to remind me of him. Are you ready?”

Remus nodded excitedly whereas Peter looked very nervous.

“What’re we doing?” Remus asked.

“We won’t know until Peverell gets here,” James broke in with a grin.

“P-Peverell?” Peter questioned worriedly.

“Yeah,” James confirmed, “he said he’d help out sometimes.”

Remus nodded his approval whilst Peter paled, evidently wishing he was anywhere but here.

“Come along then you lot,” Charlus instructed. “He’ll be here soon.”

The four teens and Arcturus followed the Potter lord through the house and down into the basement where everything suddenly went black.

Sirius awoke with a groan. His head was spinning, and he found himself sprawled on the floor with James, Remus and Peter in a similar state.

“You’re all already dead,” the cold voice of Peverell broke through the fog in his mind.

“What happened?” James asked confusedly as he pushed himself to his feet.

“You assumed you were safe. Never assume you are safe even if you are familiar with your surroundings. A lack of vigilance will be your downfall. Remember that, practice it and it will save your life.”

“Bloody hell, he doesn’t mess around, does he?” Remus muttered.

“Because this is not a game,” Peverell retorted irritably. “See how easy it is for someone to get the jump on you? If that happens, you already lost any advantage because you walked into their trap.”

Sirius nodded thoughtfully.

“He’s right,” Charlus broke in severely. “If something like this happens, your chances of survival are lessened considerably. Lord Black and I will teach you some useful spells to help identify things you should be looking out for, but that will be another day. Lord Peverell will be going through some things with you this evening.”

The youngest of the three lords nodded, his gaze boring into each of the teens for a moment before he spoke once more.

“You two will be joining the aurors,” he began, nodding towards James and Sirius. “There, you will be educated to do a degree that is satisfactory for doing your job. You will learn some advanced magic that will assist you with carrying out investigations and useful combative magic, but it will not be enough. As good as the training is, it will not prepare you for everything. It is up to you to ensure you’re ready to confront anything you may face out there.”

The teens nodded their understanding.

“Potter,” Peverell spoke once more, addressing James. “Your strength lies in Transfiguration. You have the distinct advantage of being talented in what is the most difficult branch of magic to master. You’re damned good at it. Work on it more, figure out how to use it in combat and when you master it, they’ll be very few that can match you in a duel.”

James nodded.

“That does not mean you should neglect other practices, but I urge you to play to your strengths when you can. That goes for you too, Black. Your work with curses is exceptional. I suspect your magic is more attuned to it through your blood. The best advice I can give to you is to learn from your father and grandfather. There is no finer purveyor of curses than your family but do branch out into others. I want you to absorb every book you can get your hands on and practice as much as possible.”

Arcturus smiled proudly at his heir.

“Curses?” Sirius asked dumbfoundedly.

“Play to your strengths, Black,” Peverell reiterated. “I’ve seen what you can do with them, and they will save your life. You’re a Black, the magic that flows through your veins is that of your family. Why do you think curses are your family speciality? It’s because you lot are damned gifted with them.”

Sirius nodded, a frown marring his features.

“The two of you could learn a lot from each other,” Peverell continued, gesturing between James and Sirius. “If you want to be the best you can be, that’s exactly what you will do.”

“We will,” James assured the man.

“Good. Now Lupin…”

“I’m not really good at anything,” the werewolf denied.

Peverell snorted.

“No, you’re good at just about everything you attempt,” he countered. “Your work in defence, charms and transfiguration is consistent and of excellent quality. That means you will be difficult to predict. Continue learning and practice mixing up your attack and defence and you will be a frustrating opponent to deal with.”

Remus smiled at the praise and nodded.

“I’m n-not g-good at anything,” Peter piped up.

Peverell stared at Wormtail, his eyes flashing white before an expression of annoyance formed.

“You’re quite the dab-hand at potions, are you not?” he asked.

“I am,” Peter answered.

“Potioneers can be the most dangerous people you will ever meet. They are the kind that will not draw a wand on you but will poison your food to avoid the need to. Those who play with potions can kill you before you even become aware they want you dead.”

By the time he had finished speaking, Peverell was almost nose to nose with the trembling Peter and the man chuckled before stepping away.

“Even if you’re not the best with a wand, there are things that any fool can learn to defend themselves. It only takes dedication.”

Peter breathed an audible sigh of relief as he nodded.

“I want you to pair off,” Peverell announced. “I want you to practice using your strengths in single combat and myself, Lord Black and Lord Potter will come and offer some pointers. Potter, you’re with Lupin, and Black, you’ll be with Pettigrew. There is no need to injure one another but make them work to defend themselves and seek openings to strike back.”

“Alright, Wormy, come on,” Sirius instructed.

The rotund boy stumbled after him as he looked for a suitable space to practice.

“He’s frightening,” Peter whimpered.

Sirius nodded.

“I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of him. I almost feel sorry for the Dark Lord and his lot, then I remember how much of a bunch of shits they are.”

Peter again appeared nervous, but that was likely due to Peverell walking towards them, his expression unreadable.

“Begin,” the man instructed simply.

Sirius did not want to hurt his friend. Peter had never been confident or even competent with any branch of magic that required a wand. Throughout their schooling, himself, Remus and James had to look out for him, especially where the Slytherins were concerned. Any opportunity they got, they tried to make his life hell.

“Alright, Wormy, you know how to cast a shield,” Sirius encouraged.

Peter nodded and drew his wand, the shield he produced barely able to protect him from the first spell. It collapsed under the second and he threw himself to the floor to avoid the spell.

“Get up, Pettigrew,” Peverell instructed. “If you flop around like a fish out of water, you will die.”

Peter struggled to his feet and readied himself for the next barrage.

This time, his shield held up against the first two offerings, and as it collapsed under the third, he spun away from the spell.

“I did it,” he exclaimed, only to slump to the ground as a stunning spell collided with his raised arm.

“That was a bit harsh,” Sirius commented.

“Harsh lessons need to be given,” Peverell returned as he woke the unconscious teen. “Get up, Pettigrew. Celebrating not being killed only gives your opponent another chance. Bloody focus on the fight!”

Peter appeared as though he was about to cry but nodded and readied himself once more. Reluctantly, Sirius engaged him and Peverell walked away.

“Are you alright, Wormy?” he asked.

Peter nodded.

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“Peverell doesn’t like anyone,” Sirius pointed out. “Only his wife and kid.”

“His wife is dead,” Peter reminded him.

Sirius shook his head.

“She’s not,” he explained, falling quiet as Peverell glared at him over Peter’s shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Wormtail asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Sirius replied. “Forget I mentioned it.”

Peter appeared to want to press the issue but thought better of it when he realised Peverell was watching them. Instead, he went back to shielding against Sirius’s spells and offering his own offence when the opportunity arose.

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight,” Peverell announced around an hour later. “You’re good, but not as good as you think you are. You all need to work on your casting, your movement, and shielding.”

“We will pick that up next week,” Charlus announced.

Sirius released a laboured breath.

Peter hadn’t exactly pushed him to his limits, but he hadn’t gotten much exercise this year other than flying his broom. He would need to work on his stamina.

“Come on, let’s get a drink,” James suggested as they exited the basement.

“Not for me,” Peter replied, “I need to go and pick up some ingredients for something I’m working on before they close.”

“Suit yourself, Wormy,” Sirius said dismissively.

He suspected that Peter was not happy with how the evening had played out, but that was his problem. Sirius, James and Remus had learned a lot from Peverell.

“See you later,” Remus offered as Peter exited through the front door.

“I don’t suppose he enjoyed that much,” James sighed.

“No,” Remus agreed. “Peverell didn’t take it easy on any of us though. He stunned me three times.”

James chuckled as he wrapped an arm around the werewolf’s shoulder.

“He’ll get over it,” he said brightly. “Are you staying tonight?”

Remus shook his head.

“No, it’s only a few days until the full moon,” he explained. “I’ll feel like crap when I wake up and won’t want to apparate.”

James nodded his understanding.

“We’ll be there with you,” he assured the werewolf. “Just because we’re not at Hogwarts anymore, doesn’t mean that will change, right Pads?”

“Of course,” Sirius declared.

Remus gave them an appreciative smile as they took a seat around the kitchen table.

“Where’s Peverell?” James asked as his father and Lord Black entered the kitchen.

“He’s gone,” the latter announced. “He said he had some things to attend to. He’ll be back in a few weeks to help you again.”

“Fair enough,” James replied.

“He still scares the hell out of me,” Remus muttered.

“He scares the hell out of everyone,” Sirius chuckled. “It’s just how he is.”

“But he knows what he’s doing,” Arcturus interjected. “That’s all that should matter to you lot.”

“We appreciate him helping us,” James explained.

Sirius nodded his agreement, sighing as he caught sight of the clock.

“I should be heading off too.”

“Where are you going?” James asked with a frown.

“I promised Lulu I’d be back tonight.”

“Oh, I thought you’d be staying here,” James said disappointedly.

Sirius offered him a sad smile.

“I can’t stay here forever,” he pointed out. “Alphard left me a place to live, and your parents have put up with me for almost two years. I think it’s time for me to stand on my own two feet. Besides, you and Evans will get married one day and you don’t need me knocking around. I’ll be back tomorrow so we can fill in our forms together.”

James nodded.

“So much for things not changing.”

“Some things will, and others won’t,” Sirius returned. “I won’t be going anywhere, and you’ll still see me.”

“I know,” James sighed, “I just didn’t expect it would all happen so quickly.”

Charlus nodded his agreement as Sirius stood.

“There’s always a place for you here, whenever you need it.”

“Thanks Uncle Charlus,” Sirius replied warmly. “I’m sure I can come by often enough to annoy Aunt Dorea.”

Charlus and James laughed, and Sirius waved them goodbye as he took his leave from the Potter home.

He would miss this place, miss spending his days with James but it was not his home any longer. He had left school, he had gold and his own place waiting for him, but he would never forget the generosity given to him when he needed it most.

The Potters had become his family and he would always show them just how much he appreciated what they had done for him.

(Break)

Having left the Potter grounds, Peter apparated to Diagon Alley. Ensuring that he had not been followed, his pulled his hood over his head to conceal his features and headed towards his destination.

At this time in the evening, the streets of wizarding Britain were empty with only the odd straggler leaving or entering one of the few bars here. Peter had little interest in them. He had business in the adjoining alley where for most who frequented it, their ventures were just beginning.

For as many aurors that patrolled Knockturn Alley, they deterred few from their endeavours. The bars and shops were open, and business was booming. Without proof of anything illegal taking place, the aurors were powerless to do anything, and the proprietors had become experts at concealing the true nature of their undertakings.

Of course, not all establishments operated anything illegal, but those that did were many and try as they might, the Ministry had failed time and again to put a stop to much of what occurred here.

If one was seeking out rare potion ingredients, they could be found somewhere here. If gambling was the vice of choice, a wager could be found. Whether it was in the underground duelling circuit, bouts between creatures or card games, Knockturn Alley had it on offer.

There was undoubtedly more going on than Peter knew of, but he was here for none of the above, but to meet with a contact.

“Over here, rat,” a voice growled as he passed a shady side street.

Peter swallowed nervously as he approached the shadowy figure, the lit end of a cigarette guiding him to his companion.

“You went to the Potters this evening. What did you learn?”

“Not much,” Peter whispered, his furtive gaze alert to every movement around them. “Peverell was there.”

“Ah, Peverell.”

Peter nodded.

“He’s terrifying, Augu…”

“Shh,” the other man said harshly, cupping his hand over Peter’s mouth. “No names here, rat. You don’t know who could be listening in.”

Peter squeaked and nodded his understanding.

“So, Peverell?”

“He’s teaching Black and Potter to fight. Their joining the auror academy.”

The man huffed irritably.

“I don’t give a shit about that,” he grumbled. “Our lord wants information, and you are proving to be a disappointment. That makes me look bad, rat. I vouched for you, assured him that you would be useful. Me? I have secured a position within the most secretive department within the Ministry. What do you have to show for your efforts?”

“I’m trying!” Peter snapped.

“Try harder.”

Peter frowned at the man.

“I did learn something, well, Black mentioned it and I think our lord would be interested in knowing it.”

“Go on,” the man urged.

“Peverell’s wife lives,” Peter whispered.

“No,” his contact denied. “There were a dozen people at least that witnessed her death.”

“Then why would Black say differently?”

“Maybe he was mistaken?”

Peter shook his head.

“No, he said it and then dismissed it like he realised he shouldn’t have,” he explained.

His contact nodded thoughtfully, took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked it away.

“If you’re right about this, you may have just earned your mark,” he praised. “Wait, what is…”

Peter’s eyes widened as he was sprayed with a warm liquid and August Rookwood slumped forward, pinning him to the wall as the man gurgled and choked on his own blood.

The young animagus froze from the fear that ran up his spine as he spotted a pair of narrowed white eyes, the gaze burning into his own.

“I had hoped I was wrong about you, Wormtail,” Peverell muttered almost disappointedly as he retrieved Rookwood’s wand from the dying man’s sleeve.

“N-no w-wait,” Peter pleaded.

“For what?” Peverell asked. “Are you going to justify attempting to join the Dark Lord? Make me understand why you would turn traitor on your friends? I have no interest in your excuses.”

“I w-wasn’t,” Peter denied.

“Do not lie to me!” Peverell hissed.

Peter could only whimper as Rookwood’s wand was levelled at him.

“P-please,” he pleaded.

Peverell shook his head.

“I have given too many chances to the wrong people. I will not allow you to put any of them at risk, especially my wife.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Peter tried desperately.

“Goodbye, rat,” Harry said coldly. “Avada Kedavra.”

Pettigrew collapsed to the ground, his expression one of shock and horror.

With the deed done, Harry placed Rookwood’s wand in the man’s still-warm hand and retrieved Peter’s.

He cast the same cutting curse he used to kill Rookwood before following suit and returning it to its owner.

None would ever know of Harry’s involvement, and it would appear the two had killed one another during a disagreement.

This way, James, Sirius and Remus would be protected from knowing their friend was a traitor and Tom would wonder just what had happened between two of his followers.

Harry would merely store the memory of what happened away, his opinion of the two men no less than it had been before this evening.

He already knew that Peter was a coward, a turncoat, and much worse.

Rookwood, he knew little of, but he had heard whispers over the years of the things the man had done, and he felt no guilt in putting an end to him.

With his work done, he cleaned off the droplets of blood from his own robes and headed towards the restaurant where he would meet with Lord Lestrange to, with a bit of luck, begin putting an end to another pressing matter.

(Break)

The response from Peverell had come much quicker than expected. Only a few hours after Corvus had sent the missive requesting this meeting, the eerie raven belonging to the odd lord had appeared in his home with a roll of parchment grasped in its beak.

Corvus wasn’t sure if the haste in which he had been accommodated was a good or bad thing, but he took comfort that Peverell had chosen somewhere public for them to negotiate.

Not that he believed the man would not murder him if he chose to. At best, the comfort was an illusion either to set his mind at ease or lull him into a false sense of security. Regardless, he would take it.

Peverell knew that he was in firm control of the outcome of this meeting, something that did not sit well with the Lord Lestrange. He despised being on the backfoot, but that was where he found himself, at the mercy of the younger man.

“Would you like another drink whilst you wait, Lord Lestrange?” the attentive waitress asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“No, thank you,” Corvus replied.

He needed to keep his head clear for the impending meeting and he’d already had two measures of Firewhisky since he’d arrived.

The waitress offered him a polite smile and left him to stare into the bottom of his empty tumbler as he attempted to envision how this meeting would pan out.

“You have my apologies for being late,” another voice pulled him from his thoughts some moments later. “An unavoidable, urgent matter came up at the last minute.”

Corvus shook his head.

“It’s quite alright, Lord Peverell,” he assured the other man. “It happens to men in our positions. Please, take a seat.”

His expression gave nothing away, but he accepted the invitation and did so.

“Would you like something to drink?” Corvus asked.

Peverell shook his head, his gaze not shifting from the older lord who felt whatever comfort he had been experiencing slip away.

“I think we should skip the formalities and get to the point as to why we are here,” he replied.

Corvus nodded his agreement and released a deep sigh.

“You’ve won,” he said simply. “I am here only to achieve peace for my wife and myself. We have both lost too much and I do not wish to lose anymore.”

“Won?” Peverell asked with a raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that you and I were competing.”

“You know what I mean, Peverell,” Corvus grumbled irritably. “You took my heir and my other son from me.”

“In battle,” Peverell pointed out. “I did not do so out of any personal vendetta against you but the master they and you chose to serve. I would remind you also that Rudolphus tried to kill me during a sanctioned duel against, at the time, his bride to be.”

Corvus nodded.

He had seen that act of buffoonery from his son when viewing the memory.

“Regardless of your motive for what you have done, you would kill me if you felt the need to. Do you feel inclined towards doing so?” he pressed.

Peverell nodded.

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“Then that is why we are here,” Corvus returned, unable to hide his nervousness. “I wish to put whatever grudge you hold against me to an end.”

“And how would you propose we do that? Your daughter-in-law killed my wife.”

“Something I had no part in nor sanctioned. She holds no loyalty to the name she carries, only to the Dark Lord.”

“Yet she does carry your name and her actions reflect on you. The question I ask, Lord Lestrange, is how do you plan on righting her wrongs?”

And there it was.

Peverell wanted only to get to Bellatrix. He truly had no interest in Corvus nor any other. He wanted the woman and Lord Lestrange was only all to happy to comply. Bellatrix had been nothing but trouble for him since she had married into his family, and with Rudolphus dead, there was no reason to keep her around.

“I have some information that may be of interest to you,” Corvus offered, “but, if I do help you then myself and my wife will be left out of any retribution.”

Peverell nodded thoughtfully.

“If your information proves to be worthwhile, then we will have an accord.”

Corvus eyed the younger man for a moment, searching for any sign of deceit.

There was none and he leaned forward to ensure he would not be overheard.

“I heard her speaking with Rudolphus about a week go about a plot to kill Lord Black,” he whispered. “She is in contact with Walburga to arrange it.”

“I already know that,” Peverell snorted. “If there is nothing else…”

He stood from the table and Corvus felt a sense of panic set in.

“No, wait!” he urged. “There is a way you can get to her.”

Peverell took his seat once more and Corvus breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m listening.”

“With Rudolphus gone, she is a widow and one without child. They did not consummate their marriage,” Corvus explained. “To that end, she is still a viable marriage prospect for another. However, if I wish for her to be remarried, I will have to hold a meeting with Lord Black to negotiate terms and seek permission to make arrangements.”

Peverell frowned, evidently unhappy with what direction the conversation was heading in.

“Hear me out,” Corvus requested. “You want her dead, I want rid of her, and I can’t imagine old Arcturus is pleased with his granddaughter for what she has done.”

“He isn’t,” Harry agreed. “That is why he expelled her from the family.”

Corvus was surprised by that revelation.

“That could be to our advantage,” he mused aloud. “It looks as though I have all the power when it comes to negotiating with him, but we can use it to trap her. She won’t suspect a thing if he comes to me. The mad cow would not miss the opportunity.”

“She wouldn’t, but Arcturus coming to you?”

“Do you think she would agree to the meeting if it was to take place under control of the Blacks?” Corvus asked. “She is mad, not stupid. She wouldn’t surrender herself to the mercy of her grandfather.”

Peverell shook his head.

“What makes you think I would trust you to not betray me?”

“Because you’d bloody well murder me,” Corvus huffed. “Look, Peverell, I just want some peace. I’ve made my mistakes, but I know when I am beaten.”

“Not good enough,” Peverell muttered.

“Then what do you want? What can I do to prove that I just want an end to all of this?” Corvus asked frantically.

He was losing his composure, but he didn’t care. The situation was becoming desperate.

Peverell remained unmoved, his expression calculating but showing no sign of sympathy or care as he seemingly pondered the position Corvus found himself in.

“I want your wife,” he said simply, having come to a decision.

“Excuse me?” Corvus asked in a mixture of shock and anger.

“If this is going to happen, your wife will be my prisoner until it is over.”

Corvus shook his head in disbelief.

“You must be joking,” he chuckled humourlessly.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Peverell snapped.

Corvus felt a wave of cold magic wash over him as the man’s eyes flashed the ominous white he was so well known for, and he stilled in his chair.

He had been in the presence of the Dark Lord, had felt the taint of his magic, but there was something more to Peverell’s. It was as intoxicating as it was foreboding. The Dark Lord’s screamed of danger as it invaded the senses whereas Peverell’s whispered almost reassuringly.

Corvus could not be sure what was more terrifying but the man before him was like no other. How could something so calming be so threatening?

“My wife is innocent,” he pleaded.

“As was mine, yet here we are,” Peverell returned. “She will not be harmed and will be treated with all the due respect a lady of her position should be. However, if I get even a whiff of betrayal from you, she will suffer before I put an end to her and then you. Take it or leave it. Either way, I will get what I want.”

With his terms given, Peverell leaned back in his seat and left Corvus to think.

What choice did he have?

If he wanted an end to be put to this unpleasant saga of his life, his only choices were to throw in his lot with the Dark Lord or the man seated before him.

To the former, he had already given much and lost even more. Corvus had believed in the pureblood movement, had been proud to dedicate himself to the cause.

Never did he envision it would cost him as dearly as it had.

His service with the Dark Lord had yielded nothing and Peverell was offering him a way out, not a desirable request but one he could not turn down. Were he to, he would likely find he and his wife dead as he tore the country apart to get to his daughter-in-law.

“She will be treated right? You will protect her?”

Peverell nodded resolutely.

“You have my word as a lord.”

Again, Corvus eyed the younger man, looking for any indication of dishonesty.

“Then we have a deal,” he sighed, offering his hand when none was forthcoming.

It was accepted, the grip of Peverell firm and assuring.

“Then let us discuss the finer details and put an end to these hostilities. I grow tired of them, Lord Lestrange, and would also like to experience some peace.”

“Let’s,” Corvus agreed. “I have grown weary of all this.”

(Break)

The Dark Lord’s brow was creased as he pored over the various pieces of parchment and tomes he had scraped together that made any mention of the name Peverell. For hours he had been cross-referencing them with all the information he had gathered on the Slytherin line throughout his life and his patience was wearing thin.

Out of frustration, he pounded the top of the table with his fist.

Nothing made sense. There were too many gaps in each line to be certain, but from what little he could gather, there was only one direct connection between the Peverells and Slytherins, the very same marriage he descended from.

Something was amiss, but for the life of him. Lord Voldemort was stumped.

Where did this Peverell come from?

The discovery that the man could speak parseltongue and command the same magic was unsettling. The Dark Lord had not felt such uncertainty since he had been a child.

Taking a deep breath, he resumed his studies, hoping he would find an explanation for this anomaly.

He remained this way until a knock on the door of the Riddle library interrupted him some hour or so later. He couldn’t be sure as he often lost himself in the conundrums that life presented.

“Come in,” he instructed irritably.

Of course, it was Bella. It was only Bella that dared intrude upon him.

“My Lord,” she greeted him.

She was concerned. The woman was not so easily shaken or bothered by much, but something had rattled her.

“What is it?” Voldemort asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Rookwood and the rat are dead, my lord,” Bellatrix answered simply.

That was unexpected news indeed.

Rookwood and Wormtail? What could have possibly happened there?

“How?” he demanded.

Bellatrix huffed as she sat on the edge of his desk and helped herself to an apple.

“It looks as though they got into an argument and killed each other in Knockturn Alley.”

The Dark Lord’s frown deepened.

“Explain.”

Bellatrix took a bite of the apple and shrugged.

“The rat hit Rookwood with a cutting curse, and Augustus returned fire with a killing curse.”

Voldemort shook his head.

No. That made no sense. Rookwood was keeping a close eye on Pettigrew to ensure he was not a spy, albeit a pathetic and cowardly one. Augustus was too shrewd to provoke a violent confrontation between them. Not that Pettigrew would have the temerity to do so. Augustus was leagues above the snivelling teen when it came to their capability with a wand.

“So, Pettigrew attacked first?”

“It seems that way, my lord.”

Voldemort hummed thoughtfully.

He did not believe that version of events for a second. There was much more to it than that.

“I want you to look into it,” he instructed. “There is no tangible reason for this to have happened, none at all.”

“Of course, my lord,” Bellatrix replied before she shot him a sultry grin and skipped from the room.

She remained convinced that there was a chance he would give into her desire for him, even more so since Rudolphus had died.

He would do no such thing.

He had worked too long and too hard to be distracted by such whimsical and trivial things, and there was much more to do yet.

With that in mind, the Dark Lord turned his attention back to the scattered pieces of parchment and books littering his desk.

He needed to know his enemy, needed to understand just who this Peverell was and where he had come from.

(Break)

Arcturus Black blew out a thick cloud of cigar smoke and took a sip of his brandy, savouring the warmth and flavour of the expensive blend before swallowing it down. Cigars were usually something he partook in when celebrating, each of his sons having had one smoked in honour of their birth, and even his grandchildren when they came along. This one, however, was due to no cause of celebration.

He could feel Bellatrix draw nearer; the threat against him edging ever closer.

“You’re not going to spend all night brooding in here, are you?” Melania asked as she entered the room.

His absence from their bed had not gone unnoticed and Arcturus offered his wife a smile.

“I’m not brooding,” he denied, “just anticipating.”

“Bellatrix?”

Arcturus nodded and drained his glass.

“She has never been one for patience. She will act soon, especially when she discovers what has happened to Walburga. She will know that I know and will not want to grant me time to prepare for her.”

“But you already know,” Melania pointed out. “You have been preparing.”

“I have,” Arcturus assured her. “If she was to make any attempt here, she would fail before she could breach the wards.”

Melania shook her head.

“She would not be so foolish.”

“Not alone she wouldn’t, but if the Dark Lord escorted her, she would be bold enough. She believes him to be invincible.”

“Something that Harry has proven false.”

“He has,” Arcturus agreed, “and I do not doubt that when the time comes, Peverell will put an end to him. How can I not with all I have seen him do already?”

“He is a good man.”

“To those he holds dear. There is another side to him, one not so forgiving to those who have wronged him,” Arcturus explained. “I have met men like him, not exactly the same, but similar.”

“What’s different about Harry?” Melania asked curiously.

“Harry is more than just the words he speaks or threats he utter. He has the ability to back them up and does so.”

“But not a threat to us?”

Arcturus shook his head.

“No, to us, he is family and us to him.”

“I don’t see him the way you do,” Melania sighed. “All I see is the doting father and loving husband I’ve come to know him as.”

Arcturus chuckled.

“That’s because you look for the best in people, my dear. How do you think you ended up married to me?”

“Because underneath the almighty Lord Black is the sweetest man I know.”

Her words warmed his heart.

After all these years of marriage, through the good and bad times, his wife had remained the same as she was the day they tied the knot. Of course, they had grown old, but underneath the wrinkles and grey hair they now both possessed, she was very much the same woman.

“Only to you,” he murmured, frowning as the wards alerted him to a disturbance. “What the bloody hell is Peverell doing here? I’ve noticed that about the little shit. He keeps the most ungodly hours.”

Melania tutted as she headed towards the door.

“You know he would not be here if it wasn’t important. Shall I show him in?”

Arcturus nodded.

“You’d better I suppose. Merlin knows the bugger will find a way in anyway.”

Melania laughed as she shook her head and left to greet the young lord who entered the room only a moment later, his demeanour grim and jaw tight.

“What is it?” Arcturus questioned.

“I may have just solved all of our problems, well found a way to,” Peverell answered. “I’ve just had a very interesting meeting with Corvus Lestrange.”

“Corvus?” Arcturus asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Peverell nodded.

“How would you feel about playing host to his wife for a few days?”

Arcturus scowled, his mind wondering to all the possibilities that could have led to that scenario.

He drew a blank.

“What have you done, Peverell?”

“As I said, I may have found a way to solve our problems, so long as Lestrange keeps his end of the bargain we have struck.”

“You’re trusting Lestrange?” Arcturus snorted.

Harry shook his head.

“No, but I am trusting he will look out for the best interest of himself and his wife. He is all but willing to hand Bellatrix over to us so long as they are assured of their safety. What do you think Bellatrix will do when she learns you are meeting with him in his home?”

“I expect she will take the chance to kill me.”

“And do you think she would attempt that alone?”

Arcturus frowned.

“No. She may want to do the deed herself, but she will have others there. She knows that I will not be an easy foe for her.”

“Exactly,” Peverell agreed. “And who is the one person she would trust enough or wish to impress the most with her feat?”

It took no time for Arcturus to draw his conclusions, his own visage mirroring that of the younger man, his jaw setting into a hard line.

“You’re bloody mad,” he declared.

Peverell nodded.

“I want him dead, Lord Black. I want him to pay for what he has done to me. I do not want to wait any longer. I want to live my life, spend my days with my wife and daughter. At the moment, he is taking that from me, and I want him gone.”

Arcturus watched the man, felt the coldness of his magic fill the room as his eyes burned that terrible white.

With a single nod, the agreement was made and Peverell took the seat opposite where they began their planning.

(Break)

Narcissa watched as Harry slept, his breathing slow and even though his brow was creased in a frown. He had returned late last night, so late that she had already been slumbering when he arrived home and she was not aware of his presence until she woke to feed Helena as the sun was rising.

She knew not what he had been doing, but he was troubled, his dreams evidently unpleasant as he ground his teeth, murmured incoherently and twitched occasionally.

She placed a hand on his forehead.

He was cold. He often was when he slept and where it not for his odd, quirky movements and expressions, she would believe he was dead.

It was the magic that ran flowed through his veins that did it, and though he was never any worse for wear when he woke, he never rested well.

Narcissa knew where he was in his mind. He was with the cloaked figure, Death. More often than not, Harry was taken to them to convene, but there was something different about this dream. She didn’t know what it was, but she could feel it.

As such, she stayed by his side, and waited for him to wake.

(Break)

“You’re ready,” the figure stated simply. “The Peverell’s before you were granted entry to my vault when I deemed them so, and now you will be gifted the very same.”

“Gifted what?” Harry asked with a frown.

The figure stared at him a moment before deigning him with an answer.

“You have my magic, and now, I will give you a piece of me. I was reluctant to do so, your soul being different to any other I have encountered, but you should be no different from those that sired you.”

“A piece of you? Your soul?”

The figure chuckled.

“I have no soul, Peverell, but you will take my essence.”

Harry’s frown deepened.

“How would that be different to your magic or soul?”

“My essence is what makes me what I am,” the figure explained. “My magic is merely a manifestation of that. Think of it as diluted. When you accept my essence, you will become more. You will become that of which the legends speak of those that carried your name. You will become more than what you are, more than just a man.”

“Do I need to be?”

The figure nodded.

“Your foe is more than a mere mortal. With his soul as tarnished as it is and the magicks he has delved into, yes, you must be more than what you are. You must be his equal.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“Why now? Why not when you first brought me here?”

“You were not ready, Peverell,” the figure answered simply. “You came to me with a tainted soul, one that was tainted further with my actions, but you are now what you were born to be. You have the courage of the Potters and Peverell that brought about them, the will and grit of Antioch, you have the passion and ambition of Cadmus, and you have the ruthlessness of Tom Riddle. You are the best of those that came before you.”

“And the worst,” Harry added.

“No man is flawless, Peverell,” the figure chided. “Now, the vault awaits you.”

With a wave of his hand, a stone door etched with unrecognisable runes appeared next to the veil.

“When the Peverell’s roamed their lands, this vault existed alongside them. When they ceased to exist, I took it back,” the figure explained almost sadly. “They were my chosen, and now, that is you, Harry.”

Harry nodded and approached the door, pushing it open without preamble.

Within, there was nothing other than a perch with a raven sat upon it, staring at him as though judging his worth.

“Olin?” Harry asked.

“DEATH!” the raven squawked before taking flight and disappearing into Harry’s skin as his companion had taken to doing.

He had grown accustomed to that feeling, the cold magic now part of him no longer overwhelming when it happened, but this felt different.

The coldness did not only seep into his skin. It filled every fibre of his being, spreading from his heart to the tips of his toes and fingers.

It was invigorating and the magic thrummed throughout his body, drawing him into its tight and welcoming embrace.

“Now, you are his equal,” the cloaked figure muttered. “Be gone, Peverell. Show fate that she is no match for the only promise that life offers.”

Harry nodded, his body exploding into a dozen ravens as he took his leave of this place.