Whispers of a Raven - Death’s Chosen

Narcissa once again found herself working the night shift at St Mungo’s for the next week or so. She didn’t mind, but she would not get to see Harry much with him working at the castle during the day. The only real saving grace was that nights at the hospital had seemingly calmed down. According to Healer Camden, there had been no victims from pureblood attacks for weeks, though Narcissa would not allow such news to relax her completely. Things tended to happen at St Mungo’s when they least expected it, something that was proven this very evening.

Her stint at the hospital had begun easily enough. She had completed her rounds, administered the medication to those under her care and waited for them to begin drifting off. She had barely finished taking her last notes when the alarm sounded, signifying that the hospital would be receiving a large influx of new patients.

“What’s happened?” Narcissa asked Camden as they hurried towards the reception area.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the American replied. “My gold is on another attack.”

Narcissa nodded soberly, mentally preparing herself to treat the scared and confused muggles.

Much to her surprise, however, the patients that arrived in various states of injury and trauma were magical folk, many upon them draped in the red robes of the auror force.

Where the hospital before had been rather serene, as far as such places went, it was now a flurry of activity with healers rushing here and there to help those in need as they moaned in pain; those that were capable anyway. Some were unconscious, unresponsive and severely injured. It was likely that quite a few would not make it to morning.

Nonetheless, Narcissa would do as she always did; she would treat her patients, tend to their wounds and hope that it was enough to see them through.

“Okay, I need you to take a deep breath and tell me what happened,” she said to one of the grimacing aurors who was clutching at his bleeding shoulder.

It was a tactic she used to distract her patients whilst she carried out her work. It gave them something to focus on instead of the pain they were in. It proved to be simple and effective in this case as the man grit his teeth and endured her ministrations.

“Dark Lord…Hogsmeade,” he ground out. “Attacked.”

Narcissa swallowed deeply.

It appeared that the attacks had been shifted towards the magical population rather than the muggles.

“You have quite a severe burn from a searing curse and a deep gash in your shoulder,” she explained. “I need to stop the bleeding, seal your wound and then we can treat the burn.”

The auror nodded and took her by the wrist.

“You’re the Black girl, aren’t you? I remember you from his trial. Peverell’s.”

Narcissa frowned and nodded.

“He saved us,” the man wheezed, grimacing once more. “Peverell, he was there. Fought the Dark Lord.”

“Harry?” she whispered worriedly. “Is he…?”

“He’s fine,” the auror assured her. “Kicked his bloody arse.”

Narcissa choked a sigh of relief.

“Is he hurt?” she whispered.

The auror shook his head.

“I don’t think so. He was talking to Bagnold when they brought me in.”

Narcissa offered him a grateful smile.

She was worried about Harry, wondered what on earth had happened that led to him fighting the Dark Lord, but she still had a job to do. He was not amongst the other patients requiring attention, and she took that as a good sign.

“Let’s get you fixed up, shall we?” she questioned the man, hoping her work would help keep her mind off her own turbulent emotions.

(Break)

Having helped the healers with moving the wounded and dead, Harry had thrown himself into the rest of the clean up of Hogsmeade. He had doused fires, cleared debris and even tried to offer some comfort to the villagers that remained behind.

They had been in shock, many having lost neighbours, friends and even loved ones. The reality of war was harsh and something that none should be subjected to.

Even with the debris cleared, the scars remained. Scorch marks littered the streets, trees had pieces of their trunks gouged away and the smell of blood and death lingered in the air.

It was not like anything Harry had ever experienced. The fighting he had done previously had been him alone for the most part merely trying to survive against those that wished him dead. There had been no civilian casualties, no crying men women and children when all was said and done.

It was something he would never get used to.

When there was little else that could be done, he took his leave of Hogsmeade and apparated to the alley across from St Mungo’s. Narcissa would be working for a while yet, but he didn’t want to go home.

He would wait for her here, the need to see her not one he could ignore. For now, however, he was content with waiting in the alley. There was nowhere else he felt he should be.

Leaning against the wall, the fatigue of battle was all but forgotten as he played over what happened. It had come suddenly, without warning, and Harry had acted as he saw best in the moment.

He had no regrets, but Voldemort had proven himself superior.

Sliding his wand into his hand, he eyed it speculatively. Once again, it had come to his rescue as it had in the past when he needed it most.

He was proud with how well he handled himself, was happy he could at the very least stand with Tom in a duel for some time before he would be overwhelmed, but it wasn’t enough.

He needed to be better next time.

Harry was under no illusion that the Dark Lord yet lived. Life would never grant him such a victory as this. No, he was out there still and would be back, more determined than ever to kill him.

Harry nodded his acceptance of that. He would be ready, he simply had to be.

He didn’t know how long he stood in the alley lost in thought, but when he heard hurried footsteps approaching, the sun had fully risen and he quickly found his arms full of the woman he was to marry, and somehow, everything felt all the better for it.

Her embrace drowned out the sounds of screaming and desperately sobbing witches and wizards who’d had their worlds turned upside down, Narcissa’s scent removing the tang of iron and burning that had filled his nose these past hours.

She held him tightly against her, seemingly needing this just as much, if not more than him.

“I’m okay,” he muttered.

She said nothing but nodded against his chest and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Can we just go home?” she asked quietly after a few moments.

Harry nodded and apparated them back to his tent.

“We really need to speak to my grandfather about the house,” Narcissa sighed with a watery chuckle.

“What’s wrong with my tent?”

“It’s a tent, Harry,” Narcissa grinned. “I will not be raising our children in here.”

“Children?”

Narcissa nodded as she filled and boiled the kettle with a tap of her wand.

“I would like children,” she murmured. “I’d be happy with two or three.”

Harry smiled at her as her eyes drifted to a place far away from where they were, ignoring the thought that she might still somehow birth Draco. He didn’t know what he would do. Hating his own child was not something he wanted to consider.

He shook his head of those thoughts. That certainly wouldn’t happen.

“Two or three?” Harry asked.

Narcissa was pulled from her reverie and she nodded contentedly.

“Maybe four. Two of each,” she replied with a smirk, taking a sip of her tea and peering at him over the rim of her mug.

“That could work,” Harry agreed.

Narcissa’s eyes widened in surprise.

“What?” Harry questioned.

“Nothing,” Narcissa denied. “I just hadn’t considered you would want that many.”

“Well, I’ve never really had a family,” he reminded her.

“I suppose you’d like a dog too,” Narcissa quipped.

Harry shook his head, memories of being chased by Ripper during his childhood having never warmed him to that idea.

“No, I have Olin.”

“Where is he anyway? He usually greets me.”

“He had a busy night,” Harry answered. “I think he is resting. Even he has limits on how much death he wishes to see.”

Narcissa nodded soberly.

“Harry…”

“I know,” he said tiredly. “I was reckless and could have been killed. I had to do something though.”

“I know,” Narcissa sighed as she took a seat opposite him. “Just, be careful.”

The expression that adorned her features spoke more than the words could and Harry took one of her hands in his own. He wouldn’t be the cause of her pain, and if losing him would do that, it only gave him more reason to live.

“I will be,” he promised. “I’ll be ready next time.”

“That’s all I ask,” Narcissa returned, covering her mouth as she yawned.

“Come on, I think we could both do with some sleep,” Harry urged. “It is going to be a very long day.”

Narcissa nodded and allowed herself to be led to the bed where they both fell asleep only moments after climbing between the sheets.

Harry found himself looking towards the veil, the whispers he had always heard now louder, and more urgent. Only a minute after he arrived, the cloaked figure emerged, as had become its’ custom and simply stared at him.

“You saved me,” Harry said simply.

The figured bowed.

“Why?”

“You were not ready, Peverell,” the figure replied bluntly.

Harry nodded his agreement.

“Is he dead?”

“No. He will return. I have merely bought you time. Use it wisely, Peverell, become the balance. Magic must always have a balance.”

“I will,” Harry vowed. “The book…”

“Will teach you all you need to know about my magic. Read it, follow it as though your life depends on it. Become what he fears, and you can win. Now, it is time to wake up. We will see each other again, Peverell.”

Even before the figure vanished, Harry was staring at the ceiling of his tent, wide awake and pondering what he needed to do. His first port of call would be a trip to Godric’s Hollow.

He had been planning to do so anyway, but Voldemort had attacked before he had gotten around to it. Now, it was a priority. He would unlikely survive another encounter with the Dark Lord without it.

“Harry, it’s only been a couple of hours,” Narcissa groaned sleepily.

“I know,” he sighed, placing a kiss on her forehead. “An emergency wizengamot meeting will be called soon. You go back to sleep.”

She already had and Harry decided he would shower and ready himself for what would likely be a long and tiring day.

(Break)

It was during breakfast that the owl arrived, delivering the morning edition of The Daily Prophet. As had been his habit for as long as he could remember, Charlus poured himself a cup of coffee whilst Maisie, the family elf, prepared his breakfast.

“Thank you, Maisie,” he offered as she placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him, smiling as he tucked into it before unfurling the newspaper.

His chewing paused as he took in the front page, his eyes widening as he swallowed the mouthful.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped before reading.

Hogsmeade Hell: ‘Peverell is our Hero!’

By Barnabus Cuffe

Wizarding Britain arises today in a state of shock and mourning. Shortly after dusk last night, the village of Hogsmeade came under attack by a gathering of masked and robed individuals and a swarm of Dementors leaving several dead and many more injured.

A man claiming to be the rumoured Dark Lord led the attack, though it did not go as planned. Along with the auror force that arrived on the scene as quickly as possible, none other than Lord Peverell came to the aide of the villagers, dispersing the Dementors. Despite being heavily outnumbered, he also engaged the attackers and kept them at bay until reinforcements arrived.

One villager had this to say.

“We were in the pub when it happened,” she began tearfully. “The attack came from nowhere and we tried to hide. The Prewett twins kept us safe but then Peverell came and dealt with the attackers. I don’t know what he did but there were explosions and screaming. The next thing I knew, the aurors were there and Peverell was fighting the Dark Lord.”

A fight that our very own Lord Peverell emerged victorious from. Another villager had this to say.

“If it wasn’t for Peverell, more of us would be dead. Even the aurors couldn’t stop that man. Lord Peverell is our hero!”

We at the Prophet would like to offer our gratitude to Lord Peverell for his assistance. Hogsmeade is a place that many of us hold in our hearts and we thank you.

Developments to this story will be published when the facts our established. For now, we eagerly await news on what Minister Bagnold intends on doing next.

“Charlus?” Dorea questioned sharply, pulling him from his reading. “What’s happened?”

With a shake of his head, he slid the paper to his wife who was just as stunned as him by the time she had finished reading.

“Merlin,” she whispered. “This is what he meant during dinner.”

“When Bellatrix decided to be a fool,” Charlus pointed out.

“You don’t think she…”

“I’m not sure,” Charlus sighed. “Would it surprise you?”

Dorea shook her head as Charlus stood.

“I will go and get ready,” he announced. “There will be an emergency meeting called today. I will speak to Harry and see what he can tell me.”

“I’m going to the school. I need to make sure James is okay.”

Charlus nodded.

The attackers did not make it that far, but she would not rest until she saw their son for herself.

He too felt very uneasy about what had happened. It was as though everything Harry had been hinting at over the past months was coming true, and that did not sit well with the Potter patriarch. Barely thirty-years had passed since Grindelwald had threatened their way of life.

He remembered it well and any time he yet drew breath would be too soon for another conflict such as that.

Calming himself, he dressed and made his way towards the fireplace and flooed to the Ministry, hoping, though doubtful that this was a singular occurrence.

He dreaded to think just what carnage could be caused across Britain were it not.

(Break)

The atrium was a flurry of activity when Harry arrived at the ministry. Though frantically going about their business, the workers were not panicking; their expressions spoke of worry, uncertainty, their pace out of necessity to see their tasks done quickly.

None paid him any mind as he passed through the crowd, through security and into the lift, words of praise from the initially shocked man he had submitted his phoenix feather wand to following him as he pressed the button that would take him to the basement and where the chambers of the Wizengamot were.

Entering, he realised he was one of the last to arrive, the almost full room falling silent as he crossed it, every pair of eyes trailing his path. He took his seat, ignoring the myriad of stares sent his way, some wary and others full of admiration and even more, a mix of the two.

It seemed that no matter what he did, he would always be looked upon in such a way. Not that it mattered to Harry. He did not do what he had for the adulation of his peers but because this was his fight more than anyone else’s.

A sudden hand on his shoulder served to distract him from the other Lords and Ladies and Harry found himself faced with the man Olin had taken exception to during his first meeting here. Harry still did not know his name, but the man gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“My mother lives in Hogsmeade, Lord Peverell. Thank you,” he said solemnly.

Harry gave the man a nod before catching the eye of Charlus who gestured for him to join Arcturus and himself who were stood to the side of the room, evidently discussing what had happened.

“How are you?” the Potter lord asked worriedly.

“I’m fine,” Harry assured him.

“You saved a lot of people,” Charlus said proudly when he was certain Harry had spoken the truth. “You see the way they’re all looking at you? You have their respect.”

“And they will look to you the same way they do Dumbledore, even more that you prevented him from being killed and did what he couldn’t,” Arcturus interjected.

“The Dark Lord isn’t dead,” Harry reminded them.

“No, but you have proven he is beatable,” Arcturus pointed out. “The fools supporting him will think twice now. They will fear you and you can use that to your advantage in here.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, a brief conversation he’d had with Dumbledore shortly before he’d died coming to mind.

“That could be useful,” he mused aloud. “Whatever puts an end to this.”

“You have made many allies, Peverell, but enemies too,” Arcturus sighed. “Be mindful of that and trust no one until you understand their motives.”

“I will,” Harry replied, bidding his farewells to the two men as a tired Minister Bagnold entered the room with a large contingency of aurors acting as her escort.

Without a word to any, she took her place behind her podium and nodded towards Dumbledore to begin the meeting. He did so by tapping his gavel smartly atop his own podium and the room fell silent, each person within looking towards the Minister in anticipation.

“For months, we have been combatting this threat,” she began darkly. “Until last night, the muggles had been the target of this group, but this Dark Lord has proven to be much more of a threat than we believed. Not only did he turn his attack on us, but the damage done runs much deeper than what occurred at Hogsmeade.”

Murmurs followed her words and she held up her hands for silence.

“It has been brought to my attention that Fenrir Greyback has entered the country with a force numbering in the hundreds, and though he was not present last night, we are working under the assumption that he has allied his pack with this Dark Lord.”

“And where is the proof of this?” Corvus Lestrange questioned.

“As I said, Lord Lestrange, we are working under that assumption,” Bagnold bit back. “This is not a time for caution. We must be prepared for every possibility.”

Corvus grumbled incoherently under his breath, evidently unwilling to question the Minister further.

“Coinciding with this, I can confirm that the Dementors have abandoned their posts at Azkaban. Alternative arrangements are being made to guard the prison, but their presence in Hogsmeade last night confirms they have defected.”

Harry shook his head. Defection indicated they had once been loyal to the Ministry. The Dementors were loyal to themselves only.

“A public announcement to this effect will be given today. People will be urged to not travel alone and alert the aurors to any Dementor activity. Our priority is rounding them up and securing them.”

“Just send Peverell to find them,” Lord Ogden suggested. “They didn’t want anything to do with him from what I heard.”

“It is not Lord Peverell’s job to clean up this mess. He is a Professor at Hogwarts and has more than enough on his plate with educating our children.”

The woman was right. Although Harry was curious about the creatures, he had more important things to focus on. If they became a problem, he would help but ultimately, this was the responsibility of the Ministry.

Harry offered her a grateful bow, pleased that she was not trying to lumber him with that burden.

“Now for the worst news,” Bagnold sighed. “As of this morning, twelve aurors have been confirmed dead along with forty-one civilians with many others injured and needing treatment at St Mungo’s. This is undoubtedly one of the most devastating events in British Wizarding History and a loss we will feel for years to come. My thoughts are with those that have lost someone, but as much as I wish we could take the time to mourn, now is the time for action.”

“And what action do you propose we take, Madame Minister?” Lord Nott questioned.

“To begin with, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is in need of more aurors and better equipment. I suggest, temporarily of course, that funding from other departments is redirected as necessary to fund this.”

“At the expense of the other departments within the ministry, I wholeheartedly disagree, Minister,” Nott responded.

“Then I suppose you wish for further incidents like the one we saw last night, Lord Nott?” Harry cut in irritably, garnering the attention of the lords and ladies. “Now, let us not pretend that there are some of you within this room who were not directly involved in the attack last night or are not at least harbouring sympathetic views towards this pureblood movement. Some of you won’t like the truth but it is not something that can be ignored. Amongst us even now are some of those cowards that like to prey on the weak and innocent.”

“Are you suggesting…”

“I am suggesting nothing, Nott,” Harry snapped, cutting the man off mid-sentence. “These are facts. This group is being funded by the wealthy, and the wealthiest are here now. I’m not going to throw out names or accuse anyone, but I’m not going to hide behind a fake smile and shake any of your hands. This is not a time for half-measures. It is either we commit everything or we allow ourselves to be picked off by these lunatics. I say that anyone who opposes this bill has an ulterior motive for doing so. The people look to us, and now more than ever, we must do what is necessary to keep them safe. If anyone wishes to disagree with me, then please, share your reasons.”

The other lords and ladies were surprised by his outburst having grown used to his quiet and observant nature during meetings, and though none voiced their objections, Harry could see many who wished to do so.

“All in favour of carrying this bill through?” Dumbledore questioned.

Every wand eligible to vote was raised, some slower than others, but the proposal was passed unanimously.

“Then it shall be done,” Dumbledore announced, scratching away with his quill.

“Thank you, Lord Peverell,” Bagnold said, relieved and grateful for his intervention. “With regards to yourself, for your own part in putting an end to what happened last night, you will be awarded the Order of Merlin First Class for your efforts in protecting wizarding Britain from such a threat.”

“You can’t make that decision, Minister,” Lord Selwyn sputtered.

“You are right, of course,” Bagnold replied. “Does anyone have a reason why Lord Peverell should not receive the award? I will be interested to hear any objections.”

“As would I,” Arcturus seconded, his steely gaze sweeping across his peers almost daring someone to speak out.

Once more, Harry noted several people wishing to voice their opinions, though none did so.

“It shall be done,” Dumbledore declared, his eyes twinkling merrily as he gave Harry a respectful nod.

“Before I bring an end to this meeting and begin pressing forward our plans with immediate effect, is there any other points that should be discussed?” Bagnold questioned.

Harry stood once more, and he could all but feel the tension rise on one side of the room.

“Lord Peverell, there was something you wished to add?” Bagnold prompted.

“Only one other thing,” Harry replied, “and it pertains to what I saw happening last night.”

“Then go ahead, Lord Peverell.”

“The auror force was outnumbered considerably and will likely be in the future despite how many people are recruited and trained. Greyback alone has a sizable force as does the Dark Lord with his followers, the Dementors and any other allies we do not yet know about. The aurors fought well but their efforts were for nothing. With every follower they stunned or apprehended, there was another Death Eater to awaken or release their companions.”

“I see,” Bagnold replied thoughtfully.

“The aurors need more power to defend themselves effectively against this threat. Stunning and apprehending will not be enough. It will only put the already outnumbered aurors in more danger.”

“So, what are you suggesting, Lord Peverell?”

“I am urging that the aurors be allowed to meet the force they are confronted with equally,” Harry explained, eliciting gasps from many of his peers. “Unless this is done, last night will be repeated until it is. How many good men and women and even innocents are you all willing to sacrifice for the benefit of these cowards?” he pressed.

His question was met with silence from those that wished to oppose him.

“This is an unprecedented move, Lord Peverell.”

“But one that is necessary,” Harry countered. “I do not revel in the loss of life, but it will be greater if this threat is not met with lasting repercussions. These followers of the Dark Lord must understand their actions will have equal consequences.”

“This is utter madness!” Lord Selwyn declared angrily. “We cannot listen to this man. He wants to give the aurors the power to decide if people should live or die.”

“No,” Harry denied. “I am saying we give the aurors the needed powers to deal with a rebel force within our country. What I am suggesting should only apply to those who are assisting the Dark Lord as they did last night. This isn’t an isolated incident and more will come. This is a war, Selwyn, and though my suggestion seems drastic, if we wish to preserve the life of innocent citizens and those charged with keeping us safe, it is a needed step,” he explained. “The question I put to you all is whether we should allow attacks like the one last night to happen again at the expense of good people? Or do we fight as we should and put an end to this threat?”

“Lord Peverell raises a very interesting point,” Lord Ogden spoke. “If there are not real consequences in place, the is nothing to deter them from trying again. I do not wish to revisit this topic in a year’s time with the thought of an inordinate amount of death on our consciences. Though I find the suggested action extreme, I reluctantly agree that it is necessary. War was declared on us by some of our own and they should not be allowed to act the way they did and get away with it.”

“Aye, I agree,” Lord McKinnon offered, eliciting nods of agreement from many other lords and ladies.

“Albus?” Bagnold questioned, seemingly torn on the matter.

The Chief Warlock released a deep breath before speaking.

“Many of us here are old enough to remember what happened during the forties. I more than anyone detest the idea of violence and death, however, I must agree with Lord Peverell on the matter,” he concurred, surprising most. “If more of what happened last night is to come, I know that Britain would be in much safer hands if what stands between them and the peril we face is a force equipped to deal with it effectively. The most effective way to end this threat is either by deterrence or swift action. You said yourself Minister, now is the time for action.”

“Then I shall discuss it with the relevant people within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Bagnold declared. “If Barty and the aurors are in agreement, we will put it to vote. I do not believe it is a decision that should be made without their input.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

From what he had learned from Dumbledore, this step wasn’t taken until 1980 after the death toll grew too high to ignore. If he could have it implemented, it would save lives and bring an end to the conflict sooner.

“I believe that is all that needs to be discussed,” Bagnold announced. “I will begin setting things in motion and call another meeting when the relevant conversations have taken place.”

“Meeting adjourned,” Dumbledore declared, giving the top of his podium a tap with his gavel.

Harry watched as the room emptied, the people leaving subdued for the most part and others deeply displeased by what had been put forth. Selwyn offered him a glare that Harry returned challengingly, and though the man was angry, he was evidently not foolish enough to pick a fight.

Eventually he might, but only when he forgot what had happened to his master and that would not be in a hurry.

“Will you be coming to the castle?” the voice of Dumbledore broke into his thoughts. “The students are worried about you and it will put their minds at ease if they could see you.”

“I can do that,” Harry agreed.

Dumbledore offered him a smile as the two began making their way from the chambers.

“You did very well today,” the older man praised. “You took your stance and were uncompromisable. After last night and your display of strength today, you have more than proven yourself. They will look to you, but I can think of no other who I would trust to be that person. We won’t always agree on things, but I have come to trust your judgement, Lord Peverell.”

“That doesn’t mean I will always get it right,” Harry returned. “No one is infallible, but the mistakes that people like yourself and I make tend to be ones that will not go unnoticed.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“Indeed.”

It was a rather sobering realisation for Harry. Although he had never forgiven Dumbledore for his approach to things, predominantly keeping him in the dark about the prophecy, he now understood his former mentor’s position better than he once had.

Regardless of what the headmaster would have done, there would have been consequences and Harry found that the ones he faced were a better prospect than what the alternatives could have been. With how rash and impulsive he had proven to be at times, there was no guarantee that he would not have immediately done something foolish, getting himself killed in the process.

At the age of sixteen, he had been too young to understand the responsibility that had been bestowed upon him, too young to fully comprehend the burden he carried. Even now, as an older and more experienced man, it was daunting to say the least but he understood it.

This was his fight; Tom was his enemy and Harry would have to overcome him with whatever resources he could pool together.

(Break)

The mood in the castle had been solemn, those residing within subdued and shocked by what had occurred just outside their walls the previous night. Although little could be seen from such a distance, those that managed to secure a good vantage point were treated to the flashes of spell fire in the distance and the sounds of muffled screaming. What they had been subjected to had been more than enough to remind them of what was happening outside Hogwarts.

The pureblood movement was something that had been whispered about for the past several years, a fantastical entity of power and influence that appealed to some. Last night, the whispers and reality of the nature of this group was borne to wizarding Britain, and it had proven to be nothing short of frightening.

Whilst in the castle, it was easy to forget what was happening outside. That was until the conflict threatened their very peace, reminding them of the tension the world was in. Although it was not discussed openly, all had been aware of it.

Rather anticlimactically, the fighting had stopped as quickly as it had begun, and then there was silence, no news until The Daily Prophet had arrived at breakfast this morning.

The relief had been felt by most, and disappointment by the few that had hoped for the pureblood movement’s victory. Regardless, one thing became clear; Professor Peverell had come to the rescue of the villagers and defeated the Dark Lord the older students had been boasting about.

The picture of Peverell standing amongst the debris in Hogsmeade was one the students would not forget.

To the surprise of James and the other Marauders, classes for the day had been cancelled. Most of the Professors had gone to the village to help where they could, and the school had been inundated with visiting parents wishing to check on their children.

Dorea had arrived shortly after breakfast and likely would have stayed had James not insisted he was fine. His mother was a worrier, but it was embarrassing having her doting on him and asking him questions about his hygiene routine that he had no intention of answering. Eventually, she had taken the hint and left after lunch, much to his relief.

“I really thought you were talking shit when you told us what Peverell did to Bellatrix,” Remus snorted as the evening meal appeared on the house tables.

“No,” James replied. “Peverell knows his stuff. I wouldn’t get on the wrong side of him.”

“I doubt anyone will want to now,” Peter piped up. “I bet even Selwyn keeps his trap shut.”

“I saw him when he was leaving the castle,” Lily broke in. “He was running but was also really calm about the whole thing.”

“That’s just him,” James returned. “He was the same when he fought Bellatrix.”

“I’ve been reading about his family,” Lily revealed. “Did you now that you’re related to him?”

James nodded, masking his surprise that she managed to come across that piece of information.

“I did,” he confirmed. “One of his lot married a Potter centuries ago. What else did you learn,” he asked curiously.

“Mostly rumours and fantasy stories,” she answered. “His family was chosen by death to right the wrongs in the magical world. That three of the Peverell’s tricked death into giving them the Deathly Hallows.”

“Deathly Hallows?”

Lily rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Three items of great power gifted to them by death. An unbeatable wand, a stone that can raise the dead and a cloak of true invisibility.”

“An invisibility cloak?” Sirius questioned, distracting Lily from James choking on his pumpkin juice.

“Apparently so, but none of them have ever been found. I suspect they were just very gifted, powerful wizards and maybe gifted at necromancy. No one has ever possessed any of the Hallows from what I can tell.”

“Prongs…”

Sirius cut Peter off with a sharp kick under the table, eliciting a yelp from the rotund boy, and silencing him with a follow up scowl.

“It’s all made up, of course,” Lily insisted. “Probably rumours started by the Peverell’s to scare people.”

Marlene snorted from next to her friend.

“You’re forgetting something, Lils. Professor Peverell does not need those rumours. He is terrifying,” she added pointing to a copy of the morning paper that remained on the table from breakfast.

“Nah,” Sirius chuckled. “Peverell’s alright unless you piss him off. Bella found that out and so has this Dark Lord. I bet he feels like a proper idiot now.”

Any reply Lily may have given was cut off as the doors to the Great Hall opened and Professor Dumbledore strolled in with Professor Peverell following in his wake. It was odd for James to look upon the man the same way he had, though he didn’t know why.

He was still the same Lord that had joined his family for dinner, had outflown him in an obstacle course and the very same that had been teaching them these past weeks, but there was a presence about him that he had not noticed before.

Peverell was a highly skilled wizard, that was no secret, but learning what he had done to the so-called indestructible Dark Lord, James could not help but look at him with something akin to reverence. Here he stood the same man, yet different too. He was a hero to many, and James felt that same respect for the often-aloof professor within himself.

As such, he was the first to stand and begin the applause that followed, almost every student from every house following suit, grateful for what he had done and more so that they were learning from the absolute best. Even the other professors joined in, and yet, Peverell merely stood, his gaze sweeping across the room, seemingly unmoved by the adoration being bestowed upon him.

After a moment, he took his seat at the staff table. It was Dumbledore that remained standing and gestured for them to retake their places at their own tables.

“I would like to begin by apologising for information not being so forthcoming to you today. Last night was a significant event and I did not wish to break any news that could later prove to be false,” the headmaster explained. “Hogsmeade did indeed come under attack, and yes, it was repelled by a combination of aurors, members of the public and our very own Professor Peverell, who, with great risk to himself, was the first to arrive and put an end to the horrors those that were in the village were subjected to.”

Another round of applause sounded, and Dumbledore allowed it to pass naturally.

“It is not without severity that I say the Wizengamot has met today, and we can expect to see changes coming into place in the future that will help to prevent such things taking place of the likes we witnessed last night,” the headmaster continued. “You will learn of these changes in due course. I know that many of you were concerned for the welfare of Professor Peverell, but as you can see, he is whole and hearty. Earlier this afternoon, it was announced by Minister Bagnold that he will be the recipient of the Order of Merlin First Class for his actions last night, and I am sure you will join myself and the rest of the staff in congratulating him on such an honour.”

The applause that came this time was tumultuous, and this time, Peverell stood and waited for the clapping to die down.

“I do not wish for any of you to be inspired by what I did,” he began, confusing the students. “It was a dangerous and reckless thing to do that could have gotten me killed.”

“Then why did you do it?” a student from the Hufflepuff table questioned.

Peverell looked at him thoughtfully before nodding.

“A great man once told me that there comes a time in your life where you must choose between doing what is right, and what is easy. Last night, I acted in the way I saw was right, and I was fortunate not to be hurt. This war isn’t over and there are those of you in here now that will have to make a similar choice in the coming years. Some will have to decide to what extent they will fight against this pureblood movement, and there will be others faced with the difficult choice of whether they should join them or not. It is not my place to make your minds up for you, but I would urge caution. The Dark Lord is not dead, he will return, and when he does, he will be even more dangerous. Some of you will be faced with difficult choices, I merely do not wish for you to regret them. As such, I would say that if you wish to discuss anything confidentially, I will make myself available for you to do so, as I’m sure the other Professors will also. Do not make choices that could get you killed, not without understanding what it is you are fighting for.”

The room was silent as Peverell retook his seat, being watched curiously by the headmaster who clapped politely for the man, followed by the students.

“What does he even mean?” Peter asked.

“He means that the war is just beginning, and it will get much worse before it gets better,” Lily whispered worriedly.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Peter muttered.

James continued to watch Peverell. He seemed sad in a way, not full of pride nor boasting of his feat as most others would have. He was humble in victory, and it made the teen respect him even more. Now, it wasn’t the hero he thought of him as he was looking at, but a man who had grown up lonely, without a family and who was worried about what was to come.

That didn’t mean that James did not admire him, if anything, he did so even more, and by the looks the other students were giving the man, they did too.

Peverell took his leave of the room only a few moments later, his expression thoughtful, somewhat relieved but still guarded, though he offered James a nod of acknowledgement as he passed, something that elicited a smile from the teen.

(Break)

“Has anyone heard from our lord?” Bellatrix questioned.

The man who had summoned them, the very same that had greeted them at their very first meeting shook his head.

“No, nothing yet, but I have people looking for him. Rest assured, he will return to us.”

“What do we do about Peverell?” Bellatrix pressed.

“We do nothing,” the man returned firmly. “It is for our lord to decide our next steps. For now, remain aware and I will keep you informed. This is but a minor setback in our plans. There is none that can hope to stand against our might. Luck was on Peverell’s side, and when the Dark Lord returns, he will show you his true power.”

Bellatrix nodded and took her leave of the room, leaving Lucius with the masked man.

“What is bothering you, Lucius?”

“Nothing,” the blonde denied. “I am merely in shock by what I witnessed last night. Peverell is…”

“A very dangerous man.”

Lucius nodded.

“Should we be concerned?”

“Perhaps, but not until we have spoken to the Dark Lord. He will know how to proceed from here.”

“Then I will await your instructions,” Lucius replied with a bow, before he too left.

It was all well and good this man offering platitudes and assurances, but it was not him being haunted by Peverell’s raven. The sight of dozens of the birds descending upon him and his companions at Hogsmeade only made his nightmares that much more real to the Malfoy heir.

“Death,” he grumbled unhappily.

The bird continued to haunt him, to plague his dreams. Every time he closed his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of the raven, watching him and repeating that same infernal word over again. It was unnerving to say the least, and yet, nothing he did had granted him respite.

Day or night, whenever he rested, the raven was there, judging him, observing him and seemingly predicting his impending end.

For Lucius, it appeared as though there was no escape from that fate.

(Break)

For Narcissa, the day had dragged, hour after hour spent worried about Harry. She knew he was fine physically, but he had not spoken of how he felt after the duel with the Dark Lord. He had been drained when they returned to the tent, and she had too, her shift having taken a turn for the worse as a result of what happened at Hogsmeade.

She remembered him waking up shortly after they had gone to bed and she had followed only an hour or so later, unable to relax without him.

With no clue as to when he would be back, she had visited her grandmother who had explained that Arcturus had been summoned to a Wizengamot meeting, just as Harry had said would be called. She had whiled away a few hours there, drinking tea and sharing her version of events.

The article in The Prophet did little to assuage her worries. She had suspected it was bad based on the influx of patients, but nothing could have prepared her for the destruction that had been wrought by the purebloods. Much of the village had been destroyed, but amongst it all, Harry had stood, his visage as grim as she had ever seen it.

A hero, the people proclaimed him. Narcissa knew he would not like that, but that was an opinion he would be unable to change. What he had done was heroic and something very few others could have. Even before this, she had been proud of him, had always seen him for the man he was. His actions at the village only confirmed what she already.

Harry was a hero, but not the way people thought.

When her grandfather had arrived in the late afternoon, he had explained that Harry had remained behind with Dumbledore, and Narcissa knew he would go to Hogwarts. She didn’t expect him to be long, so she had returned to his tent to wait for him.

More than anything, she just wanted to see for herself that he was okay, and while she waited, she decided to check his potions trunk. He had passed his NEWT in it a few weeks back, but he still practiced. She knew he didn’t have a passion for brewing as such, but he kept it up anyway.

She nodded satisfactorily as she took in the contents, all arranged and stored as she had shown him their very first night here. It wasn’t until she came across the lone, shrunken jar that she remembered he would tell her about the contents.

She removed and resized it before inspecting the contents.

There were some large fangs in a jar within the larger jar. They were not familiar to her and could belong to any creature. In another jar was around two pints or so of a yellow, viscous liquid, likely a venom of sorts.

The final jar, however, gave her the biggest clue of what type of creature these ingredients came from. It was a skin of sorts, and certainly reptilian in nature. Although it was rolled up, she could see that it was enormous.

A dragon perhaps?

“Are you still trying to figure it out?” Harry’s amused voice startled her from her thoughts.

“You made me jump,” she chastised, scowling at him as he simply grinned in response.

“Any ideas?” he asked as he took a seat next to her on the sofa.

“I would guess it’s a dragon,” Narcissa mused aloud, “but the only venomous dragon is not green,” she added thoughtfully. “So, not a Peruvian Viper tooth.”

Harry shook his head.

“No, it isn’t a dragon and I’ve never seen a viper tooth.”

Narcissa frowned.

“But you’ve seen others,” she said questioningly. “You even told me you outflew one.”

“That happened,” Harry returned. “That was a Horntail and it left me with this,” he explained, rolling up his sleeve and pointing to the large scar on his arm courtesy of the dragon.

“I thought you were joking,” Narcissa gasped. “When did that happen?”

“A long time ago now,” Harry answered cryptically. “I will tell you the story one day, but this one is much more interesting.”

“So, what is it?” Narcissa asked after another moment of inspecting the odd array of ingredients.

“They would be the remains of a very old basilisk,” he answered simply.

Narcissa snorted and her eyes widened when she realised, he was not jesting.

“A basilisk?” she choked.

Harry nodded as he eyed the ingredients within the jar almost fondly.

“She almost killed me,” he muttered somewhat amusedly as he pointed to the puncture wound on his right arm.

“You were bitten by a basilisk?” Narcissa questioned.

“I was, and then healed by the tears of a phoenix,” he confirmed. “It was an unpleasant experience.”

Narcissa shook her head in disbelief.

“And where did you come across a basilisk that big? It must be around sixty-feet long.”

“Something like that,” Harry agreed. “I found her somewhere in this country, and she was not pleased to see me.”

“Well, considering she took a chunk out of you, I think that’s a safe assumption,” Narcissa replied dryly.

Harry chuckled.

“It’s not as though she was herself,” he sighed. “She was enthralled by another who told her to kill me. She was a magnificent creature, despite the biting and eyes of death.”

“A snake was enthralled by someone?” Narcissa asked sceptically.

Harry nodded.

“A parselmouth, the same man that killed my parents.”

“The Dark Lord is a parselmouth?”

“He is,” harry confirmed. “He is a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. I suspect that is why a lot of people follow him, even if he is a half-blood. I expect he uses that connection to lure people in.”

“But the Slytherin line died out or will once Morfin Gaunt dies.”

“Ah, Morfin,” Harry mumbled, not having thought about the man in some time. “He’s in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit. It was his nephew that murdered the muggles. Any guesses who his nephew is?”

“The Dark Lord,” Narcissa whispered.

“Exactly. He is the son of Merope Gaunt and a muggle by the name of Tom Riddle, a name he shares with the man that sired him. Merope died during childbirth and little Tom was raised in an orphanage. He was a horrible bugger even as a kid.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I make it a habit to know all I can about someone who wishes me dead. Not that it makes any difference. Half-blood or not, the idiots will still follow him.”

Narcissa nodded her agreement.

“But a parselmouth, isn’t that dangerous for you? He almost killed you with the ability before,” Narcissa pointed out worriedly.

Harry shook his head dismissively.

“I was young then and didn’t understand much. What I’m going to tell you must stay between us for the time being at least. If people learn of it, they will jump to conclusions.”

Narcissa eyed him critically before nodding, her mouth falling agape as he conjured a snake and began hissing at it.

Like a trained puppy, the large cobra wrapped around his shoulders and began nuzzling Harry’s neck with the top of its head.

“You’re a parselmouth too… but how?”

“Somewhere in my family line, a Peverell married a Slytherin. I suppose I inherited it from that or when he tried and failed to kill me. I don’t know for certain.”

“People will think you’re a Dark Wizard,” Narcissa pointed out, smirking.

“At this point in my life, I would agree,” Harry huffed. “I’m not like him but we are not so different in many ways. I have killed and will do so again.”

“But you don’t do it for enjoyment.”

“No, never for fun,” Harry assured her. “Out of necessity.”

“I know,” Narcissa replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Why don’t we talk about something else?” she suggested.

“Like our wedding?” Harry returned with a grin.

“We could,” Narcissa agreed. “It’s not so far away and there are still things that we need to decide on.”

“You’re not going to drag me shopping for fabrics, are you?”

Narcissa laughed heartily at the memory of Harry in the shop.

“No, I wouldn’t want to be embarrassed like that again, but there are other things too, like a dress for me, robes for you and we haven’t even thought about a honeymoon.”

“A honeymoon? I thought that was just a muggle thing.”

Narcissa shook her head.

“No, witches and wizards go on honeymoons too,” she explained. “I have a couple of hours before my shift, maybe we should think about where we would like to go.”

“Somewhere warm would be nice, but not too hot.”

Narcissa smiled, pleased that the subject had been shifted from that of the Dark Lord. Just thinking of him dampened her mood and very much did the same for Harry.

She preferred to see him smiling, just as he was now as he began listing places where they could officially begin their lives together.

Their own house would ultimately be where that truly happened, but that was a subject for another day, and something she was already working on. She knew what home she wanted and knew that Harry would love it just as much as her.

(Break)

Pain beyond pain was all he felt. What Peverell had done to him, he knew not, but it had taken his last vestige of energy to activate his portkey, a last-ditch attempt to avoid being killed or apprehended.

He had arrived back at his muggle relative’s home, every fibre of his being feeling as though it had been doused in icy water. Unable to move, he had merely trembled until darkness took him, and when he woke, he felt only a little better.

He had underestimated Peverell, or perhaps he had overestimated himself?

No, that was not it. Peverell was an enigma, a wizard that wielded magic the Dark Lord had not encountered nor understood, but he would learn of it, and when he did, Peverell would no longer be a threat.

The Dark Lord was on the verge of victory until the ghostly figure had come forth. Whatever the being was, it had sapped him, and he was yet to feel his magic begin healing him. He had, however, stopped trembling and could feel a gentle tingling returning to his limbs, but it would take time.

Nonetheless, his desire for his vision to come to fruition had not been quelled nor had his passion wavered. If anything, the Dark Lord was more determined than before, and this was but a setback. He would recover, he would learn of his foe and he would overcome as he always had.

It would take more than Harry Peverell to put an end to Lord Voldemort.

(Break)

With Narcissa having left for her shift at St Mungo’s with the pair no closer to agreeing on a honeymoon destination, Harry’s thoughts had shifted back to his dream with the cloaked figure.

“I have merely bought you time, use it wisely, Peverell.”

He would, and that was what brought him to Godric’s Hollow in the early hours of the morning, a place he had once dreamed of seeing, but never had. His parents were not buried here now, and likely wouldn’t be in his lifetime if he could prevent it, but still, he felt a sense of sadness wash over him at the thought of them.

They didn’t know who he was and never would, but he had accepted that. So long as the same fate did not befall them, he would be content with knowing that had not been taken before their time.

However, it was not thoughts of them that had brought him here but the revelation that the Peverells had been laid to rest within this very graveyard.

It took him a surprisingly short amount of time to locate the graves of the three brothers, and another odd feeling washed over him. They had been dead for almost a millennium, but he had spoken to them and even carried a part of each one within himself.

“Ignotus…Cadmus…Antioch,” he murmured, taking in each of the headstones he stood before.

According to the cloaked figure, the book would present itself to him, but as he stood here, nothing happened.

With a shrug, his placed his hand on the stone belonging to Antioch and removed it suddenly as it shuddered and crumbled to dust. Amongst the remains, he found half a book, the back bound in thick leather and the parchment yellowed with age. The writing was unfamiliar, though neat and the language different but still English.

The next stone, this one belonging to Cadmus followed, revealing the second half of the book, the front cover matching the back, though embossed on the front was an image of a raven with white eyes, perched upon the shoulder of a cloaked figure, with two matching others on either side. The Peverell coat of arms was below it, and above, the words; Mors Scriptor Magicae.

Harry shrunk and pocketed the book before turning his attention to the grave of Ignotus, the man where his own line descended from. When he placed his hand upon the stone, it too crumbled but within the remains was only a single piece of parchment.

With a frown, Harry lit the tip of his wand and began to read.

To whom has found this missive,

Were I here to greet you, I would as a son’s son and so forth, for you are of a son or daughter of mine. You must be so to read my words.

If you are here, then you are in search of your heritage, your birth right. If you have come alone, then I fear your journey is wasted. Steps have been taken to preserve what we once were; those that mastered Death.

To release our secrets, there must be one from each line of the family, a feat that is no longer possible. My Uncle perished without heir to name and our family dwindles still. I know not why I write to you, son of mine, for my words will not bring joy.

I was charged with the protection of our secrets, the cloak my father possessed the only remaining gift of Death still belonging to our family. The stone is gone, as is the wand, but it will never recognise another as it did a Peverell. The magic is ours and ours alone to wield. Others may possess it, but they can never hope to be its master. Only one of our line can master such a wand.

Our magic is gifted by him, his chosen to carry out the work that he cannot.

Our secrets are hidden and shall remain so unless he once more has need of us. I have seen to that.

Should you have need, you must convene with him, the souls of my father and Uncles are his to command and I wish you the best in your efforts. If you find the book, it is by his will, and son of my son, may he guide you on your path.

Fortune to you.

Adorjan Peverell, Son of Ignotus

Evidently, Harry did have need as he now possessed the book, all three Hallows, and had convened with Death. All that remained was to read the former.

He would need to be ready for his next encounter with Voldemort, after all.