Whispers of a Raven - How Dreams Do Differ

Chapter 7: How Dreams Do Differ

Albus Dumbledore stroked the plumage of his companion as he sucked thoughtfully on a sherbet lemon, the bitter yet sugary treat doing little to assuage his concerns; Wizarding Britain was changing around him, and not for the best.

Alastor had been keeping him informed of what the group of what appeared to be pureblood supremacists were up to. What he learned left him feeling unsettled, especially since little was being done to combat the threat they posed. With each successful attack, they became bolder and more brazen. He had heard some rather unpleasant tales of the aftermath the aurors came upon.

He had hoped that Millicent would have taken these occurrences more seriously, but she had yet to. He would not pretend to know her thoughts on the matter, but evidently, they were not as urgent as his or of the veteran auror who kept him posted.

It was becoming truly worrying, the movement gathering more followers with each passing day it would seem.

If the Ministry did not act soon, another avenue would have to be explored, one he was loath to take but would if necessary.

The attacks, however, were not all that had been occupying his thoughts. Ever since he had laid eyes on the Lord Peverell, he had been curious and had done all he could to sate such, but to no avail.

There was nothing to be found other than what Narcissa Black had explained; The man had been found floating in the River Thames and brought to St Mungo’s.

There was no registration of his birth, no files accessible in the Ministry archives. It was as though the man had fallen from the sky for all that could be discovered about him.

It was odd that Peverell’s arrival coincided with these attacks. Was he somehow linked to them?

Albus knew not but he was determined to get to the bottom of it. A family line returning after almost a millennium was unheard of.

He turned his attention to the wand he had won some thirty-years prior and shook his head.

It was no longer his, no longer functioned as it had for him which led the headmaster to believe that Peverell was who he claimed to be. Why else would the wand stop working for him unless it had become aware of a new master?

Albus did not know. He did not understand the intricacies of wandlore and certainly not the type of magic that created this one. It was cold and unyielding, nothing like the magic he had felt around him his whole life.

With a sigh, he placed it on his desk.

It may no longer answer to him but that did not mean he would be handing it to Peverell. It could well be nothing but a coincidence that the man arrived during perhaps the tensest atmosphere he had known since Gellert was at the peak of his reign in Europe, but he would not take such a risk.

If Peverell was involved, Albus would only be handing him a weapon of great power and he would not do that.

Only time would tell what Peverell’s intentions were, and if he was found to be in cahoots with this pureblood movement and had only saved Lady Bones to rid himself of suspicion, Albus would find out.

He would not sit idly by and watch Britain crumble until Millicent acknowledged that the country was under a severe threat.

(Break)

The training missions, or so they were called, did not elicit a sense of bloodlust or euphoria within him as it seemed to the others clad in the dark robes and white masks. He did not attack the muggles with reckless abandon or in a frenzied flurry of spells to maim and debilitate, but it stirred something. Perhaps it was the vulnerability of his foes; the helplessness, the begging and the pleading that made him feel this way. He could not be certain, but it excited him in ways nothing else ever had.

His nose wrinkled as the smell of burning wood and flesh reached him. No, it was not the chaos of the slaughter he enjoyed, the screams of agony nor the blood being spilled of those lesser than him.

It was the power. Here, he was in control, the life of those that were unfortunate enough to find themselves at his mercy in his hands. He decided if they lived or died and even how the rest of their life would be if chose to allow them the former.

Lucius sighed as a muggle ran aimlessly in circles ahead of him, traumatised by what was happening, so much so that he’d lost all sense of clarity.

With a single spell, the man slumped to the ground, unmoving.

The houses around him continued to burn as did the sounds of screaming as his companions went about their work. There was no one here to stop them and he smirked under his mask as he spotted a home that had yet to be claimed.

The metal gate creaked as he pushed it open and the front door offered no resistance as he blasted it off the hinges with a flick of his wand.

He chuckled.

Without wards or any effective way of defending themselves, the muggles truly were lambs for the slaughter.

“W-what d-do you want?” a rotund man stuttered as Lucius stood in the doorway to ascertain what and who were inside.

“With you? Nothing,” he answered, and with a wave of his wand, the man was sent crashing into the wall.

The two women that were with him screamed as the sound of breaking bones could be heard and the man hit the ground with a dull thud.

“Shh, don’t scream,” he said comfortingly, his disguised voice much gentler than his own. “He will be fine as long as he doesn’t interfere.”

He felt the same stirring he always did when he found himself in these situations; the excitement, the power he had manifesting itself in a way one would never understand unless they were to experience it for themselves.

Neither of the women were truly attractive, the older a dumpy woman of around forty-five or so with a mess of curly brown hair that did little for him. The look of fear in her eyes, however, made her that much more appealing and he nodded contentedly.

The other looked very much the same, though younger, maybe in her early twenties. Her daughter perhaps?

He shook his head carelessly, his thoughts occupied by blondes more recently, one in particular. The thought of breaking a strong woman so she resembled the two before him only stoked his desire further. Although they were neither blonde nor strong-willed, they would serve their purpose.

To Lucius, it did not matter. For now, these two were nothing but a means to an end until he got the prize he sought.

He stepped forward and paused as the man groaned, seemingly having regained consciousness.

“I do love an audience,” he muttered before binding him with a thick set of ropes.

He struggled for a moment, but his injuries caused him great pain and he found himself only able to look on helplessly as Lucius loosened his belt and walked slowly towards the younger of the two women first.

Nothing would bring him greater pleasure than hearing the pleas and begging of both parents as he satisfied his needs.

(Break)

The night had been a slow one to begin with, but as the aurors and team of healers that went out into the field when needed began bringing in patient after patient from the latest attack, Narcissa knew her peaceful shift was at an end.

What only made it worse was how the situation would be handled. She was no fool and recognised those brought in as muggles as they more often were now. They would be patched up whilst the damage done by the purebloods was fixed by a Ministry team and then the obliviators would arrive to make them forget what had happened. They would then return to their lives none the wiser to what had happened to them.

She had no love for muggles, didn’t understand their ways but such as what she witnessed left her feeling unsettled. However, she knew that what they did was kinder than the alternative. She couldn’t imagine living with what happened to many of them.

“Black, take these two,” Healer Rawlins instructed, gesturing to two women.

Rawlins was the healer in charge of running the night shift. He was an older gentleman and had seen more than most that worked here. He was thought to be unshakable but even he was disturbed by what he was seeing, his eyes dull and a sheen of perspiration on his balding head.

Narcissa nodded and approached the two shaken muggles. They were almost catatonic, the elder of the two sat next to the younger with her arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“Come with me,” Narcissa said gently so not to startle them.

Still, they jumped but followed mutely, the older holding what could only be her daughter tightly to her.

“My husband?” she murmured as Narcissa led them into a nearby examination room. “He’s here.”

“Then everything possible is being done for him,” Narcissa comforted. “Now, I need to check you both over. Can you tell me what happened?”

The younger woman suddenly began sobbing, the shock of what she had endured giving way to emotional and physical trauma.

Narcissa had seen it before. She would be inconsolable and then angry, something that would not help whilst she was being treated.

“Here,” she offered having removed a calming draught from her medical bag. “It will help.”

The woman looked uncertainly at the contents, but with a little encouragement from her mother, she swallowed it in one and her breathing began slowing after a moment.

“He was an animal,” the mother whispered. “He…”

“It’s okay,” Narcissa assured her as she choked. “I think you should take some too and I will make sure you’re okay.”

The woman nodded and accepted the potion gratefully, seemingly comforted by the fact that her daughter had relaxed considerably.

Narcissa watched as the potion took effect and both women were subdued to where they would be unaware of what was happening.

No matter how often she saw it, more frequently now with how common the attacks were becoming, it never got easier and neither had been treated gently.

Both were covered in bite marks on and around their breasts, the bodies covered with bruises where they had been beaten and defiled in the most sickening of ways.

Narcissa may not have any love for muggles but no one deserved this. Whomever had done this to these women was a vile person and it only made it worse that she knew her sister was associating with them. Did Bella know this kind of thing was happening?

She did not want to know the answer to that question from fear it would be one she could not handle. Narcissa knew that Bella was not a kind person, had a cruel side she constantly warred with, but never would she have imagined that her older sister would be okay with this.

The thoughts plagued her as she went about her work, undoing the damage that had been done to the women until both no longer bore the marks of what had been done to them.

There was little satisfaction to be had from this, but she felt better knowing they would no longer be in pain when they woke and would forget about it soon after.

For all her efforts, however, there would be no justice for them, not in the wizarding world nor in their own.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she was done and the two were both sleeping peacefully, just a drop of sleeping draught proving to be enough to overcome them. She watched them for a few moments before taking her leave of the room.

There was nothing else she could do. In only a matter of hours, the Ministry officials would arrive and then the process would start again when the next attack happened.

“They’re both sleeping,” she informed Rawlins who merely nodded in response.

The seemingly never-ending cycle was beginning to take its toll on the man. From what Narcissa knew of him, he was a muggleborn, had grown up in their world so all of this was hitting him harder than most.

For her, she’d never even visited, had been raised to believe that muggles were inferior, and if anything, what was happening proved it. They had no way to protect themselves from magical folk, were rather pathetic if truth be told, but she was not one of those that wished ill-harm on them. If anything, she wanted nothing to do with muggles and would much rather their two worlds stay separated.

“Narcissa?” a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

She turned and was surprised to be greeted by Lucius who was looking at her with what appeared to be concern.

“I came to speak to you and saw all of this,” he explained, gesturing to the activity going on around them. “What happened?”

“Another attack,” Narcissa replied dismissively, wondering what had brought the man here at this late hour.

“Shame,” he commented in what could have been deemed a sympathetic tone. “I can always come back?” he offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Narcissa sighed, “the worst of it is over now. What did you want, Lucius?”

“To apologise,” he answered simply. “I treated you unfairly during our lunch. I did not try to get to know you and felt that you were doing a disservice by speaking out against Thomas. I allowed an old friendship with a man I had not seen for several years cloud my vision, and I was wrong. I thought I was doing the right thing by a family ally, but it was at the expense of seeing what was in front of me. I would like you to give me another chance to be a better man, without something unpleasant hanging over either of us. Just one more dinner and I will ask nothing more of you.”

She was taken aback by his words, the reservations she had about seeing him again having been acknowledged by the very man before her.

“Slippery bastards,” the voice of her grandfather sounded in her mind, the words reminding her of his beliefs of the motivation behind Lucius wanting to court her.

Could her grandfather be wrong about him? Lucius did look and sound genuine, for what that was worth, and more than enough for her to doubt her assessment of him.

“Okay,” she agreed, already uncertain if she was making the right choice, though the way his eyes lit up at her declaration did ease her mind at least.

“You won’t regret it,” he assured her. “I will write to you and arrange something. I feel that I have already taken up too much of your time, and for that, I apologise. I did not want to have this playing on my mind any longer.”

She nodded and he smiled brightly before taking his leave.

She watched him go, trying to work out his intentions.

If he was lying to her, then he was very convincing. It was difficult to tell where Lucius Malfoy was concerned but she would give him the benefit of the doubt until he proved otherwise.

She would be watching him very carefully.

(Break)

As he walked away from St Mungo’s, the stirring began again courtesy of perhaps one of the most thrilling moments of his life.

It had been a stroke of genius coming here under the guise of speaking to Black. He had planned to already, but his original urge to come here was because he knew the two women would be also. Why not use the former to his advantage?

There was something exhilarating about coming to where his victims were. They could have seen him and would never know that it was he that was the reason they found themselves in their current state.

The excitement only increased as he spoke to Narcissa and he got a whiff of the underlying scent of the women on her. She, at the very least, had met them and probably tended to their wounds.

It was a thrilling thought and he could almost smell himself on her.

As such, he adjusted his trousers that had grown uncomfortable from his overactive imagination before apparating away.

He was not quite done with the evening, not yet.

(Break)

Over the past few years, it was a common sight to see Sirius Black at his breakfast table. At least for a week or two, he would come and stay during the summer to spend time with James. Charlus didn’t mind. The boy was as mischievous as his own son, but was always polite and respectful.

This time, it was different.

He had arrived a week ago in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on his back and his wand. Charlus knew that his life at home was not good, but he had never seen Sirius so distraught as he did then. He, however, refused to speak of what had happened and Charlus had been prevented from finding out by his wife.

He was angry and storming round to see Arcturus, who likely knew nothing of what happened, would not help. He couldn’t get to Orion or Walburga within their house, so he’d stewed in his fury. It had been Dorea that visited her brother the next day, and as expected, Arcturus knew nothing of what occurred.

The Black patriarch did promise to investigate it, but Charlus would not hold his breath. Walburga was a lying, scheming woman who would somehow find a way to blame Sirius.

Charlus offered the boy a nod of encouragement. He was doing better now, and he would sooner have him here than see him back with his parents. If anyone wished to take it up with him, they were more than welcome to.

“Is that a raven?” James questioned, pointing towards the window where a large bird was looking in on them.

“If this is one of your pranks, James…” Dorea warned as she allowed the bird entry.

It immediately flew and landed on the table next to Charlus before offering its leg where a missive was tied to.

“Look at its eyes,” Sirius urged, pointing at the raven.

Charlus frowned as he removed the rolled-up piece of parchment.

“Death!” the bird shrieked, startling them all as it took its leave.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius gasped, “I almost crapped myself.”

Dorea shot him a look of disapproval but quickly turned her attention back to Charlus who hummed thoughtfully.

“He’s agreed to come,” he said quietly. “He will be here tomorrow.”

Dorea offered him a smile and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Charlus released a deep sigh and shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I suppose we will see how it goes.”

Dorea nodded her understanding and James frowned at them from where he was sat.

“Who’s coming?” the teen asked curiously.

Dorea looked towards her husband questioningly and he sighed.

“It’s not hard to miss. Even these two will see it.”

Dorea nodded and Charlus turned his attention to the two teens.

“What I say does not leave this room, nor will you mention it to our guest,” he said firmly. “He might not know, and I do not want to overwhelm him, understood?”

James’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. His father had not been this serious with him since he gave him his cloak. He nodded and Sirius followed suit.

“Lord Peverell will be joining us for dinner tomorrow.”

James frowned, evidently not recognising the name but Sirius’s eyes widened.

“Isn’t he the one that killed Avery at St Mungo’s? I heard my mother talking about it.”

“Yes,” Charlus confirmed, “but he killed Avery whilst saving Lady Bones’ life. The little shit got what he deserved.”

“Charlus!” Dorea scolded.

“Well, the little bastard got caught out and paid the price. Bollocks to him and his idiot father.”

James and Sirius snorted as Dorea shook her head. It was not often that her husband swore in front of their son, but he didn’t curb it when he felt the need.

“I still don’t know who this Peverell is,” James pointed out.

“The Peverell family is a mysterious one and was thought to have died out almost a thousand years ago,” Charlus explained. “Their line is steeped in legend but remembered by few now, though that will change. Our own line is descended from the Peverells and that is something you will keep to yourselves.”

Sirius stared dumbly at Charlus and then James.

“You’re related to him?” he asked a moment later, having shaken himself from his thoughts.

Charlus nodded.

“Iolanthe Peverell married Hardwin Potter many centuries ago,” he informed them. “Lord Peverell must be a part of the main branch of the family if he has been granted the title, but it is impossible to say for sure.”

“Then how do you know he is who he says he is?” James questioned. “Couldn’t he be an imposter?”

Charlus shook his head.

“Inheriting family titles is not something that can be falsified, James. Of course, they can be taken over by other lines or absorbed through marriage if there is no Heir-Apparent, but not the Peverell one. They faded into obscurity so long ago that it is incredible the magic has stayed pure enough to continue as it has with him, but it has. It is not something that can be faked.”

“So, he’s what, a cousin of sorts?” James asked.

Charlus nodded thoughtfully.

“More than likely, but after seeing him, you would swear it is closer. The Peverell magic must be strong if we still look like them. It’s a shame we do not have any portraits for comparison,” he added with a frown.

“He looks like us?”

“You will see for yourself,” Charlus responded, “and you will both be on your best behaviour. Remember, he is a Lord from a family older than ours, older than your own, Sirius,” he added. “He will be afforded the respect of his title.”

The teens nodded their understanding and Charlus returned to his breakfast, nervous about what the following evening may bring.

(Break)

Even after only a few days of eating better and exercising, Harry was beginning to feel the benefits. He was less sluggish, had more energy and he felt sharper than he had in many years as though a fog was being slowly lifted.

He hadn’t known how badly life on the run had deteriorated him, but he knew it now feeling as invigorated as he did.

This, however, did little to ease the nervousness he felt for the impending dinner with the Potters this evening.

He had experienced a myriad of emotions since receiving the letter from his grandfather. He had been terrified, excited, worried and even numb. He had settled on the latter, not knowing just how he should truly feel.

He had long dreamt of meeting them, getting to know them and having a family. That dream had never been a reality for the orphaned boy he had grown as, and now, it was less so.

He was not meeting them as Harry Potter, son of James and Lily as he had spent much of his life envisioning. He was meeting them as Lord Harry Peverell, just another Lord in a sea of many.

A part of him thought the best course of action would be to decline the invitation, but he could not bring himself to snub them like that. No, he would have to face them sooner or later and he would much rather do so on amicable terms.

He sighed as he sat up from his spot on the beach and drew his wand.

If truth be told, he felt less like Harry Potter with each passing day. When he met with others, he was Peverell and even within himself, he felt the changes. His magic no longer felt as it once had and neither did he.

Instead of focusing on it further, he flicked the elder wand thoughtlessly towards the sea and an enormous wave resembling a cloaked figure formed and crashed over him.

When he came to a stop, he sputtered, breathing heavily as he realised he was now near the tree line some thirty feet away of where he’d been standing.

“What the hell was that?” he choked, staring at the wand he miraculously held on to.

What happened had not been his intention, though he couldn’t think of any he’d had.

With a frown, he took aim at the sand, this time directing the magic away from himself.

His eyes widened as the same figure emerged, but instead of immediately collapsing, it withdrew a scythe and began swinging it relentlessly at invisible foes.

Worried that his creation could be seen by any passing muggles, he tried to end whatever the spell was only for the figure to explode into dozens of ravens that began flying frantically around the beach.

Before he could do anything, they had vanished into the distance and he shook his head.

He didn’t know what he’d done and would need to investigate it further when he had the time to do so. For now, he was losing what remained of the day quickly and needed to shower for his dinner with the Potters, feeling no more comfortable with the situation he faced.

“Any idea what that was, Olin?” he asked the raven that had looked on carelessly as he had been sent sprawling by his own creation.

“DEATH!” was the reply he received, and he snorted as he stroked the bird’s chest before heading inside where he showered and dressed in a charcoal grey robe.

At the rate he was attending dinners, he would need to buy more.

“Are you coming?”

Olin said nothing but vanished within his skin which was becoming his favourite place to be when Harry was out in the sun. The raven did not like the heat, it seemed.

With Olin situated and the hour having drawn near, Harry released a deep, steadying breath and centred himself using his occlumency.

“It’s now or never,” he muttered as he vanished via the portkey provided and appeared before a large set of iron gates with the Potter crest sitting prominently in the centre.

This house was nothing like the modest Black home he had visited only a couple of nights before. This was nothing short of an enormous estate, the house making his tent feel like a hovel in comparison.

He found himself wondering just what had happened to this place. Had it existed where he had come from and if so, why didn’t Dumbledore tell him about it?

He pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to dwell on things that never were and stood a little straighter as a shadowy figure approached the now opening gates.

“Lord Peverell,” the man Harry had spoken to during his trial greeted him warmly, though somewhat guarded.

“Lord Potter,” Harry replied, ignoring how foreign saying his own birth name was beginning to feel. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Charlus offered him an easy smile and gestured for him to follow.

“The pleasure is mine. I’m sure there will be many other offers coming your way if they have not already.”

Harry nodded.

He was anticipating such and had no idea how he would handle it. The offer made by Arcturus Black only became more appealing when he realised what would be expected of him if he chose to not go into hiding, something he had no intention of doing.

He had been running too long already.

“Lord Black said the same,” he replied.

“You’ve met with Arcturus?” Charlus asked, surprised by the revelation.

“I did. He invited me only moments after I was acquitted in the Wizengamot chambers.”

Charlus hummed thoughtfully.

“He’s a prickly man, but one I would trust with my life, for what that is worth.”

“He was accommodating and helpful,” Harry returned. “Not what I expected from the Lord Black.”

Charlus chuckled and shook his head.

“No, most don’t expect much but misery from them, but I know Arcturus well. I did marry his sister.”

That had come as a surprise when Harry had learned that during his time at Grimmauld Place and he was grateful he had. He was not sure if he would have been able to hide his surprise had it been revealed now.

“Hardly surprising. Say what you will about them, but the women are quite beautiful.”

Charlus nodded and looked at him coyly.

“Ahh, I forget that you would have met Narcissa at St Mungo’s. How is she? I have not seen her since James… Never mind.”

“James?” Harry questioned.

“My son,” Charlus sighed. “He may have turned Walburga’s nose into a pig snout,” he explained sheepishly.

Harry laughed heartily at the thought of the woman sporting such and Charlus joined in after only a second of hesitation.

“It was funny, but don’t let my wife know I think that. She was not as impressed as I was.”

“My lips are sealed,” Harry assured the man, feeling more at ease despite the strange looks the Potter lord was sending his way.

“Ah, just in here,” Charlus declared as he led Harry through the front of the house and into a kitchen a short walk away from a large staircase.

Here, he was met by the sight of an older, yet still comely woman and two teens who were gaping at him.

“Lord Peverell,” the lady greeted him with all the poise and elegance one would expect from a Black. “It’s nice to meet you,” she added, her eyes searching his face curiously.

“And you, Lady Potter,” Harry replied, feeling his heart thumping in his chest as he accepted the offered hand.

“And these two here are my son, James, and Dorea’s great-nephew, Sirius,” Charlus continued, gesturing to each boy in turn.

This time, Harry could not hide the surprise he felt at seeing the two in the flesh. He had seen photos of them, but that couldn’t compare to the real thing.

Sirius was almost as he remembered him, younger but still with the spark of mischief his godfather always had.

Looking upon his father was like looking in a mirror half a dozen years ago. Admittedly, James looked healthier than Harry ever did at that age, and though they were not identical, the similarities were uncanny.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sirius, James,” he said, remembering where he was.

The two merely stared back, open-mouthed.

“Maybe we should take a seat,” Lady Potter suggested, looking dumbly between Harry and James, the only one not doing so being Charlus.

“That’s a good idea,” Charlus agreed.

It was a bemused group of people that found themselves seated at the table and Harry was very aware that he was being stared at by the woman and the teens.

Charlus seemed to be a mixture of nervous and amused.

“Did you know that Arcturus invited Lord Peverell to his home already?” he asked his wife.

“N-no, I didn’t,” Dorea replied. “I haven’t spoken to him for over a week.”

“I met with him a few nights ago,” Harry explained as a house elf brought in a tray laden with bowls of soup, the creature’s eyes bulging as it took in his appearance.

He saw Charlus give her a subtle shake of his head and the elf left quickly after bowing to him.

“I dined with Lord Bones and his family also,” he added.

“Understandable,” Charlus acknowledged. “I can’t help but feel sorry for them after what happened. How is Valerie?”

“She’s doing much better,” Harry replied. “She’s at home now and recovering well.”

Charlus offered him what seemed to be a proud smile.

“Thanks to you,” Dorea broke in. “There are a lot of people grateful for what you did.”

“I was only in the right place at the right time.”

“What spell did you use to kill him?” James piped up.

“James!” Dorea scolded, “what a terrible question to ask.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said dismissively before looking at the boy. “I used a spell that ripped out his still-beating heart through his nose. It was messy.”

He gave Charlus a conspiratorial wink as James and Sirius looked worriedly at one another.

“I thought your family was messed up, Pads,” James muttered.

“James!” Dorea chided once more. “They’re your family too.”

James snorted.

“Not bloody likely,” he denied. “Family doesn’t treat family like…”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Dorea warned.

“Like he cares,” James fired back pointing at Harry. “He ripped out a man’s heat through his nose.”

Both Harry and Charlus laughed and James looked at them confusedly.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“I was joking,” Harry chuckled. “There probably is a spell that can do that, but I didn’t use it. He fired a killing curse at me, and I was quicker.”

“So, you can duel?” Sirius asked.

“A little bit,” Harry answered, not wanting to divulge what he could and couldn’t do, especially now as he was not sure what that was anymore.

“Yes, Lord Peverell can duel but I’m sure he did not come here to discuss what happened at St Mungo’s,” Charlus interjected.

“What about your raven?” Sirius asked. “We saw it when it brought your letter but my cousin Narcissa said it lives in your skin.”

James snickered as he shook his head.

“Leave it out, Pads, I told you that was a load of crap.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the boys, not having expected them to know that. He should have known Narcissa would have mentioned it, though it was not likely directly to Sirius.

“Why do you think that?” he asked James.

“Well, a bird living in your skin. That can’t be real,” James denied.

“We live in a world where some people can turn into animals. Why is it so hard to believe this?”

Both James and Sirius did a poor job of hiding their blushes.

“I suppose so,” James conceded.

“Olin,” Harry called gently.

With an inaudible shriek, the raven burst from within his robes and flew a lap around the kitchen before landing on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Harry added to a surprised Dorea, “I should have asked.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dorea assured him. “I imagine he is much cleaner than these two,” she added, nodding towards a shocked James and Sirius.

“DEATH!” Olin cawed, startling them.

“Not today, my friend,” Harry mumbled comfortingly.

“That is creepy,” Sirius declared. “Why does he say that?”

“It’s the only word he knows,” Harry replied with a shrug. “He’s a very smart bird.”

Olin looked at the boy almost challengingly, but Sirius said nothing and turned his attention back towards his food.

“Is he blind?” James asked, indicating the white eyes of the bird.

“No, he can see,” Harry answered, “he is my companion so maybe it’s my magic that makes his eyes that way.”

“Like yours did when you fought Avery,” Charlus pointed out.

Harry nodded.

He had not realised that until he had seen the memory during his trial. He had yet had the chance to discuss it with the cloaked figure who had oddly left him alone since he’d left Azkaban.

“Just like that, but his are always white.”

Charlus nodded thoughtfully as he stared at Olin.

“You said he’s your companion. What does that mean?” James asked.

“I suppose we are bonded in a way,” Harry mused aloud. “He’s not a pet I bought,  he found me when I needed him. He’s kept me safe for a few years now.”

“Why would he need to keep you safe?” James pressed.

“Not appropriate questions,” Dorea interrupted.

“Ah, I didn’t tell them,” Charlus said apologetically, “about what happened when you were a baby.”

Harry swallowed deeply and shook his head.

“It’s okay. It’s not as though the whole Wizengamot doesn’t know.”

“No, and I’m sorry you had to experience that. I don’t know what Millicent was playing at,” Charlus said irritably. “She should have been singing your praises, not siding with a murderer.”

“Politicians,” Harry returned with a shrug.

Charlus nodded grimly.

“So, what are you planning on doing, Lord Peverell?” Dorea questioned, changing the subject.

“I honestly don’t know,” Harry answered.

He had been thinking about it but couldn’t get past the fact that he wasn’t qualified to do anything. He was more focused on dealing with Voldemort, but also couldn’t escape the fact he would one day have to work.

His funds would not last forever.

“I’m sure it will come to you,” Dorea offered comfortingly.

“It will,” he agreed.

They fell into a comfortable silence as the main course was served, and Harry tucked into his chicken, still enjoying eating food that had not been rehydrated.

“Will you take up your place on the Wizengamot?” Charlus asked.

Harry had pondered it, and was not particularly keen on the idea, but realised that he probably needed a presence. With what had happened with Avery, he did not want to find himself sent to Azkaban when all was said and done. To avoid this, he would need allies, though he did not have a clue how to navigate the political field.

Most politicians he had come across were scheming and manipulative people who could not be trusted. Very few had proven otherwise thus far.

“I will when I feel ready. Dealing with the likes of the Malfoys and Lestranges isn’t something I’m looking forward to.”

Charlus nodded.

“Turds,” he muttered, ignoring the pointed look from his wife.

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. “With all this pureblood nonsense going on, they will only get braver, especially with the Minister ignoring it.”

“You think Malfoy is involved in this?” Charlus asked.

“Would it surprise you?”

Charlus shook his head.

“I can’t say that it would,” he sighed. “Many of his lot have some very outspoken views. Even if they’re not involved directly, they know who is.”

“You seem to have a vested interest in this, Lord Peverell,” Dorea pointed out.

Harry offered her a sad smile.

“Not so much with what they’re doing, but I learned that the former Lord Bones met with a man shortly before he died, and Lady Bones is completely certain she was pushed down the stairs. A coincidence? Maybe, but I believe Edgar when he says his father was murdered.”

Charlus leaned back in his chair and eyed him questioningly.

“The aurors found nothing,” he reminded him. “The elf confessed.”

“She did,” Harry conceded, “and I wouldn’t believe it if it wasn’t for one detail I learned from Lady Bones.”

“What detail?” Charlus pressed.

Harry took a deep breath.

“I believe the man Lord Bones met with is the same one that murdered my parents.”

Charlus’s eyes widened.

“How can you be certain?” Dorea asked quietly.

“I can’t, but how many pale wizards have you ever met with red eyes?”

Dorea shook her head in disbelief.

“You remember?”

Harry nodded.

“I wasn’t even two when it happened, but I remember him. From what Lady Bones said, I’m convinced it’s the same man.”

“Your parents were murdered?” Sirius piped up.

“They were. My father did all he could to fight him off, but it wasn’t enough, and my mother sacrificed herself to save me.”

“Bloody hell,” James muttered.

“It is what it is,” Harry replied. “I just don’t want the same thing to happen to anyone else. This man is very dangerous, and he has proved that with what he did to my parents and the Bones family.”

“Do you think he is involved with this pureblood movement?” Charlus questioned.

Harry cheered internally as the man put the pieces together.

“I can’t see how he isn’t,” he answered. “I don’t think that it is a coincidence he met with Lord Bones who died shortly after and then one of those idiots in masks tried to finish off the job at St Mungo’s with Lady Bones.”

“No, it doesn’t appear it could be,” Charlus acknowledged. “What a bloody mess.”

“And it is only getting worse,” Harry added with a shrug. “In the days I was in St Mungo’s, more and more muggles were being brought in after being attacked. Whatever they are doing, it’s only getting bigger.”

“DEATH!” Olin shrieked, putting an end to that part of the conversation.

“Maybe we should talk about something a little more pleasant,” Dorea suggested.

Both Harry and Charlus nodded their agreement.

He had made the Potters aware of what was happening, so was content with dropping the topic.

“What about these two?” Harry asked, nodding towards James and Sirius. “I know trouble when I see it. I imagine they keep you entertained.”

Charlus snorted as Dorea shook her head.

“Lord Peverell, I can’t even begin to tell you what they get up to,” the woman despaired. “Honestly, I’m at my wits end at times.”

James and Sirius both smiled innocently, an expression that suited neither.

“How many owls did we get from Hogwarts last year?” Charlus asked.

“At least three a week,” Dorea sighed.

“Oh, I was aiming for four,” James replied with a grin.

Dorea narrowed her eyes at him.

“What about you, Lord Peverell, are you married or have any children?” Charlus enquired.

Harry chuckled.

“No, I think I need to get my own life in order before any of that. Maybe one day.”

“Sooner than you expect, I think,” Dorea broke in. “You’re probably the most eligible bachelor in Britain now. Many Lords will want you to marry their daughters or granddaughters. It won’t be long before people start wanting to court you.”

Harry snorted and shook his head.

“I won’t marry anyone for political reasons,” he said firmly. “My parents didn’t, and I won’t either.”

“We didn’t,” Charlus declared. “I think there were many people surprised and offended when we married.”

Dorea nodded.

“They were surprised Arcturus allowed it. I won’t pry into your business, but how did your meeting go with him?” she asked Harry. “My brother is rather prickly and doesn’t meet with many.”

“It went well,” Harry answered. “He was courteous and helpful.”

Dorea hummed but said nothing else on the matter.

“Are we really just going to pretend that you lot don’t look alike?” Sirius huffed suddenly, his impatient and impulsive side showing.

“Sirius!” Dorea warned.

“Sorry, it just slipped out,” the boy replied, seemingly surprised by his own outburst.

“Ignore him, Lord Peverell,” Dorea urged.

Harry shook his head dismissively.

Any fool could see the resemblance between Harry, James and Charlus. He had inherited little from his mother other than her eyes and perhaps her cheekbones. Other than that, he looked very much like the boy seated opposite him.

“That could be because we are distantly related,” he replied.

“You know?” Charlus questioned.

“Not much about my family history, but I do know that Iolanthe Peverell married Hardwin Potter at some point, hence why we look alike,” he explained, gesturing between himself, James and Charlus.

“I didn’t expect you to know that,” Charlus mumbled. “I don’t want you to think I tricked you into coming here.”

“You were curious, as was I when I saw you during my trial. Think nothing of it,” Harry replied easily, his casual demeanour masking the inner turmoil he felt.

Fortunately, Dumbledore had provided him with a very old book on wizarding families with the Peverell section highlighted, mapping the merging of the lines. He suspected this was how the old man discovered his knowledge about the invisibility cloak and had acquired it from his father in his own pursuit of the hallows. Without the one the headmaster truly wanted, however, it meant nothing. Dumbledore himself as said as much when Harry had asked him.

He didn’t know why James would have lent it to him, not something so unique and priceless. James evidently did not know what it was he possessed.

“You don’t have any other family, do you?” Dorea questioned.

She did not do so to pry into his affairs but had asked out of concern.

Harry shook his head.

“No, there’s no other Peverells out there,” he confirmed quietly.

Dorea offered him a sad smile, not one he would expect from anyone that once carried the name Black.

“Well, you’re not as alone as you thought you were,” Charlus spoke. “Our connection may be a loose one, but we would like to get to know you better, if that is okay with you?”

Harry nodded, the words warming him more than he could show. It was not the family dynamic he’d always wished for, but it was better than nothing.

They may never know who they truly were to him, but he did and that was all that mattered in this moment.

“I’d like that,” he replied.

The Potter parents seemed pleased by his answer and when he turned to face James, the boy looked at him thoughtfully.

“Are you any good at Quidditch?”

Harry smirked as a plethora of memories of whizzing around on a broom wearing his house colours played over in his mind. It had been many years since he’d done it, but that was one skill he would never lose. He’d inherited that talent from the boy in front him, after all.

“I know a thing or two, why, do you fancy your chances against me?”

Sirius shook is head in disbelief at the challenging tone and James merely raised an eyebrow.

“That’s something you won’t win,” Sirius muttered. “James will play for England one day,” he added proudly.

“Well, today isn’t that day, is it?” Harry retorted.

Charlus snorted as James frowned.

“I suppose that’s where we get our competitive side from,” the older man mumbled.

“If you fancy your chances against me,” James replied, “then get your broom.”

“I didn’t bring it with me,” Harry returned with a shrug. “Maybe next time.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” James denied. “Pads, lend him yours.”

“James, no, we are having dinner,” Dorea sighed.

“He made the challenge,” James fired back, pointing accusingly at Harry. “Unless you’re all talk, Lord Peverell?”

Harry smirked and nodded.

“Alright. Sirius, if you don’t mind?”

Sirius nodded excitedly and all but ran from the table to fetch his broom, followed by James who went to retrieve his own.

“He’s an excellent flier,” Charlus pointed out. “He spends most of his life on that broom. Don’t take it personally, but I would back him even against most pros.”

“I look forward to the challenge,” Harry replied.

He had heard how exceptional his father had been and he was excited to see it for himself.

Charlus held his hands up as he stood and helped his wife from her seat.

“I don’t suppose a little entertainment could hurt, Dor.”

The woman shook her head.

“Can we not just for once have a normal dinner without fireworks, pranks or something happening to disrupt it?” she questioned.

Harry suspected they were words spoken regularly by the woman, her life likely lived one event to the other, especially now she had both James and Sirius to contend with.

“Maybe one day,” Charlus offered comfortingly as the teens returned, James having changed into his Gryffindor robes and Sirius appearing more excited than anyone else.

“Ready, Peverell?” the former asked.

“James! He is Lord Peverell,” Dorea chided.

“I don’t know, Potter,” Harry sighed dramatically as he stood, “if you’re half as good at flying as you are talking about it, you might stand a chance.”

Dorea looked between the two and shook her head as Charlus grinned.

“They’re as bad as each other,” the woman despaired.

“Enough talk,” Sirius interjected, bouncing excitedly on his toes. “Here, Peverell, don’t break it.”

Harry took the broom and gave it a cursory inspection. It was in good condition but would not compare to his Firebolt. Not that he could use it here, that would certainly raise some difficult questions.

“Lead the way,” Harry offered to a now focused James.

The boy nodded and exited the house through a sliding door at the far end of the kitchen, followed by the others.

“Err, it’s a bit dark don’t you think?” Sirius pointed out as they made their way across the grounds.

“I thought you were a wizard?” Harry replied as he drew his wand.

Taking a deep breath, he pointed it towards the sky and twirled it between his fingers. Several, large glowing balls of light emerged from the end and he directed them around the grounds so they were bathed in a warm glow, enough to see them in their entirety.

“Bloody hell, that’s a useful spell,” Sirius complimented.

James reluctantly nodded his agreement.

“Well, if Potter here can get the better of me, I will teach it to you,” Harry offered.

James’s eyes lit up briefly before they narrowed, and he nodded his acceptance.

“So, how are we doing this?” he asked, realising they hadn’t discussed what the challenge would entail.

“Well, I don’t fancy chasing a snitch around like this, so why not an obstacle course?”

“You’re a seeker,” James acknowledged. “Alright, an obstacle course it is. Erm, could you make one?”

Harry chuckled as he created a series of hoops, tunnels and poles they could weave in and out of made of fire.

“Don’t worry, they won’t burn you but will change colour if you touch them,” he explained. “Why don’t you arrange it how you want? I don’t want any excuses when I win.”

James ignored the barb as he began arranging the various components and nodded satisfactorily when he was finished.

“Fastest to finish wins?” Harry suggested. “I’m sure someone won’t mind timing it.”

“I will,” Charlus volunteered as he drew his own wand and projected a timer for all to see.

James nodded.

“Age before beauty,” he insisted.

“No, I think we should save the best for last,” Harry replied, gesturing for James to go first.

“You’ll eat your words, Lord Peverell,” the teen predicted as he took up his position at the start of the course he had mapped out.

“Wait until you hear my signal,” Charlus instructed.

James nodded, his grip around the handle of his broom tightening.

As the echoing bang from Charlus’s wand sounded, he was off, and Harry looked on in awe as James expertly navigated the course. He truly was an excellent flier, better than any he had seen at that age.

Not only was his broom control exceptional but the speed in which he completed the challenge was enviable. He had done exceedingly well, better than Harry had expected.

“Twenty-seven seconds,” Charlus announced as James finished.

Harry nodded appreciatively as he took up his position.

James was incredible, there was no denying it, but Harry had more experience. For the past few years, his broom had been his only means of reprieve from the reality of what the world had become. Often, he would take to the skies to forget his worries, and on more than one occasion, he had escaped the clutches of the snatchers and death eaters on it.

“On my signal, Lord Peverell,” Charlus reminded him.

Without hesitation, he was off, the broom he rode not as responsive nor as fast as his Firebolt, but he had ridden worse. In what only felt like seconds, he had completed the course, his honed instincts leading him to the end seamlessly and without fault.

“Twenty-five seconds,” Charlus said, evidently taken aback by what he had seen.

Both James and Sirius could only stare at Harry in disbelief, neither able to comprehend what they had seen. He had run the course flawlessly with what appeared to be little effort.

“Bloody hell, if you play quidditch half as well as you fly, why aren’t you playing professionally?” Sirius asked.

Harry could only shrug.

It had been a dream of his for some time to see how far he could go playing the sport, but things had turned out the way they had and quidditch had been lost to him. He hadn’t chased a snitch in years, but it felt good to be sharing one of his passions with others again. Maybe he could find an amateur team to play for?

His thoughts were interrupted by James who sighed disappointedly but offered his hand in a gesture that surprised Harry. From what Sirius had told him about his father, he was quite arrogant, egotistical and hated losing at anything.

“You were better,” he conceded.

“Today I was,” Harry agreed as he shook the boy’s hand, “but I was not as good as you are at your age,” he added honestly.

“Really?” James questioned.

Harry nodded.

“I’ve always been good at flying, as soon as I picked up a broom, I could just do it. I imagine it was the same for you. I just have more experience.”

James offered him a knowing smile.

“It’s the thing I’m best at.”

“And transfiguration,” Sirius added. “Will you teach us how to fly like you?”

“There’s a few things I could show you.”

“But not today,” Dorea interjected. “Now that you have stroked your egos, could we please finish our dinner?”

Harry gave the woman a sheepish look before following her with a grumbling James and Sirius in his wake.

The experience of flying with his father was not how he had imagined it would be when he first heard how gifted James was, but he would take it. It was the closest he would get, and he felt as though for once, something worthwhile had been given to him that could never be taken away.

(Break)

Abraxus’s nostrils flared as he felt the wards around his home activate. For months his son had been leaving and returning at odd hours and his excuses were wearing thin. The Malfoy patriarch had a very good idea what Lucius was up to, despite having explicitly forbid him from involving himself in the mess.

The boy was proving to be more defiant than Abraxus would have believed and it was slowly but surely grating on his nerves. Did Lucius not learn after what happened to the Avery boy?

Apparently not. Still, even after several warnings, he refused to listen, believed he knew better.

He was a fool.

Dark Lords did not last. Without fail, someone would rise against their tyranny and put an end to their ambitions and Abraxus suspected this one would be no different.

He believed Lucius was much more intelligent than he was currently showing, but evidently, he had overestimated his heir. His involvement with this pureblood movement was folly and would not end as he hoped.

Abraxus released a deep sigh as he shook his head.

His son needed to marry, perhaps then he would have more than enough to occupy his mind than delusions of grandeur. What did he truly think he was going to gain from this venture? He was a Malfoy. There was nothing that any Dark Lord could give that they didn’t already have.

No, he would need to put a stop to this foolishness. Lucius’s job was to ensure the Malfoy line continued and he couldn’t do so if he was dead.

He would need to speak to his son, to ascertain what, if any progress he had made with the Black girl and instil a sense of urgency within him.

He could not allow Lucius to carry on as he was. It would only end unfavourably for the family.

(Break)

He no longer feared being here. In a way, it made him feel connected to where he had come from. Everything he faced now had begun with the veil, the three brothers and the cloaked figure. It was an almost comforting familiarity, though one that was seldom given to him now.

“It’s been a while,” he said questioningly to the cloaked figure.

“Do you wish to see me every time you close your eyes, Peverell?” the figure snarked. “I am not here to hold your hand. I will seek you out as needed.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“I need to speak to them,” he requested, pointing towards the eerie archway. “They mentioned a vault and I do not know where to find it. Gringotts is the only place I know where vaults are but that wasn’t a thing until 1474.”

The figure seemed to stare thoughtfully at him for a moment before shaking its shrouded head.

“You will know when the time is right, Peverell and not before,” it answered. “The more you change, the more your path will differ from what fate first decreed.”

Harry huffed knowing any further attempt at obtaining the information would be fruitless.

“I only killed one person,” he replied.

“Oh, no, you have done much more than that,” the figure denied. “It is not only death that creates change, but life also, and many other things. I expect there will be more to come before I greet you at the end of your journey. I am looking forward to seeing it,” it added before turning away and heading towards the veil.

“So long as things are better in the future, I can live with that,” Harry bit back.

The figure and turned back towards him.

“Who said that any thing you do here will change where you came from, Peverell? I certainly didn’t say that.”

“What does that even mean?”

His question came too late and the figure vanished without further words.

Harry glared at the veil. He had hoped that when he next found himself here that he would have answers and not more questions. Now, he had something else to ponder, another thing to add to his already chaotic life.