Whispers of a Raven - Declaration

The Dark Lord fought the urge to smirk as he exited his pensieve and re-joined Commodus Selwyn and his idiot nephew. The man was an ass; Peverell had spoken truthfully, though he had to be seen to be somewhat sympathetic at the very least. He wasn’t, however, going to act against Peverell as the Selwyn’s wished. As far as Lord Voldemort was concerned, Alexander got much less than he deserved.

“I do not see how this is my concern,” he said with a shrug.

“Not your concern, my lord?” Commodus sputtered indignantly. “The bastard embarrassed my family in front of the entire alley!”

Alexander nodded dumbly at his uncle’s side.

“No,” Voldemort denied. “Alex embarrassed himself and your family by targeting a woman from a better family than your own.”

“She is a filthy whore who cavorts with mudbloods!” Alexander spat.

“And yet, she is born of the Black family,” the Dark Lord countered patiently, though he felt nothing of the sort.

The two men were beginning to test his patience.

“You spat on a woman and her child and expected no repercussions. That was a stupid thing to do. Not only that, you did it in front of perhaps the most sought-after lord in the country. You are fortunate he was merciful and only shamed you.”

Had the Dark Lord been of such a disposition, he would have cursed Selwyn within an inch of his life. Alas, he cared not for others and certainly not enough to intervene on their behalf.

Peverell was certainly a different man to himself, but one he found himself respecting. He was strong, assertive and had handled the situation admirably whereas Selwyn had done so pathetically.

Not that he could truly blame the buffoon for his stupidity. From what he had seen of the family thus far, the trait was hereditary. Still, brash fools had their uses, and he did not wish to alienate them away from his cause.

“Lord Peverell is still finding his place in our world,” the Dark Lord offered diplomatically. “He will learn our ways, but he should be guided on his path. I have some advice for you, should you choose to listen, of course.”

Commodus frowned but nodded.

“Apologise,” Voldemort urged.

“Apologise?” Selwyn blustered.

“Both of you, separately of course. Express your regret of how your nephew acted and you may well salvage a future, fruitful relationship with him,” Voldemort explained before turning to the younger Selwyn, “and you, say that you have spoken to your uncle who helped you see the error of your ways. Offer your apologies and your willingness to repent for what you did.”

“I won’t apologise,” Alexander mumbled petulantly.

“Then I have nothing else to say on the matter,” Voldemort sighed.

The purebloods truly were like spoilt toddlers, unused to not getting their way. It was rather nauseating to deal with and something that became more irksome by the day.

“So, you will not help us?” Commodus huffed as he stood.

“Lord Selwyn, I have tried. It is you that is unwilling to put your pride aside for something much more valuable. I truly hope you change your mind and take the advice I have given.”

“That is unlikely, my lord,” the man returned, bowing before dragging his nephew from the room.

The Dark Lord could only shake his head as his mind drifted back to the memory he had witnessed.

Peverell had quite the presence and was proving to be quite the force. Whatever magic he wielded was different to any other he had seen, the way it manifested, unique.

He had seen the duel the man had with Bellatrix, what he had done to Thomas Avery and now Alexander Selwyn. Peverell was an impressive man, and his raven a rather odd creature.

‘Death’, it would squawk, according to those he had spoken to; that being the only word in its’ vocabulary. It was an eerie bird, and were the Dark Lord not so assured of his own future, perhaps it would be unnerving.

Not to him, however. He would leave the fear to the others as he still hoped that a relationship with the Peverell lord could be fostered. Still, such a thing was for the future.

The Dark Lord’s priority was to establish himself as a power in the wizarding world. With his allies, he had political influence, but that was not enough. He wanted to be feared, for those beneath him to know that he was the best amongst them.

In the coming days, those that did not keep abreast of what had been happening to the muggles would witness his might for themselves, and soon, they would respect and fear Lord Voldemort.

(Break)

“I told you he was bloody brilliant,” James boasted to the other students stood around him.

Being around so many Hogwarts students made Narcissa feel as though she was back at school. Harry had mentioned that he had told James if he got permission to attend a match, he had no problem with it. She doubted, however, that he even guessed almost half the castle would arrive to watch him play.

“That dirty bastard has got hold of Peverell’s broom!” Sirius gasped, eliciting a stare of disapproval from Dorea Potter.

“You may well be out of school, but you will not use language like that,” she chided.

Sirius had the decency to at least look abashed but returned to his display of displeasure only a moment later.

“PUNCH HIM, PEVERELL,” he shouted, followed by cheers of agreement by his fellow students.

Harry did not take the advice. Instead, he turned his broom and swooped into a steep drive forcing the opposing seeker to relinquish his hold to avoid slamming into the ground.

The Hogwarts students jeered at the man, offering some very unpleasant hand gestures as he attempted to recover.

“It will be all over soon, Peverell has seen the snitch,” Arcturus commented, his mood not having been a good one today.

Narcissa suspected she knew why. What had happened in Diagon Alley between Harry and Selwyn had spread throughout wizarding Britain quickly, and she had no doubt that her grandfather had become privy to it.

Throughout the day, he seemed as though he wished to question her about it but seemingly stopped himself from doing so.

“Just as I said,” Arcturus declared as Harry caught the Snitch and an almighty cheer echoed around the small stadium the crowd had been packed into.

“Bloody hell, he should be playing for England,” Remus said loudly over the din. “The seeker there is crap.”

“Perhaps one day he will,” Charlus replied, “but now that the game is over, you will be returning to school.”

The students groaned disappointedly, and Charlus chuckled.

“Your parents only gave you permission to attend the game, not to get up to Merlin knows what when it is over,” he reminded them. “Professor Dumbledore will be waiting for you outside the stadium.”

The other parents that attended began shepherding the students towards the exit where the headmaster would be waiting for them.

“Straight back to Hogwarts, James,” Dorea warned. “I will be very disappointed if I receive a letter telling me you went missing.”

“Ahh, Mum, the disappointment card?”

Dorea nodded firmly.

“Don’t worry, Mrs Potter, I’ll make sure he gets there, or he will be serving detention with Professor McGonagall,” Lily assured the woman.

Dorea offered the girl a smile.

“Thank you, Miss Evans, and it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Bloody hell, Evans,” Sirius grumbled. “Do you ever relax or is that stick always up your arse?”

He yelped suddenly as a stinging hex collided with his rear and he scowled at Dorea as he rubbed it.

“I thought you were the nice Black?” he muttered.

“Whoever told you that?” Dorea returned.

Sirius merely shook his head as he followed the rest of his group towards the exit leaving Narcissa with her grandparents, the Potters and her parents.

“You and Peverell will be joining us for lunch,” Arcturus instructed.

His tone left no doubt that this was not a request and Narcissa nodded stiffly. She hoped her grandfather was not going to make a scene. Harry would not take kindly to that.

“There’s another one to add to your collection,” Harry’s voice sounded, breaking her from her thoughts as he presented another Snitch to her.

It had become something of a tradition that he would give her the Snitches he caught. Already, she had quite the display in her room and it was growing with each passing week.

She was not a fan of Quidditch so much, but the gesture warmed her. She knew how hard Harry worked for each one and the fact that he gave them to her spoke his thoughts. It was sweet and she treasured each of the golden balls.

“Grandfather wishes us to join him for lunch,” she whispered as she embraced him. “I think he has heard about Andi.”

Harry nodded but she felt him tense, and she had feeling that a disagreement between her future husband and head of her house was inbound.

“Come, we will convene at our house,” Arcturus spoke, gesturing between himself and his wife.

A series of apparations later, the eight of them arrived and were led inside by the Black patriarch.

Entering the kitchen, Narcissa saw that the table had already been set and her grandfather’s elf was waiting to serve them. All seemed to be aware of what was about to happen though none were on edge as much as Charlus Potter who was looking warily between Harry and Arcturus as they ate their soup.

“It has been brought to my attention that you were seen in the company of someone who has been expelled from the family,” the latter spoke a moment later, his words directed towards his granddaughter.

“I was,” Narcissa admitted unashamedly.

Arcturus nodded and his steely gaze swept over to Harry.

“And that you assisted her?”

Narcissa noticed Harry’s grip tighten around his spoon as he stared defiantly at her grandfather.

“Her and her child were being spat on by the scum lurking in the alley,” he bit back. “Regardless of who I helped, I would have done the same for anyone who was being treated that way. I despise bullies, Lord Black and I don’t like the way you’re accusing me of doing something wrong.”

“She has been expelled from the family!” Arcturus snapped.

“From yours,” Harry replied evenly. “The last time I checked, my name is not Black, and Narcissa will soon be a Peverell too.”

“You are marrying into this family…”

“No, Narcissa is marrying into mine. Nowhere in that contract that we both signed does it say that you get to dictate who I associate with. Fucking hell, your granddaughter was being spat on and scorned by people not fit to lick her boots and your problem is that I helped her? I only did what you should have been doing.”

“She chose her path! She ran away with the mudblood and now she must deal with the consequences!”

“Arcturus!” Melania gasped.

The tension only mounted as the glass next to Harry’s plate froze, the water within crackling as it turned to ice and shattered into tiny pieces, sending shards tumbling across the table.

“I would remind you that you would consider me a mudblood,” he whispered dangerously. “My mother was born from two muggles and you will not spew that filth around me!”

“I think you both need to calm down,” Charlus interjected. “Harry, go and take a walk to clear your head.”

With a final glare towards Arcturus, Harry did so, exiting the kitchen and through the front door.

“What the hell has gotten into you, Arcturus?” Charlus questioned.

The other man deflated as he shook his head.

“I cannot be seen to be going back on my decision. Andromeda made her choice. It is now common knowledge that Peverell will be marrying Narcissa. The other shits will think I have condoned his actions.”

“You stubborn old git,” Charlus sighed. “Would you prefer he allowed it to happen? Forgetting everything that Andromeda did or didn’t do, is she still not of your blood? I get it, your family traditions are what they are but bloody hell, she is still your family. If you won’t try to fix that, shouldn’t you be pleased that she has people looking out for her?”

Arcturus released a deep breath but said nothing.

“H-how is she?” Druella asked.

“She’s having a difficult time,” Narcissa answered honestly. “Her husband works all the hours he can to make sure they have a home and food, and her daughter is a handful. She’s a metamorph. Very sweet and very mischievous. She looks just like Andi when she’s not changing her appearance.”

“A metamorph?” Cygnus grunted. “Haven’t had one of those in the family for what? Three centuries?”

Arcturus nodded.

“I cannot just welcome her back, not after what she did,” he mumbled.

“Then at the very least, make sure she is okay,” Melania pleaded. “You know my thoughts on this.”

“I will think about it,” Arcturus conceded, “but I need to speak to Peverell first. I allowed my emotions to get the better of me,” he added as he stood.

“I’ll come with you,” Charlus insisted. “Merlin knows the pair of you are hot-headed.”

Arcturus nodded gratefully and the two men took their leave of the room.

“Ten galleons say they end up fighting,” Cygnus chuckled.

“They will not,” Melania huffed. “Your father has been stewing for days. You know what he is like. He’s vented now and his cooler head will prevail. After as many years as he’s lived, I would like to think he has learned to temper his outbursts, but he hasn’t.”

“No,” Dorea agreed. “He’s always been like that, the damned fool.”

(Break)

Harry took a deep breath as he stood by the river that ran through the Black property. He had lost his temper, something that had not happened in such a way for many years. As he had grown, he had learned to control it somewhat, but it had gotten the better of him in the heat of the moment.

He despised his proclivity towards anger. It reminded him of the times he had almost gotten himself or his friends hurt with his emotional impulses and more so that Tom was a hateful and angry person. A part of him could not help but think that if that piece of his soul was missing, he would not be so quick to anger.

From what Sirius had told him, neither of his parents had a short fuse the same way he did. Lily could be fiery if pushed, but not the same way that Harry was volatile. Was this the part of Voldemort within him manifesting himself or was Harry just an angry person?

He would never know. It was odd to think of the two other pieces of soul that had been merged with his own. Antioch evidently had quite the temper as well. Harry may have stepped in to defend Andromeda without the influence of the first holder of the elder wand, but likely differently. He certainly wouldn’t have seized Selwyn by the throat as his first instinct nor would he have desired to truly harm the man. In that moment, however, he had been torn between humiliating him and hurting him.

The former won out on that occasion, something that was likely himself acting. That was what his father had erred towards during confrontations.

Regardless, Harry was noticing these subtle changes within himself.

“I apologise for any offence I caused,” the voice of Arcturus pulled him from his thoughts. “I did not mean to insult your mother.”

Harry shook his head.

“You did,” he countered. “I understand the life you’ve lived has been vastly different to my own and I know, for the most part, you try to not be disparaging around me, but there’s no escaping the truth. I am not a pureblood. I’ve been met with prejudice most of my life because of it, but that’s the way wizarding Britain works. It’s ridiculous and will maybe one day change, but that day isn’t today. Our worlds are different, Lord Black, and maybe we can both be more considerate of the other. I don’t understand what it is like to be raised in the wizarding world and certainly not in a way that would make me hate others for no reason.”

Arcturus nodded his understanding.

“You’re right,” he sighed. “I was raised to believe that I am better than anyone else merely because the blood flowing through my veins. It is the pureblood way for most families, and it is a habit of a lifetime that I cannot simply rid myself of.”

“I know,” Harry replied, “but you must understand that I didn’t help her because of who she was, I did it because of what was happening to her. She was a woman trying to buy her daughter a birthday present and Selwyn attempted to make her life miserable for no other reason than he believes himself better. That is the difference between you and the others,” he continued, turning to face the older man. “You have these beliefs, and as abhorrent as I find them, you leave the muggles, muggleborns and half-bloods be. Most others aren’t like you. That’s why this Dark Lord is rising so successfully.”

“Fucking moron,” Arcturus mumbled.

Harry snorted.

“That he is,” he agreed.

A moment of silence fell over them before Arcturus broke it.

“Thank you, for looking out for her,” he said sincerely. “As angry as I get about what she did, you’re right. She is still family.”

Harry nodded.

“She is and that is what I find so hard about all of this. I lost my family before I got to know them, and you’ve let something so petty as her choice of husband turn you and the rest of the family away from her. From what I have seen of the pureblood men, she is much better off with who she chose. She is happy and her husband is a good, hardworking man. That is what should be important to you. I know you won’t admit it, but that means more to you than any advantage you could have seized from marrying her to someone else. You allowed Narcissa to marry me when arguably the most prominent family around wanted her. As much as you would have everyone believe, you did it for her because you knew she would be happy.”

“The other security sealed the deal, but yes, even if you had refused my terms, I would have signed the contract,” Arcturus admitted. “With Andromeda, it is different. She went behind my back. I couldn’t be seen to allow such a transgression against me to go unpunished.”

“And now she is being punished by everyone else,” Harry pointed out. “That’s not their place to do that. Any punishment should have been handled and ended with you and now people are taking liberties.”

Arcturus’s nostrils flared at the thought.

“I may be much younger and less experienced than yourself but take it from someone that never had anyone. Allowing them to treat her the way they are doesn’t only reflect badly on you, it pushes her further away than she already is.”

“She won’t come back,” Arcturus muttered. “She’s the most stubborn of us.”

“But you can try.” Harry implored. “She may not come back but that doesn’t mean you can’t look out for her from a distance and even allow her mother to try to make amends. Druella has a granddaughter that she would adore but she will not go against yourself or her husband to see her. Give her your blessing to do so and make some kind of gesture at the very least so Andromeda can walk the streets without being harassed. I will support you with whatever you need.”

“As will I,” Charlus assured the Black patriarch breaking into the conversation. “She might not come back, old friend, but she deserves to live in peace at the very least.”

Arcturus nodded and released an irritable huff.

“I’m either getting soft in my old age or you bastards are just about the most convincing fools I’ve met.”

Charlus chuckled.

“Come on, you soppy old git. Let’s get back inside and enjoy the rest of our lunch.”

Arcturus shook his head but allowed himself to be led back towards the house.

“You know, you could always visit where your ancestors are buried,” Charlus suggested to Harry. “I know it won’t bring them back, but it might give you some closure.”

Harry felt his heart flutter as his last meeting with the cloaked figure came to the forefront of his mind.

“You know where they are buried?” he asked, his mouth feeling suddenly dry.

“Of course, they’re buried in Godric’s Hollow, in the same graveyard the Potters are laid to rest.”

The mention of where his parents had been buried served only to remind him that he had never visited their graves. He had wanted to, but he knew it was one of the places Voldemort would have under constant observation. He would not allow the man the poetic justice of killing him in the same place their fates had first become intertwined.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Harry replied as they reached the front door and re-entered the house.

“We are fine,” Arcturus assured the others without preamble as he took his seat once more.

Dorea nodded satisfactorily. Cygnus and Druella did not appear to be convinced.

“Are you s…”

“I said we are bloody fine!” Arcturus snapped, cutting his son off.

Melania put her hand over her husbands and offered him a look of exasperation.

“Arcturus,” she prompted.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “We are fine. We had a difference of opinion, but it has been solved.”

Harry nodded and Narcissa squeezed his leg under the table.

“You know, despite your differences, you two are quite alike,” Dorea commented.

“We are not,” Harry and Arcturus denied in unison, eliciting a bout of laughter from the others.

“She did that on purpose,” Harry grumbled.

“Ha! You should try growing up with her. Little Dory was much worse,” Arcturus replied.

“You will not call me that again,” Dorea commanded. “Not unless you would like me to share mother’s pet name for you?”

“Oh, I have to hear this,” Charlus grinned.

“You will say nothing,” Arcturus said heatedly to his sister, his ears reddening slightly from embarrassment.

“Then you will apologise.”

“Fine, I’m sorry for calling you little Dory,” he huffed. “Better?”

Dorea nodded and took a sip of her tea, content that she had come out on top.

“You two are insane for wanting to involve yourselves with one of this lot,” Arcturus snorted at Harry and Charlus. “The Black madness isn’t what you lot think. It’s much worse. The women are full of sass and insubordination. Enjoy the rest of your life, Peverell,” he finished raising his glass towards Harry.

“At least you are being forewarned,” Charlus muttered. “I didn’t get that.”

“I needed someone to take her off my hands,” Arcturus explained, pointing to his sister who raised an eyebrow in his direction. “You were so keen to do so. Who was I to deny you?”

“Maybe I need to see the contract again,” Harry commented amusedly.

“Too late, it’s been signed,” Arcturus reminded him. “You’re stuck with her now.”

Harry laughed, though he could feel the glare of the blonde seated next to him burning into the side of his head.

“Well, I could have done much worse for myself.”

Narcissa’s glare turned into a smile, though she was far from amused. She would get the last laugh; she always did in any back and forth. Her wit was as sharp as her grandfather’s tongue. It was one of the things Harry admired about the woman. Her dry sense of humour never failed entertain him.

“Alright,” Arcturus declared, putting an end to the light-hearted back and forth. “Having discussed it with Peverell, this is how we are going to proceed.”

Those seated around the table waited for him to speak, each of them in anticipation for their own reasons.

“Despite what Andromeda has done, she still carries our blood. I will deal with the shits that think they can take liberties with her,” Arcturus declared. “She may not wish to come back, but she has suffered enough. That is my decision.”

Melania positively beamed at her husband and kissed him on the cheek.

“Druella, if you wish to, you have my blessing to contact her and beginning mending your relationship. Our family is shrinking, and I will not be part of the downfall.”

“Thank you,” the woman replied, her eyes glistening with the relief she felt.

“Now, I don’t care what the rest of you do, but I would like to finish my lunch in peace,” Arcturus grumbled, helping himself to a sandwich.

Harry had already respected Arcturus Black, but with only a few words from the man, he had gone up considerably in his estimations. He was of a different generation, his views questionable at best. However, he was trying to do right by his family and Harry could not have asked for much more from the man.

(Break)

Abraxus sipped his whiskey, grunting bitterly as the wards alerted him to the arrival home of Lucius. Losing out to Peverell for the younger Black sister had been quite the blow, but Lucius seemed to be taking it worse than the Malfoy patriarch. For the most part, he kept to his room, leaving only when his new master called for him.

Abraxus was no fool. He could see what was happening around him. War was on the horizon and he found that he no longer cared.

His only son had, against his wishes, involved himself with a man who believed he could overthrow the British government.

“Fool,” he muttered.

Not that Abraxus did not admire ambition. This, however, bordered on lunacy. There would be no winners in the conflict, just needless death.

He had tried to forbid Lucius from becoming embroiled in the recklessness of the Dark Lord, but to no avail. Lucius was too young and foolish to understand the repercussions, a fault that would be to the detriment of the Malfoy family.

No matter what happened, the Malfoys would be shamed, scorned by the rest of wizarding Britain, the reputation Abraxus’ ancestors had cultivated in ruins.

He raised his glass to his lips once more, snarled as he realised it was empty and threw it against the wall where it smashed into pieces.

Dragging his hand through his hair, he couldn’t help but feel that everything he had worked for was collapsing around him. His heir no longer listened to him, a war was brewing and there was no prospect of his line continuing beyond what lived now.

He needed to find Lucius a wife. That was the one problem he faced that could be solved, but whom?

Weighing up his options, he snorted. None of the women available were worthy of his son or being the next Lady Malfoy.

Still, one would have to do.

After all, with how bleak the future appeared to be, the best he could hope for was Lucius to produce an heir before everything crumbled into dust.

(Break)

“Tonight is the night, my friends,” the Dark Lord whispered, his gaze locking with each follower he considered his most loyal, his inner circle. “They have ignored our actions, have merely cleaned up the chaos we leave in our wake. After tonight, they will not be able to do such a thing, they will be able to ignore us no longer. Now, is the time we make our stand, prove that it us that stand head and shoulders above those not worthy.”

His followers nodded like the loyal dogs they were.

“Bella, you will lead the charge with your group. The others will follow you.”

“And what about you, my lord? Will you join us?”

Voldemort nodded.

“I will be watching and directing our allies,” he explained. “The Dementors are hungry. Who are we to deprive them any longer?”

“What of the werewolves?” a masculine voice queried.

“It is not a full moon. That will not be a concern for much longer, but they are vulnerable at present. They will remain behind this evening,” the Dark Lord explained. “Now, prepare yourselves. We leave when the sun sets.”

(Break)

Being seated amongst the Hogwarts Professors was a surreal experience, one he had never even considered the possibility of. For Harry, Hogwarts had always been his haven away from the Dursley’s, and later Voldemort, though the latter was rather relative. No matter how safe Dumbledore had proclaimed the castle to be, Tom had always found a way to get to him within. Nonetheless, he would much rather deal with the Dark Lord than his relatives.

He was at his first staff meeting, something he never knew existed, but should have. It was simply one of the things about his schooling that he hadn’t given thought to.

“I thank you all for joining me,” Dumbledore began with a quill in hand and stack of parchment on the table in front of him.

It was rather odd to see the man acting in his official capacity. His time with the man had always been rather informal. Even when acting as headmaster, he never made it feel that way. Perhaps that was what made him so good at the job?

Dumbledore had a way of disarming people, his benevolence and warm demeanour rarely shifting.

“Of course, welcome to Professor Peverell. His appointment was rather sudden, and we did not get to formally greet him as a group.”

Harry returned the smiles and waves sent his way with a nod of acknowledgement. Most of the faces here were not familiar. He knew Slughorn, Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall, of course, but the others were different.

“We will begin with you, Professor Peverell. What are your thoughts thus far?” Dumbledore questioned.

“In defence, a considerable number of students are woefully behind where they should be. I can only assume that is down to the regular changing of instructors. With that being said, I am working hard with the fifth and seventh years to ensure they are ready for their OWLs and NEWTs at the end of the year. Their progress is good, and they should all receive passing grades.”

Dumbledore offered him a bright smile before scratching away with his quill.

“Excellent,” he declared. “Any causes for concern that need to be raised?”

“Only one student has given me pause. Severus Snape,” Harry revealed.

“Severus?” Slughorn questioned in disbelief. “He is a little rough around the edges, I admit, but he is an excellent student when he is not getting mixed up in mischief with the Gryffindors in his year.”

“He is,” Harry agreed, “but he is also a rather accomplished Legilimens and Occlumens. I have discussed the responsibility of studying such magic with him, but it is something you should all be aware of.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied with a frown. “He could find himself in trouble should he abuse it. Thank you for bringing that to our attention. I assume he…”

“He tried,” Harry replied, “but I warned him of the dangers into delving into the mind of a stranger and of the possible consequences. I don’t expect he will try again with me.”

“No, I don’t expect he will,” Dumbledore sighed, taking a few more notes.

“Minerva, do you have anything to say?”

“Gryffindor House has been rather subdued,” the transfiguration mistress explained. “The usual four have been behaving though I suspect it is only because I told them that I would not allow Professor Peverell to run his Quidditch workshop if they did not. I can only imagine the carnage they will cause when that is not hanging in the balance.”

Dumbledore chuckled as he nodded.

“Filius?”

“Nothing to report other than that the Ravenclaws are happy they have, what they call, a competent defence Professor. You are working wonders with the students, Lord Peverell and they are grateful to have you.”

Harry offered the man a respectful bow.

Flitwick had always been one of his favourite professors. It was difficult not to enjoy his contagious joy when in one of his charms classes.

“Pomona?”

“The Hufflepuffs are content from what I have seen. Some nerves from the fifth and seventh years, but they’re coping.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Dumbledore responded before turning his attention to Slughorn.

The man slumped in his seat and shook his head.

“Talk of the Dark Lord is increasing, as is support for him,” he sighed. “Not a day goes by where there isn’t some unpleasantness within the common, though they try to cover it up. Jugson, MacNair, Selwyn and the Carrows are at the centre of it all, but no one is speaking up. I’m afraid that as soon as they leave these walls, they will throw their lot in with him.”

Dumbledore nodded severely.

“Watch them, Horace, as best you…”

His words were interrupted by the arrival of a glowing, ethereal Yorkshire terrier patronus.

“Albus, you need to get to the village, it is being attacked. Fabian and I will hold them off as much as we can, but hurry!”

Harry immediately shot to his feet.

“They’re close to the school,” Dumbledore said urgently. “The students must be protected.”

“Then do what you need to,” Harry urged, “I will get to the village and help out. Send for the rest of the Order and the aurors.”

“We will catch up,” McGonagall called as Harry charged through the door and headed towards the exit.

“Professor, what’s happening?” Lily asked, evidently on her prefect rounds.

“Nothing to worry about, just make sure everyone remains in their common rooms,” he instructed, his pace continuing.

In only a matter of moments, he made it to the gates that led out of the grounds, slipping through them as they closed. Dumbledore had timed his implementation of the castle defences just right, though Harry did not dwell on it.

He could see flashing lights ahead and the sounds of screams in the distance. Thinking of the basement beneath Honeyduke’s he had used many times during his unpermitted excursion out of the castle during his third year, he vanished with a crack.

(Break)

“Nice one, Gid,” Fabian praised as another masked intruder fell to his twin’s wand.

What he had hoped would be a quiet even of drinking with his brother had suddenly devolved into a frantic dash to escape or finding an advantageous position to defend yourself from.

Gideon and Fabian had always worked well together, and so far, none of the attackers had made it past the threshold of The Three Broomsticks. Where they had come from was anyone’s guess, but they were here, and the redheads had taken it upon themselves to defend the pub.

There were families present, and not to mention their favourite ale was stocked here. Of course, they wouldn’t allow the robed figures to run riot anywhere they appeared, but they had more reason than any to defend those within.

The children here were of a similar age to their young nephews. That alone spurred them into action.

“Watch out Fab!” Gideon warned, felling a man attempting to climb through an open window to his right.

“Cheers,” Fabian offered gratefully, glancing over his shoulder to see how the evacuation process was going.

It was slow. The anti-apparation wards that had been erected prevented leaving the easy way. It was just a stroke of luck that a worker in the Department of Magical Transportation was in the pub and attempting to repair the floo that had been disabled.

“How are we doing?” Fabian questioned the bespectacled man.

“I’m trying,” he replied hurriedly.

Fabian nodded and returned to his vigil. It would not help matters putting the man under more pressure.

“Shh,” Gideon hushed, his expression speaking of the confusion he felt. “It’s cold,” he whispered.

It had gone eerily quiet without warning and Fabian felt the chill too, a coldness that seeped into his bones.

“It can’t be,” he muttered. “GID!”

His brother had slumped forward, his wand clattering to the floor as he fell victim to the effects of the Dementors. Fabian too felt himself weakening, though it only lasted a moment.

A sudden whistling sound was emitted from somewhere in the village, and the backlash of the wards collapsing washed over him, sobering the pair immediately.

“Albus,” Gideon whispered.

Silence reigned once more and the chill of the Azkaban guards remained, though it was now bearable. The brothers and those waited in the pub with bated breath to see what would happen next. It came without warning, the sound of flapping wings and accompanying screeches.

“DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!”

The words were spoken in all directions until they faded into whispers, as though the ravens were speaking into their ears.

Fabian hurried towards one of the windows and looked out, his eyes widening in surprise.

The streets of Hogsmeade were aflame, the destruction wrought not something any who witnessed the devastation here would forget. There were bodies, some undoubtedly belonging to the attackers but many more of the residents and those visiting. His stare, however, was not drawn to the damage, but to the lone figure walking towards the large group of silent, masked figures clad in black.

“Bloody hell, it’s Peverell,” Fabian whispered, shuddering as another wave of cold froze him to the core. “Merlin, there must be every Dementor from Azkaban out there,” he added, squinting to see the barely discernible creatures floating above in the evening sky.

“Come on, Fab, out the back,” Gideon urged. “We can circle round and help him until the rest get here.”

Fabian nodded nervously and followed his brother.

All he’d wanted was a peaceful drink.

(Break)

Harry had not account for anti-apparation wards being in place, an error on his part but the one flaw they had was that they were designed to keep people within an area, not out. Thankfully, Dumbledore had taught him what to do when confronted with such, and his years on the run had given him more than enough practice when he’d found himself cornered by snatchers or Death Eaters who had tried the same tact.

To their own detriment, he had become exceptionally good at creating gaps in wards and collapsing simpler ones entirely. The elder wand had helped, of course, but now it was almost as though it was a part of him.

This ward, like the others that had come before it, failed as he apparated through, bringing it down with a rather unpleasant whistling.

He had not intended on announcing himself into the fray like this, but it was done now and could not be helped.

Oddly, it seemed that all activity had ceased upon his arrival into the basement where the smell of smoke and other unseemly odours had crept in from the streets above. He knew not what to expect when he emerged, but he held little hope for anything good.

He paused as he went to take his first step up the staircase, a familiar cold washing over him, though it felt less oppressive than he remembered.

“Dementors,” he muttered.

He did not fear the cloaked figures. At the age of thirteen he had repelled dozens of them to save himself and his godfather. To him, they were nothing more than an old inconvenience. Even the Voldemort he had watched rise from the cauldron the night of the third task had stopped sending them after him when he proved time and again their ineffectiveness.

“Go, Olin,” he instructed as he entered the shop.

With an uncharacteristically gentle squawk, the raven took to the skies, and with a wave of Harry’s wand a flock followed him. Shortly afterwards, the loud cawing started, the conjured birds following Olin’s lead.

“DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!” their voices rang out across the silence and Harry closed his eyes, focusing on his connection to his companion.

“Death,” he whispered.

Soon, the word was whispered amongst the buildings and trees for all to hear, an eerie sound.

Harry was not usually one for such dramatics, but his arrival had not gone unnoticed, and it could only benefit him to make it a memorable one.

The whispers of the ravens continued as he took to the streets that were lined with bodies and debris and his heart sank. It reminded him of where he came from, the violence, the death and exactly what Voldemort and his followers were capable of.

Not that he needed reminding. The faces of those he cared for were burned into his memories, those he had lived with, laughed with and had been proud to call his friends. They were taken by these very people, and if they had their way, they would do so all over again.

“It’s Peverell,” one of the many cloaked figures announced as Harry approached.

“Well, I was expecting much more resistance and certainly not you to show up, Lord Peverell,” Voldemort spoke from where he stood in the middle of his followers, eying Harry curiously.

“I suppose I will have to do for the time being,” Harry returned.

Death…death…death…

The whispers echoed once more, and the Dark Lord’s followers looked around cautiously.

“This does not have to be your fight, Peverell,” Voldemort said diplomatically. “All you need to do is cross the distance between us and fall to your knees in front of me.”

Harry shook his head.

“That is not going to happen,” he replied, “but I will give you and your masked cowards one chance to leave.”

Voldemort looked at him with something akin to surprise and curiosity.

“You do not fear us,” he spoke thoughtfully. “You are a foolish man. These people stood either side of me are not cowards…”

“Then why do they not show their faces?” Harry retorted. “Cowards hide behind masks and attack in the night. Have you not only been attacking defenceless muggles until now? Very brave of you all.”

“Let me show him the error of his ways, my lord,” one of the followers spoke.

“You see, Peverell, my Death Eaters do not fear you,” Voldemort pointed out, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Harry laughed heartily. It had been some time since he’d heard anyone speak the name of Voldemort’s followers.

“Death is not something that can be consumed,” he replied. “Death is the only promise of a life lived.”

Death…death…death…

“It does not have to be that way,” Voldemort countered dismissively, his eyes scanning the surrounding trees in search of the source of the whispering.

“Then you are the fool,” Harry chuckled. “Death will always have their due.”

The temper of the Dark Lord flared at his words, and any sign of amusement etched into the pale features of his adversary faded.

“ENOUGH!” Voldemort snapped furiously, glaring at Harry. “Your foolishness seemingly knows no bounds, but fear not, Lord Peverell. Allow me to show you the power I hold. I believe you are already familiar with the guardians of Azkaban.”

The Dark Lord’s smile returned in full as he raised his arms and the Dementors above him screeched as they began to descend upon Harry who remained unmoved.

None came any closer to him than a few yards before they turned sharply away, taking to the skies once more with a pained shriek.

“Impossible,” Voldemort declared in disbelief, the sight of Harry unharmed still before him leaving the Dark Lord shocked.

“Even beings believed to be immortal flee from death,” Harry replied calmly, though he felt relieved that his inaction proved to be the correct move.

He had been curious about the Dementor’s behaviour since his stint in Azkaban and the subsequent conversation with the cloaked figure led him to believe that they possessed magic something like his own. They either feared him or had no hunger for his soul.

Whatever the reason, they were now one less obstacle he had to deal with.

The Death Eaters were whispering amongst themselves, suddenly unnerved by Harry. Even with Voldemort present, they seemed to be reluctant to engage him.

Harry, however, knew he had to seize the advantage granted to him. It would be short lived, after all. As such, he sprang into action, hoping that the Order and aurors would arrive shortly.

With only a jab of his wand, the sound of flapping wings could be heard, and the cawing began once more as his ravens swooped from where they had perched.

“DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!” they chorused.

“SHIELDS!” Voldemort shouted, erecting one of his own.

Most of the Death Eaters were quick on the uptake and Harry could only watch as several shields were conjured, and his birds began detonating against them. Not all, however, were spared from a gruesome death.

Screams of dying men and women began to rent the air as those not timely enough with their shielding fell victim to his attack.

Harry did not remain idle. Not wanting to be on the end of so many wands when his foes gathered their wits about them, he turned and vanished on the spot and watched from a new vantage point as his ravens continued their work.

“COWARD!” Voldemort roared when the last of Harry’s birds were gone and the Dark Lord saw that Harry was no longer stood before him and his followers.

“Coward you say,” Harry whispered, his voice sounding from all over the village. “You outnumber me, and yet, I am the coward. Perhaps you should look at yourself.”

“I AM NO COWARD!” Voldemort denied.

“We will see,” Harry whispered.

“AURORS!” one of the Death Eaters shouted.

In only a matter of seconds, the streets of Hogsmeade were a veritable battlefield as the contingency of aurors that arrived did not delay in engaging and attempting to apprehend the Dark Lord and his followers.

Harry shook his head.

It was a foolish tactic to attempt such a thing when those garbed in black robes and white masks were only too happy to kill those in red. Needless death was abound and the cloaked figure would have a busy night.

“DEATH!” Olin squawked from where he had landed on Harry’s shoulder.

“Yes, old friend,” Harry confirmed. “Death indeed.”

With his only option to help as best he could, he vanished once more, knowing that this was only the beginning of a long conflict.

(Break)

“Bloody hell, did you see that?” Fabian whispered.

Gideon nodded solemnly.

“Peverell has got a pair on him,” he replied. “Why are the Dementors scared of him?”

“Come off it, Gid. You heard the same stories I did.”

Gideon shook his head.

“And how often can you take the word of a drunken buffoon in a pub?” he returned.

“I’ll pay more attention now,” Fabian declared. “You saw it yourself, Peverell didn’t even move, and they avoided him.”

“He’s a strange fellow that one.”

“But one I’d rather have on our side.”

“True,” Gideon conceded. “Now, do we wait for Albus or do we help the aurors?”

“A fine question,” Fabian acknowledged as he aimed his wand towards a fleeing Death Eater, his spell missing as the robed figure ducked. “Damn,” he cursed.

“That’s a sickle for the drink fund,” Gideon snorted. “Come on, brother, let’s see if we can’t get a few more of these bastards.”

(Break)

It was to a scene of chaos that Albus eventually arrived to when he apparated into Hogsmeade. Much to his relief, the aurors were already here as were most of the Order of the Phoenix. Only a short distance away, he could see Gideon and Fabian Prewett working in tandem as they always did, fending off a half dozen robed figures by themselves.

Next to what now remained of Madame Puddifoot’s stood Edgar and Amelia Bones with Alastor Moody, locked in a heated exchange with more of the Dark Lord’s followers, these ones seemingly proving to be quite the handful.

Albus had eyes for only one, however.

His former student was outside the post office at the end of the street, indiscriminately cutting down the swathe of aurors attempting to subdue him.

Their efforts were for nought, and even though each that tried were grievously wounded, they continued to try.

Unable to stomach such slaughter, Albus knew he had to do something. He was under no illusion that Tom had grown to be an exceedingly powerful wizard, but he was perhaps the only person capable of forcing a stalemate with the man.

With a sombre nod, he disapparated and appeared a safe distance away, arriving in time to intercept an unpleasant rotting curse aimed at a helpless auror.

“I thought you would be cowering in your school after our last meeting, old man,” Tom commented.

“You thought wrong,” Dumbledore replied, readying himself.

“You cannot hope to defeat me, headmaster,” the Dark Lord said smugly.

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore conceded, “but one never knows unless they try.”

Voldemort nodded as he levelled his wand at the older wizard and the two began another duel in vain.

(Break)

They scattered before him, the robed and masked men and women firing spells over their shoulders as they fled. For Harry, it was a simple task of batting them aside as he made his way through the village, assisting the Order members and aurors who appeared to be facing adversity in their endeavours to apprehend the Death Eaters.

Thus far, they were failing miserably. Any who found themselves stunned or bound in ropes were freed by their comrades and re-joined the fight without injury.

The only person Harry saw not taking such an approach was Alastor Moody who, as always, fought with equal force that he was met with. The man was certainly no stickler for the rules that supposedly bound him.

Seeing this, the Death Eaters began avoiding him also, choosing to attack those that were not so liberal with the spells they were willing to use.

It was when he neared the end of the high street that he saw a familiar flash of white beard where Dumbledore and Voldemort were locked in a battle that no other seemingly wanted to involve themselves with. The two were given a wide berth as they exchanged spells and bouts of magic most could only dream of being able to wield.

Harry shared no such reluctance with the other battling men and women.

With a growl and the hopes he could put an end to his nemesis, he stalked towards the pair, his eyes widening as Dumbledore was sent sprawling, bereft of his wand.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” Voldemort roared triumphantly, only to balk as a flash of fire intercepted his spell rendering Fawkes little more than a pile of ashes on the ground between the Dark Lord and the headmaster.

Undeterred, Voldemort raised his wand once more and Harry sent a banishing charm towards the downed headmaster, sending him out of the path of the sickly green spell.

“Peverell!” the Dark Lord growled irritably. “You have become quite the nuisance this evening.”

Harry said nothing. No words were needed to be exchanged between the two of them.

With a wave of his wand, two scythes of fire were sent arcing either side of Voldemort who ducked to avoid them, his eyes calculating as his conjurations collided, exploding in a shower or sparks and burning his robes in the process.

The fire was snuffed out with but a flick of his own and his eyes narrowed in anger, the crimson visible in the dark of night.

His rebuttal came in the form of a gouging curse, followed quickly by a series of blood-boiling, puncturing and bone-splintering curses, all of which Harry avoided or swept aside.

These spells were nothing new to the younger man. He had spent the past years defending himself against them, though Voldemort was much faster than any of his followers had been.

The spells continued, came at a blistering pace, and he was hard-pressed to deflect or move away from. Occasionally, he was forced to shield, something he was loath to do.

He did not, however, remain defensive for long. Voldemort relied heavily on being able to overwhelm his opponents with volume and obscure magic that was not easy to defend against. Dumbledore had told him this and Harry was not going to ignore the advice from the man that had survived the Dark Lord more times than any other.

People rarely managed such a feat and the headmaster had done it on numerous occasions.

With that in mind, he responded with a flurry of his own, catching Voldemort off guard who was evidently assured of his tactics.

There was something rather satisfying about forcing the man that had caused him such misery to shield and even have to throw himself to the ground to avoid a spell he did not recognise.

Harry’s satisfaction was only momentary.

Unwilling to remain on the backfoot, Voldemort sent forth a stream of fire in a bid to regain his composure.

It worked. Harry was forced to abandon his attack as he delt with the approaching flames, the bubbling of the ground beneath telling him this was no ordinary fire.

With considerable effort, he managed to quash them, only to find himself needing to duck as Voldemort resumed his interrupted onslaught, lashing at him with spell after spell that Harry struggled to defend against, let alone offer any offense of his own.

Any spell he did manage to cast was defended against easily, and it became quickly apparent that he was outmatched. Voldemort was barely breathing labouredly, and Harry was certainly feeling the fatigue set in.

If he did not do something quickly, he would soon be overwhelmed.

The sudden feeling that something was happening with his wand washed over him, the same way it did during the attack at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Harry could only look on as a familiar, ethereal figure burst from the tip of his wand and charged towards a shocked Voldemort whose shield did nothing to prevent the attack.

The cloaked being of his dreams, though not black here, sent Voldemort crashing through the wall of the post office, the sound of breaking glass and crumbling bricks bringing the battle to a standstill as aurors, Death Eaters and Order members looked on in awe at what they were witnessing.

“Death…death…death…” the whispers sounded, and the followers of the Dark Lord began vanishing, activating their portkeys at the sight of their master being bested.

Harry stared at the figure that offered him a bow before dissipating into a cloud of white mist that entered his wand, returning to whence it came.

“Check the building,” Moody commanded a group of aurors. “I want him arrested and held with every spell you can think of.”

The aurors began sifting through the remains of the building and Harry found himself accosted by a limping, though smiling Dumbledore, cradling a tiny bald bird.

“Thank you, Lord Peverell,” the man offered gratefully. “Were it not for your intervention, I fear that I, like many others would have fallen.”

Harry nodded as he took in the devastation around him, the bodies of the aurors and the still burning buildings.

“HE’S NOT HERE,” one of the searching aurors announced. “He’s bloody gone.”

Harry surged forwards, shifting the debris with his wand work until there was nowhere left for a body to be concealed. All that remained was a few burnt pieces of the robes Voldemort had been wearing and a scorch mark where he had landed.

Harry released a deep breath as he shook his head.

He should have known it would not be so easy.

“How’re you doing, Peverell?” Moody growled from next to him.

“Would be better if he was dead,” he replied.

Moody nodded.

“Aye lad, but you fought well. You got the respect of many a tough bastard out here tonight. Hold your head up high, son. None of us could do what you did.”

With a firm clap on Harry’s shoulder, Moody was gone, and the younger man deflated.

He was exhausted from his efforts and wanted nothing more than to go home. The appearance of Minister Bagnold put any notion of such an easy escape to rest.

After a muttered conversation with Moody, she approached him and Dumbledore, her expression full of concern.

“I will be calling an emergency meeting of the wizengamot in the morning. I would like you both to be there. Worry not, Peverell, there is nothing for you to answer to. From the little I know, we would have lost much more without your assistance.”

Harry nodded.

“It is time for us to leave any grievances we once had in the past. Tonight, has proven that this threat is greater than anything we have faced in recent History. I would like to hope that I can count on both of you for support for what is to come.”

Harry said nothing as the woman took her leave.

Her words were spoken as a true politician, though they were not so empty. She was deeply upset by what happened, but it changed nothing for Harry. She had lost any trust she may have gained from him with her previous actions. He would work with her when needed, but he would never consider Millicent Bagnold an ally.

“How many died?” Harry asked the headmaster.

“Twelve aurors and thirty-three civilians,” Dumbledore confirmed sadly. “Any of the Dark Lord’s followers that fell were burnt by their comrades.”

“Then nothing has changed,” Harry sighed. “We have no prisoners, no bodies to identify and no Dark Lord to show for anything.”

Dumbledore shook his head.

“On the contrary, I fear it will only get worse now that the war has truly begun.”