Whispers of a Raven - In the Pursuit of Knowledge

He was quickly becoming overwhelmed, the ravens swarming him unrelenting with their various attacks. Harry found himself unable to do anything but cower within a shield, though it was only a matter of time before something would break through.

Wishing to avoid what had happened countless times before, he rolled as he released his grasp on the magic sustaining his barrier and immolated the birds with a burst of white fire.

The figure nodded its approval, continuing to circle around Harry who panted rapidly from his efforts.

“Good, Peverell, but you should have taken the opportunity to fight back sooner,” it said casually, its own exertions leaving it no less fatigued than before the fight had commenced.

Without warning, white bolts of magic begun striking the ground at Harry’s feet, and he dodged in vain, his eyes widening as ghostly figures emerged from the small craters left behind.

Know he needed space, Harry vanished in a cloud of smoke and appeared on the other side of the room next to the veil before unleashing a long white whip from the tip of his wand.

Snapping it towards the approaching figures, he was relieved they vanished, one after the other with each stroke of his whip.

“You are learning to trust your magic,” the black-robed figure commented, “allow it to consume you, Peverell.”

Harry swallowed deeply and nodded, the icy chill of his magic filling his veins and he almost balked as he now found himself in a large field stood opposite his foe.

“Feel it, Peverell,” the figure whispered, “bear witness to the power you wield when you give yourself to it.”

Harry looked down to see the foliage beneath his feet slowly withering, dying before his eyes.

“DEATH!” Olin shrieked from somewhere nearby.

“Now, strike me down, Peverell.”

Knowing if he did not act, the figure would, Harry did not hesitate, his wand twirling in his fingers as he unleashed his attack.

Spell after spell left his wand, a shroud forming around the figure before it was set upon by faceless, ghostly figures wielding crude weapons that they swung indiscriminately at their captor who kept them at bay with but a minimal display of the power it wielded.

Harry had expected no less from the souls of those the figure kept imprisoned, but it served to distract his opponent and Harry sent forth another wave of magic, one that was not so easily dismissed.

It began to rain heavily, and the cloaked figure dispensed of the ghostly figures with but a gesture of his hands before looking towards the heavens almost expectantly as a rumble of thunder sounded.

With a final surge of magic, a gust of wind swept the falling droplets of water in its path and towards the robed figure who simply vanished in a puff of smoke before an explosion of lighting scorched the earth of where it just stood.

“You’re learning, Peverell,” the figure whispered from next to him, and Harry found himself frozen in place as a cold, clammy hand closed over his shoulder.

“I’m still yet to defeat you,” he sighed.

“Do you believe you can?”

“Maybe one day.”

The figure chuckled.

“Not today, my friend,” it muttered.

Harry nodded.

The result was always the same, though he was able to fight the figure off longer now than during their first battle which lasted all of a minute at best. Still, he could not best his foe, and knew that he likely never would. How could he wield the magic he had been gifted better than the one that created it?

“You’re needed elsewhere.”

Harry released a frustrated breath.

“So they can flee from me?”

“Their time will come, Peverell.”

Harry nodded once more and found himself lying in the bed he shared with his heavily pregnant wife a moment later.

Narcissa was sleeping soundly and he carefully removed the hand he placed protectively over her stomach whenever they rested. It would not be long before the baby would be here and Harry had hoped that he could have put an end to Voldemort before their arrival.

That was not to be.

He had seen neither hide nor hair of the Dark Lord who had remained elusive and out of sight. The Death Eaters, however, had continued to be active, but fled whenever he arrived to put a stop to their attacks.

Harry had no doubt that this was on Tom’s orders, his ego either not allowing any to try to claim the glory of Harry’s death for themselves or he knew that their attempts would only result in the death of his followers.

It mattered not to Harry.

The six months that had passed since the werewolf attack had been this way. The Death Eaters would attack randomly, and flee when he, the Order or the aurors arrived. They had no interest in engaging any that would offer resistance, not when they would do so on even footing.

Although the bill put forward by Crouch and Bagnold had been passed, it had faced much contention, even from lords that Harry had not expected to object to its implementation. It reminded him of what Moody has said to him some years prior.

“We didn’t know who we could trust…”

Whether those that had fought against the bill did so because they were followers of Voldemort, Harry knew not, but it had served as a stark reminder of the grizzled auror’s words.

Lines had been drawn in the conflict and one could never be sure which side people had chosen to stand on.

Regardless, Harry would deal with those that surfaced as enemies, his focus, however, was on the Dark Lord who was seemingly content with allowing the Death Eaters to carry out his work on his behalf.

It irked the Peverell lord so, but such a thing could not last in perpetuity. Tom was merely biding his time and Harry was waiting for the man to stop lurking amongst the shadows.

With a sigh, he slid himself out of bed and dressed himself with a wave of his wand.

“Again?” Narcissa groaned sleepily.

Her pregnancy had been an experience unto itself for them both, and though she finished her healer training ahead of schedule, she had been signed off work immediately after to ensure her health.

St Mungo’s was no place for a woman nearing her due date, not until it was time for the baby to be born.

Narcissa was bored being at home. Her mother, grandmother and Andromeda visited often, but it was not enough to keep the usually busy woman occupied. Despite this, she was excited to welcome their new arrival having spent the past months preparing a nursery and securing the assistance of a house-elf.

Much to Harry’s surprise, she had chosen Dobby, and though the elf did not recognise him, Harry knew his home was in safe hands, even if the elf was odd for one of his kind. As Harry had known him to be, he was kind and helpful and eagerly awaited the appearance of a baby to care for.

Still, seeing the creature again had been a shock, but not an unwelcome one.

“I won’t be long,” Harry assured her. “Olin.”

The man and raven vanished, and Harry found himself in a burning street, something he had become accustomed to and he released a deep breath.

“They’re gone, Lord Peverell,” Dumbledore explained as he approached wearing a bright orange pair of silk pyjamas.

“They always are,” Harry muttered unhappily.

“He will not hide forever,” the headmaster offered warningly, though Harry suspected it was meant to comfort him.

He knew Tom would show himself sooner or later, but not until he believed something was to his advantage. Not that Harry had been idle in his foe’s absence. He had been working on putting an end to the Horcruxes he knew existed here, and though he couldn’t be certain of which one’s existed, he knew of one and where it was.

However, the undertaking was not something he could do himself. Eventually, he would need to bring Dumbledore into the fold, especially because he believed there was one within Hogwarts.

Hermione had been the first to suggest it, but Harry had dismissed it at first. Now that he knew Tom better, he certainly believed the man arrogant enough to do so.

He shook his head irritably.

The Gaunt family ring was the only Horcrux he was assured of. The diary that had been given to Lucius, he knew not of its current whereabouts. The locket certainly was not in Regulus Black’s possession and he did not even know where to begin the search for Hufflepuff’s cup.

“Is something on your mind, Lord Peverell?” Dumbledore asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Many things,” Harry sighed. “If someone wished to possess something belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw or Godric Gryffindor, what would they look for?”

Dumbledore frowned at the odd question.

It was one of very few avenues Harry had to explore. Tom had obtained items from two other founders, it made sense that he would wish for more to house pieces of his soul. The Dumbledore he had known thought so too, though he had divulged little about any possible artefacts.

“I’m not seeking to possess them myself,” Harry assured the man, “but I’m working on a theory that may require your assistance in the future.”

“Ah, well that is an interesting question,” Dumbledore mused aloud, pulling on his beard. “For Gryffindor, there are only two items that have any viable study and are believed to have survived the ravages of time. The sorting hat, of course, sits in my office and is used to this day. The other would be a sword, though there are no accounts of it being seen since the man himself wielded it. It is, however, written about in many accounts of those that met him. It is said to have been forged by goblins, a weapon with great power of its own.”

Harry knew where the sword was and knew that it was not a Horcrux. Someone like Tom Riddle could never have taken possession of it from within the hat.

“There’s nothing else?”

Dumbledore shook his head.

“For Godric, no. He was not a man known for his preservation of items, and much of the same can be said of Rowena. The only possession of hers thought to remain would be that of her lost diadem.”

“I don’t suppose the ‘lost’ part of it is only figurative?”

Dumbledore chuckled.

“No, unfortunately, that too has not been seen since her time, though there may be one person who could help there,” he said thoughtfully.

“Who?” Harry asked curiously.

“The Grey Lady of Ravenclaw Tower,” the headmaster replied matter-of-factly. “She is the founder’s daughter after all.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the revelation and Dumbledore evidently took glee in teaching the Peverell lord something he didn’t know.

“Why is this not common knowledge?” Harry asked.

“It is not hidden,” Dumbledore replied with a shrug. “I believe the living have little time for those passed on. The Ghosts of the castle are often overlooked, but I have found them to be excellent and informative company during my time.”

Harry nodded.

“I’d like to speak to her, it could be important.”

“That can be arranged,” Dumbledore replied with a bow, “however, I am curious as to why you only enquired after any items belonging to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.”

Harry had hoped that the odd question would see the man overlooking that he only asked after two. With the person asked being Dumbledore, he should have expected no less from the man. He did not often miss anything, after all.

“I do not think discussing it here would be wise,” Harry responded, nodding to the large gathering of aurors that had arrived and were milling around.

“Of course,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “Perhaps my office would be better?”

Harry nodded.

Now was as good a time as any to begin laying the foundations of the path before him. Dumbledore could certainly prove to be a boon in his efforts. Already the man had given him another lead to follow up on and Harry had never met any that opposed Tom as he and Dumbledore did.

“Olin,” he urged.

Without needing to be told, the raven vanished within his skin and Harry indicated he was ready to leave the scene of the attack behind.

“Your relationship with him is astounding,” Dumbledore commented. “I believe you share a similar one to myself and Fawkes, who will be here in only a few seconds. Take hold of my sleeve, Harry. He will take us to my office.”

Harry did so and felt himself engulfed in a plume of almost scalding magic, much different to his own cold and familiar one.

“That’s different,” he muttered as he found himself stood in the headmaster’s office with Fawkes perched on his shoulder, his talons much larger than that of his own companion.

“I believe he has taken a liking to you,” Dumbledore chuckled, eying the phoenix speculatively.

Fawkes trilled in response and Dumbledore nodded.

“He senses something familiar about you,” he explained. “Perhaps he remembers your presence from last year.”

“Probably,” Harry agreed, having no intention of explain that a part of the phoenix had been bound to his soul and he had this very bird’s tears flowing through his veins.

“Now,” Dumbledore continued as he took his seat and gestured for Harry to do the same, “I believe we were discussing the founders.”

“To an extent,” Harry agreed, “but it is not them that this pertains to so much. This is about Tom.”

“I thought as much,” Dumbledore replied, thoughts of his former students always proving to be maudlin at best. “Have we reached an impasse where it is now necessary for us to divulge what we know of him in an attempt to bring about his end?”

“I believe so,” Harry acknowledged.

“Then I am eager to hear what you have learned of him, Lord Peverell. He is a secretive and elusive man, just as he was when he was a boy.”

Harry nodded.

He knew all about Tom Riddle, the boy and undoubtedly more than the man before him did at this point as to what Tom had become. He saw no need to stand on ceremony and be told what he already knew by the man that had given him much of the information years before now.

“He was an odd boy, but not an unbrilliant one,” Harry spoke, “but his childhood holds little interest to me other than a few clues I have pulled together as to what led him to becoming what he is.”

Dumbledore nodded for him to continue, evidently very interested in hearing what Harry had to say.

“Of course, when one learns of his name, it is much easier to paint the picture of the Dark Lord we face. Born to a pureblood mother who died during childbirth and to a muggle father who had been ensnared using love potions.”

“Merope Gaunt,” Dumbledore sighed. “She never passed through these halls. Her father was an unpleasant man who did not see fit for his daughter to be educated.”

“That did not prevent her doing what she did,” Harry pointed out. “She fell in love with a muggle and seized an opportunity to run away with him whilst her father and brother were in Azkaban for attacking a Ministry official.”

“Ah, a case I remember well,” Dumbledore mused aloud. “Bob Ogden did not take kindly to what happened to him, though the Gaunts were the first place I investigated when I learned that Tom was a Parselmouth. They were the only known family in Britain to possess such a gift. From there, piecing together the story you so eloquently told me was not so much effort, though I believe Tom had a much more difficult time doing so than you or I.”

“But he did discover the truth.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore sighed. “Learning that he was the last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin changed him. He had been a quiet boy for the first few years of his schooling, shunned by his Slytherin peers at first for his name. That changed, however, when he returned for his fifth year at the school. As is his way with people, he charmed his housemates and gathered quite the following. By the time he arrived for his sixth year, he was the most popular boy in the school.”

“His fifth year being the same one that the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and Hagrid was expelled for doing so,” Harry reminded the headmaster.

Dumbledore seemed surprised Harry had that knowledge but did not question where he had gotten it.

“That is correct, though I knew Hagrid was not responsible. None wished to hear of his innocence when it was quickly discovered he was housing an extremely dangerous creature within the walls of the castle. He would have faced expulsion regardless and the governors saw him as an easy scapegoat. Armando was most displeased and allowed him his position as Assistant Gamekeeper, a job that suits him well, though it did not substitute his education.”

“Why didn’t you allow him to continue when you became headmaster?” Harry questioned curiously.

“I offered him the opportunity, but Rubeus did not care for it. His memories of being at school were not pleasant as a student and he will staunchly defend his love of his work. I eventually left it be when he made it clear for the sixth or seventh time he would not budge. He is happy with what he does. I would not see him anything less.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

It was something he had always wondered about and he found himself satisfied with the answer. If Hagrid was happy, who was anyone to interfere.

“But yes, after the incident with Myrtle Warren in particular, I suspected Tom’s involvement, though there was no proof,” Dumbledore continued. “After the event, he kept his head down, not wanting to invoke my suspicions further, and he graduated two years later.”

“And took a job at Borgin and Burke’s.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“A surprising move for one so bright and gifted,” he sighed. “I suppose he had his reasons.”

“He did,” Harry confirmed. “It was the best place to begin his search for items of worth, not necessarily monetary value, but valuable to him. Borgin and Burke’s is a treasure trove, and the connections he could make suited him.”

Dumbledore pulled at his beard and hummed.

“I suppose there is that, but to what end? Tom’s connections were already enviable at his young age. He could have done anything he wished.”

“The treasure,” Harry replied simply. “I suspect through the process of seeking out his heritage, he came across knowledge of something he wanted.”

“I cannot think what,” Dumbledore sighed. “The Gaunts were destitute and had nothing of value.”

“You’re thinking of the wrong treasure, headmaster,” Harry pointed out, “though what he was looking for was both sentimental and of material worth.”

“Then I ask that you do not leave me in suspense, Lord Peverell. It seems as though we have reached a point where my knowledge is less so than your own.”

Harry snorted but took pity on the old man who had not carried out the extensive research his own Dumbledore had.

“A locket that belong to Slytherin,” Harry explained. “With both Marvolo and Morfin in Azkaban when Merope ran away with Tom Senior, she would have taken it for herself.”

“It is possible,” Dumbledore conceded.

“And where would she go if she needed to make some quick gold?”

The Headmaster’s eyes widened in realisation.

“Borgin and Burke’s,” he returned, “but neither are fools. It is not an item they would simply display in their shop.”

“No,” Harry agreed, “they are, however, egotistical men and would not hesitate in showing one of their best customers, especially one that would protect their secret.”

“I’m afraid I am lost once more,” Dumbledore sighed.

“Hepzibah Smith,” Harry offered, eliciting a frown from the older man.

“Ah, yes, she was immensely proud that she could demonstrate her direct descendancy from Helga Hufflepuff. She even had a trinket she would boast about…”

“A cup that belonged to her ancestor,” Harry broke in. “A cup that she happily showed off to the two men who would also like to possess such an item.”

Dumbledore released a deep breath.

“It is conjecture, Harry,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“It could be seen that way,” Harry agreed, “but I have reason to believe that Tom orchestrated her death and took possession of both items. I would guess that Smith somehow convinced Borgin and Burke to part with the locket and Tom discovered the information. When you consider the method used to kill the former Lord Bones, it makes sense.”

“Poisoned by his own house-elf,” Dumbledore muttered. “I remember the case of Hepzibah well. Hokey confessed to the crime.”

“As did the Bones elf who had been nothing but loyal to the family. What reason would either elf have to murder the masters they were happy serving?”

“That I cannot explain,” Dumbledore conceded, “though it seems very unlikely that either would.”

“Because Tom altered their memories, so they believed they were responsible. Who would question the confession of an elf?”

Dumbledore frowned, still unconvinced.

“It is a considerable effort for something he could never sell,” he mused aloud. “I suppose his proclivity to keep trophies could explain it…”

“It could,” Harry acknowledged, “but it was not for the sake of keeping trophies,” he added darkly.

“Then you have me at a loss, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, seemingly enjoying being the one to not know everything.

“Tell me, Headmaster, how different is Tom now than when he was at school.”

“Not very,” Dumbledore sighed. “He was always a cruel boy, something that seems to only have grown during the intervening years. I always had my concerns about him.”

“And are you aware of the death of his muggle family?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“Morfin, Tom’s uncle, did not take his first stint in Azkaban well…”

“But not enough to commit murder,” Harry interjected. “He had been out for some time before the Riddle’s were killed during the summer before Tom’s seventh year.”

“He had,” Dumbledore acknowledged, seemingly putting the pieces together. “You believe that Tom killed his own family.”

“I do,” Harry answered candidly, “that is how he came into possession of the Gaunt family ring.”

“Another trophy…”

“Another item he could never sell but took anyway.”

Dumbledore eyed Harry questioningly.

“I still do not understand.”

“I would be surprised if you had,” Harry chuckled humourlessly. “It was not for the gold he could make from them; the worth is merely what he valued them himself. The locket and ring he was connected to directly, and as a descendant of a founder of the school, he would have seen the cup as his own property, connections to his heritage and who he is.”

“That does sound very much like him, though I am curious as to what you are getting at,” Dumbledore replied patiently.

Harry had not shown such patience when he had been on the other side of this conversation and throughout the months he had been fed titbits of information about the life Tom had lived.

“What is it that he wants more than anything?” he asked.

“Well, with Tom, it is usually knowledge, but his ambition has grown beyond that,” Dumbledore explained. “Power is obvious, but he would not need to do anything he has to achieve that. He was always far beyond average. I suppose the only thing he could want would be to secure a legacy.”

“But to do that, he would need someone to leave it to, wouldn’t he?”

Dumbledore hummed.

“Nothing he has done suggests that is his ambition,” he conceded.

“No, because it is not a legacy he wishes to leave behind. His ambition is to have no need of a legacy.”

“Immortality,” Dumbledore whispered. “I know of only one method to achieve that.”

“One of certainty, but no, he has not created a stone like Flamel’s, he has taken a much riskier path but one that has made him exceedingly difficult to defeat.”

“No, Tom had little interest in potions beyond NEWT level and Alchemy was not something he would have been offered. Even with extensive study in both branches, it would not be enough to create a stone. It is much more than that,” Dumbledore added cryptically. “Without a stone, any other method is not assured.”

“One could be as close to it,” Harry countered. “Horcruxes.”

Dumbledore frowned darkly at the term, seemingly aware of what they were already.

“I wish there was a part of me that could convince myself that Tom would not delve into such things, but I cannot deny it is a possibility,” he sighed.

“Not a possibility, but a certainty,” Harry replied. “Regardless of what rumours you have heard or what you believe of my magic, I can assure that Tom’s soul is no longer intact.”

Dumbledore eyed Harry sceptically but did not contend what he had said.

“And you believe he has gathered those trinkets to house a piece of his soul.”

“Pieces,” Harry corrected. “Tom would not be content with only one.”

“No, he would not,” Dumbledore replied worriedly. “You do not believe he has been successful?”

“I would bet my life on it he has,” Harry said confidently. “Many would assume he is the way he is because of his practice in the Dark Arts, but that is not the case. The magic I wield is dark in nature, and yet, I remain as I always have. Tom is not one to succumb to such trivial things, not as a master of the Mind Arts.”

Dumbledore deflated.

“Then all is much worse than I feared,” he muttered.

“Half the battle is knowing what it is we are facing,” Harry returned, and Dumbledore allowed a smile to grace his lips.

“Indeed, but if I may, how many Horcruxes are possible? I would not pretend to be an expert in the field.”

“Horcruxes, I know little of other than how to destroy them,” Harry admitted, “but I have come to learn much of the soul. It is not infinite and the absence of the soul or even pieces of it comes with a price. The humanity begins to fade, and the creator will become less rational and calculated. In truth, it does not matter how many he makes, so long as his body is destroyed, they are harmless without someone to bring him back. How many would he trust with his secret?”

“Tom is not a trusting person,” Dumbledore explained.

“No, so he would place them in the care of those most loyal him without telling them what they are. Horcruxes are dangerous and even from within a container, the soul could take possession of someone.”

“That is concerning.”

“It is, but less so than Tom having his own body. Even if he were to manage to possess another, it would not be able to occur so seamlessly. Two souls vying for control of one vessel is a conflict that will have consequences. Can you imagine any of those following him allowing something to take possession of them without resistance?”

Dumbledore shook his head.

“No, especially if they do not know what the magic attacking them is.”

“It is a gamble to rely on that, but even more so to find and destroy them until we can do so with all of them at once, the one being within this castle the exception.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows all but disappeared within his hairline.

“In the castle?” he choked disbelievingly.

Harry nodded.

“Has he returned since he graduated for any reason?”

Dumbledore’s expression was one of horror.

“He came to interview for the Defence Professor role,” he confirmed what Harry already knew. “Neither of us were under any illusion that I would hire him, yet he came anyway.”

“And would it have been possible for him to take a detour of sorts whilst within these walls?”

“It is possible,” Dumbledore sighed. “Tom became excellent at navigating the castle when he was a student, so much so that even I could not keep track of him at times. The pressing question I have, however, is where he would hide such a thing. I fear that if it is within the chamber…”

“No, he would not have hidden one there,” Harry denied. “If he wished for someone to come across it, why put it in a place that only he can likely access?”

Dumbledore nodded his agreement, though frowned at Harry thoughtfully.

“I think if we were to speak to this Grey Lady, we would be closer to an answer,” Harry continued. “If he did indeed find the diadem, I imagine it would be the one he would place here, if only to torment Rowena’s daughter.”

“Again, you prove yourself to be astute when it comes to Tom,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “It is what Tom would do.”

“Then where can we find her?”

“I believe she likes to frequent the Astronomy Tower during the later hours,” Dumbledore explained as he stood and gestured for Harry to follow. “It has been some time since I have spoken to her and she is not the most forthcoming of ghosts.”

“Then let us hope she is willing to share any knowledge she has with her,” Harry sighed, falling into step with the headmaster as they made their way through the halls of the school.

They arrived at the top of the Astronomy Tower after a brisk walk and Dumbledore held up a hand to still Harry as the woman they sought came into view staring longingly towards the moon.

“Headmaster, it has been some time since you have come,” she said, not turning to acknowledge the man. “I see you have brought company.”

Sensing Harry, she did turn and took in his appearance.

“Ah, Lord Peverell,” she greeted him with a bow.

“You know who I am?” Harry asked, taken aback.

“Not you, no, but I knew one of your ancestors. He was a misunderstood man, though a kind one. He tried to help me when my mother passed but his magic was not strong enough to do what was needed.”

Harry nodded.

“What did he try to help you with, my lady?” he asked.

“To get closure,” the woman answered simply. “Your family’s feats were well-known, but it was not to be.”

“I am sorry he could not help you.”

The woman nodded.

“Why is it you find yourself conversing with a foolish woman long passed, Lord Peverell?”

“I was hoping you could help me,” Harry returned. “I have an enemy you have encountered, one that I would see to the end of. Tom Riddle, a former student here.”

The ghostly expression of the woman darkened.

“The perverter,” she growled. “He promised he would return it to the castle so that I may finally be at peace. He returned it, but not without taint.”

“Your mother’s diadem?”

The Grey Lady nodded.

“I stole it from her,” she admitted. “When she was on her death bed, I took it and fled to a land far away from here. When news reached me of her passing, I returned, only for my own life to come to an end soon after. My soul has been subject to torment since and more so since it was brought back, the weight of my burden having doubled.”

“Do you know where it is?” Harry asked.

“It is close, but out of reach,” the woman said sadly. “He has hidden it within my mother’s room just below us. I can feel it, feel his magic corrupting her work.”

Harry felt his chest tighten.

The only room that could be nearby and below them was the room of requirement.

“Perhaps I can find it,” he offered. “What would you have done with it?”

“It must be destroyed. For myself and my mother to be accepted on the other side, it must no longer be.”

Harry frowned before nodding his understanding.

“Your mother placed a piece of her soul within it, didn’t she?”

The Grey Lady nodded, and Dumbledore gasped.

“Not the same way Tom did,” Harry clarified. “For something like the diadem to work as it does, soul magic makes sense. There is an old practice where things can be bound to the soul, but it is little known and would need the assistance of someone able to wield such magic. I can only assume that the man that helped your mother is the very same that tried to help you?”

“They were.”

“Then I will help you where my ancestor failed,” Harry declared. “Ask me no questions, Dumbledore and I will tell you know lies,” he added to the baffled headmaster.

Now knowing where the diadem was hidden, it was a cautious Harry that descended the stairs with Dumbledore and the Grey Lady following behind. They soon came upon the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy teaching the trolls to dance, and he smiled fondly, a plethora of memories of his time within room coming to the forefront of his mind.

Shaking himself of them, he passed in front of the blank wall three times thinking of what he needed the room to become before a large oak door with iron inlays appeared.

Pushing it open, he found himself looking upon veritable mountains of junk piled from floor to ceiling, and he nodded satisfactorily.

“It’s here,” he muttered.

Dumbledore stood with his mouth agape staring around the vastness of the room.

“Impressive,” he whispered.

“And you will have all the time in the world to explore it,” Harry replied, “but we have a purpose.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“It will take some time,” he sighed.

“No,” Harry countered, closing his eyes and unholstering his wand.

After a moment, three ghostly figures emerged from the tip and stood before him, awaiting his instructions.

“You are getting better,” the one with a missing arm praised.

Harry offered Antioch a bow.

“A piece of his soul is within this room. Bring it to me.”

“Of course, my lord,” the three brothers chorused before vanishing.

The feat of retrieving the souls of those passed on was a difficult practice with many variables. For one thing, the soul would need to be willing to comply and answer the call of the summoner. With the resurrection stone, it was made easier but was still not entirely reliable as Harry had discovered when he tried to speak with Ron.

His friend could not be brought to where Harry was because he never belonged here.

It was also a rather tiring and not something Harry did often, though his body was becoming accustomed to it. One day, he would be able to manage more significant summons, but not yet. He needed to continue his work on the craft.

The brothers returned a few moments later with an intricate tiara levitating between them and placed it on the floor before offering Harry a final bow and vanishing.

There was no mistaking the magic of the piece. Tom had used this to create a Horcrux but the magic of another could still be felt though it had indeed been dominated by the Dark Lord’s.

“Is there not a way to preserve it?” Dumbledore asked, a thoughtful frown marring his features.

Harry shook his head.

“Unleashing a tainted soul is too risky. It will flee and return to its owner. Tom will then know that his secret is no longer safe and will take further steps. It must be destroyed.”

Dumbledore sighed but nodded his understanding.

“My lady, are you ready?” Harry asked.

The ghost that had haunted Ravenclaw Tower nodded, her expression one of sadness but also relief.

“Then it shall be done,” Harry murmured, levelling his wand towards to diadem that was now attempting to break into his mind, to no avail.

“Fiendfyre,” he muttered.

The gout of flame that erupted from his wand scorched the stone floor as the conjured raven engulfed the diadem, leaving nothing but ash in its wake and the echo of a piercing scream that had rent the air.

There was something very satisfying about knowing he was now one step closer to putting an end to Tom, but as he looked at the expectant features of the Grey Lady, there was something else he had to do first.

“Would you like to see her?” he asked. “If she wishes to be here, I can bring her to you.”

The Grey Lady nodded, and Harry closed his eyes once more and felt for the same magic that had been within the diadem that had not belonged to Voldemort.

“Mother,” he heard a voice gasp, pulling him from his efforts.

He opened his eyes to be greeted by the sight of the Grey Lady and an older woman that looked much like her, the two simply staring at one another.

“Helena,” the older whispered as she cupped her daughter’s cheek. “I had lost hope so long ago.”

It felt wrong intruding on such an intimate moment, so Harry turned his attention to the dumbfounded headmaster who appeared as though he wished to ask many questions.

“How?” he asked.

“It is the nature of my magic,” Harry replied. “It is not as simple as just summoning whomever I wish and those that consent to come, cannot stay. There are other limitations, but I would like this kept between us.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore agreed. “Such power is not something that should be shared with many. Those that have passed on…”

“Should be left to rest,” Harry finished for the older man. “We all have those we wish to see for our own reasons, but beyond where we breathe, is peace. We will see them again when the time is right.”

Dumbledore offered Harry a smile and nodded.

“Indeed.”

With the headmaster somewhat placated by his words but undoubtedly still burdened by his own regrets in life, Harry turned back towards the Ravenclaw mother and daughter.

“It’s time,” he said, “for both of you if that is what you wish?”

Both nodded and Harry approached them with the hand his family ring adorned raised.

“Accept them, for their folly is done and forgive them their transgressions against you,” he murmured.

For the power he wielded, it was not solely his choice to send them on. The cloaked figure decided if they wished to allow them through. As his chosen, Harry was merely the gateway, and the one that gave him his abilities the gatekeeper.

At his touch, both women vanished into the ring and he nodded, knowing they had been granted their next great adventure as the man remaining by his side would refer to it.

“They have gone?” Dumbledore asked.

“They have,” Harry confirmed, “and there is one less piece of Tom for us to worry about.”

“Then our evening has not been a loss,” Dumbledore returned.

“No,” Harry agreed, “but there is still much to be done.”

(Break)

“I gave you six months, boy, and yet, you have not come to me to announce that your wife is with child,” Corvus growled at his equally displeased son.

“I have seen her only a few times,” Rudolphus defended, “and she does not stay within our home. She resides with the Dark Lord.”

“And have you spoken with him of this?”

Rudolphus nodded.

“He refuses to assist me, says that the time is not right for her to be with child as she is needed,” he explained.

Corvus released a deep, frustrated sigh.

“Allowing you to marry her was a mistake,” he huffed. “She has been nothing but a burden, and I would see to it that she is no longer. You either find a way to impregnate her or put an end to her, but I want it done, and soon.”

“Yes, father,” Rudolphus agreed as he stood. “And what of Rab, have you found a match for him?”

“I intend for him to marry Floella Parkinson,” Corvus revealed. “She was to marry Lucius, but in his current condition…”

Whatever had been done to the Malfoy heir, he knew not, but Lucius had not been seen in months. It was now common knowledge that he resided in St Mungo’s, his mind having been addled by something and he was showing no signs of improvement.

The man had received no visitors other than his father who was stubbornly refusing to allow the healers to use legilimency on his heir. As such, Lucius remained as he had been when admitted, though that had not become known for many weeks after the fact.

“She would be a good match for him,” Rudolphus agreed.

Corvus grunted.

He didn’t care if the woman was a good match for his younger son. He needed potential heirs and where they came from did not matter. When Bellatrix was either pregnant or had been handled accordingly, he would find a better and more compliant match for his older son too.

He merely needed to continue biding his time where his current daughter-in-law was concerned, and though he was impatient, he would see something fruitful born from his efforts.

(Break)

Being as heavily pregnant as she was, magical transportation was neither advisable nor agreeable with Narcissa and she had missed the last several of Harry’s games, something she had been loath to do. She still would not consider herself a fan of the sport, but she loved being there to support her husband and spending time with her family. It had become a tradition of sorts and she found herself longing for the atmosphere of the stadium.

With her inability to attend, she had remained at home but her mother, Aunt Dorea, her grandmother and Andromeda would visit during the matches. The men would still attend. There was little that could keep any of them away from one of the games.

She found it odd how bonds could be formed through watching sport, but Narcissa was not one to question such things. Even her father and Charlus Potter seemed to be getting on much better lately.

“Oh, I love this colour,” Andromeda commented.

She was currently cycling through the available charmed colours on the wall of the nursery Narcissa and Harry had been putting together over the past months. With neither wanting to know if they were having a girl or boy, they had opted for paint that could be changed.

“I do too,” Narcissa replied. “If it’s a girl, I think that’s the colour I want.”

Andromeda nodded her approval.

“Do you think Harry would be disappointed with a girl?”

Narcissa shook her head with certainty.

“He would love a daughter, though it concerns me how easily he will be manipulated by her.”

Andromeda snorted.

“The big scary Lord Peverell at the whim of a little girl.”

“Nymphadora already has him at hers,” Narcissa sighed. “For all the stuff about death and hunting Death Eaters, he’s a sap for little girls with big eyes.”

“Dora does it on purpose,” Andromeda huffed. “She does it with Ted and now with father. He is about as resistant to it as Harry.”

The relationship between Andromeda and their parents was still strained at times, but they were civil with one another. Narcissa’s older sister was not one to forgive or forget so easily.

“That sounds about right,” Narcissa replied with a smirk. “He gave in too easily to us when we wanted something.”

“Like when Bella asked for that pixie when she was nine,” Andromeda reminded her.

“What happened to that?”

“It bit her finger and father had to send it away,” Andromeda explained.

Narcissa giggled.

She had forgotten about that incident. Bellatrix had insisted she could handle it and the pixie had not taken kindly to her rough handling. The woman probably still carried the scar.

“Oh dear,” Andromeda suddenly gasped, her eyes widening.

Narcissa groaned as she felt an unexpected flow of water seeping from within her robes.

“AUNT DOREA!” Andromeda shouted, panicking.

The woman rushed in with Druella and Melania in tow, releasing a deep breath when she saw what she was faced with.

“Well, I suppose it’s time,” Dorea said with a shrug.

“It can’t be,” Narcissa denied, “I still have two weeks left.”

Dorea chuckled and shook her head.

“Babies are ready when they’re ready. I thought you would have learned that by now.”

Narcissa frowned, her expression becoming one of concern.

“Harry…”

“Will be sent for. We need to get you to St Mungo’s. Where is your bag?” the Former-Healer asked.

“Over there,” Narcissa replied with a grimace, pointing to a bag she and Harry had packed in preparation.

“Shouldn’t someone go and get Harry?”

“No!” Narcissa said firmly as she removed her wand from her sleeve. “He’ll be playing now. I will send a message to father to tell him when he is finished.”

“Cissy,” Druella sighed.

“He will be there, mother,” Narcissa insisted. “The little one is not coming any time soon.”

Druella shook her head disapprovingly and looked to the other women for support, where she only received shrugs in response.

“Fine,” she conceded, “but if I think it is getting close, I will drag him off the pitch myself, understood?”

Narcissa nodded, wincing as another wave of discomfort washed over her.

(Break)

“He’ll get a hefty fine for that,” Arcturus commented.

“The bastard should be banned!” Cygnus growled angrily.

None within the box were happy with what they had seen, a mood that resonated with the crowd who jeered their own displeasure at the disgusting foul they had witnessed.

The Wimborne Wasps beater had become frustrated with his inability to catch Harry with a bludger and had taken it upon himself to forego sportsmanship and club Harry with his bat.

The Peverell lord’s eye was bleeding heavily, but being the Harry they knew, he refused medical treatment in favour of continuing and the Wasps were only left with Ludo Bagman as a lone beater, a position he could handle himself.

“He might well be,” Charlus comforted. “The commission won’t take kindly to that.”

Cygnus hummed irritably, frowning as an ethereal dove coalesced in front of him and spoke in the voice of his youngest daughter.

“Father, the baby is coming! Make sure Harry gets to St Mungo’s when the match is finished.”

“Bloody hell,” he yelped, his eyes frantically searching the sky for his son-in-law who was still looking for the snitch.

“Calm down, Cygnus,” Arcturus urged. “He will make it.”

“He only has one bloody eye!” the younger Black snapped. “How long will it take him?”

Arcturus smirked, evidently revelling in the drama.

“It is Peverell,” he said simply, “we will get him there.”

Even Charlus shook his head at the calm demeanour of his friend, uncertain how long it would take Harry to spot the snitch, let alone catch it with only one working eye.

(Break)

Harry wiped away the blood that was spilling from his cut. Fortunately, the bat had collided with his brow and not the eye socket. It throbbed painfully, but it was not unbearable, and although injuries were commonplace in Quidditch, he did not appreciate being assaulted as he had.

Nonetheless, the game went on and he continued his searched for the Snitch, the opposing seeker trailing his path.

The Falcons had lost only two games this season, though Harry had still caught the Snitch in both matches to save his team the blushes of losing by such a significant margin. His chaser teammates were excellent, but there were trios that were better, something that had been proven when they played the Tornados and the Magpies respectively, the former having all three England chasers representing them.

They had been tough games. Still, it was Harry that emerged the better of the seekers, even against England’s current pick who played for the Magpies. With only two matches left of the season, the Falcon’s were currently second, trailing by a 120-point deficit that may be less now from the efforts of his team during this game.

Harry couldn’t be certain. The blow from the bat had distracted him for the past fifteen minutes and he had not kept track of the score, his focus on finding the elusive Snitch.

It was a few moments later that he caught a glimpse of gold in his peripheral vision and dived. He needed to lose the Wasp’s seeker who had proven to be adept at blocking his path.

Nodding thoughtfully, he rolled underneath his broom and switched directions sharply. As expected, his opponent followed suit, though he was not as nimble as Harry, something the still-bleeding man took advantage of.

Switching sharply once more, Harry passed the man clad in yellow and black, nudging him with his shoulder and successfully unseating him.

With his competition plunging twenty or so feet to the ground, he urged his broom on as quickly as it would go. It was a far cry from his Firebolt, but it was fast enough that he could up to the Snitch and closed a hand over it before the Wasp’s seeker could even take to the air once more.

Holding the struggling ball aloft triumphantly, he heard the announcer bring an end to the game and he landed near to where Coach Jones and the rest of the staff were celebrating.

“Come on, Peverell, let’s have a look at your eye,” Arthur instructed, removing his wand from a holster he kept strapped to his forearm and peered at the wound. “Hmm, that is a deep one and will leave a scar.”

Harry sighed and shrugged, clenching his jaw as the medic sealed the cut and nodded satisfactorily.

“Not a bad job,” he declared tapping Harry on the shoulder.

“Thanks Arthur,” Harry said gratefully.

The man had proven to be an excellent healer over the months Harry had gotten to know him.

“Isn’t that your father-in-law?” the old man asked, nodding over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry turned to see the rather comical sight of Cygnus Black sprinting towards him, clutching his ribs in discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, knowing the man would not do such a thing unless it was urgent.

“Baby is coming,” Cygnus wheezed. “St…Mungo’s.”

“Now?” Harry yelped.

Cygnus nodded.

“Go…will…catch up.”

“What do I do?” Harry asked panicked.

Arthur chuckled and placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

“You go to your wife and welcome your son or daughter,” he said. “Here, you’ll want this,” he added, handing Harry his wand.

Harry nodded, and took hold of his wand.

“OLIN!” he called.

“You might want to… change your robes,” Arthur sighed.

His advice came too late as the young man vanished in a plume of smoke, still wearing his bloodied garments.

“Oh, they’re going to love him at St Mungo’s,” he muttered.

(Break)

“This little one isn’t hanging about,” Camden huffed from the lower end of the bed. “Think yourself lucky, Peverell, this will be a quick birth.”

“Not without Harry here it won’t,” Narcissa muttered, bracing herself for the next contraction.

“Silly girl,” Camden chastised. “This baby is coming and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

Narcissa felt her heart sink.

What her colleague said was true and as the contractions came closer together, it saddened her that Harry might miss the birth of their first child together.

“Now what the devil is all that noise?” Camden muttered, pulling Narcissa from her thoughts as she approached the door, a loud disturbance able to be heard from the other side.

“Get out of the way you dozy cow or Olin will make you.”

“DEATH!” the familiar squawk sounded and Narcissa immediately felt her spirits lift.

Harry was going to make it if he didn’t get himself arrested first.

“And I told you, I won’t let you in looking like that,” was the firm reply from the receptionist.

“Watch me,” Harry grumbled before entering the room, followed by an irate Sandra.

“What the hell happened to you?” Narcissa asked taking in the blood-soaked robes of her husband.

“Beater’s bat,” he replied dismissively, breathing a visible sigh of relief. “How are you?”

“Well, considering I’m trying to squeeze something resembling a melon out of something that shouldn’t be able to do so, I’m doing just fine,” she returned dryly, “and will you bugger off, Sandra, I’ve got enough people looking up my robes without you gawping at me.”

The receptionist appeared to want to argue but thought better of it and left the room shooting Harry a look of disgust.

“As charming as always, Sandra,” Harry called, not hiding the rude gesture he made behind her back.

“Harry!” Dorea scolded, shaking her head. “If you want to be able to hold your child, be quiet and come here. You certainly won’t be going near either of them like that.”

Harry frowned and complied, sighing as the woman cleaned him up with a few waves of her wand.

“That’s better, now behave yourself.”

Harry smirked at the woman and she merely huffed. She was used to petulance from her husband and son, so it was nothing new to her.

“Is Cygnus on his way?” Druella asked.

Harry nodded as he took Narcissa’s hand and chuckled.

“I imagine they are on their w…”

He was cut off as Narcissa’s grip suddenly tightened painfully around his fingers.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed.

“Don’t bloody hell me, Harry Peverell!” Narcissa growled. “You’re lucky that was your finger and not something else.”

Harry grimaced at the implication and looked to the others in the room for some assistance, of which he found none. Druella, Dorea, Andromeda and Healer Camden were nodding their agreement with his wife.

As such, he chose to remain silent and support Narcissa however he could.

The silence, however, was short-lived. Only a few moments later, another disturbance was heard outside, and the door was flung open.

“Trust me, you don’t want to go in there,” the voice of Ted Tonks warned.

The others did not heed his words and Charlus, Arcturus, and Cygnus were quickly ushered out of the room by Dorea and Andromeda, and Ted gave Harry a look of sympathy as he held his own daughter before he vanished.

“If anyone else comes through that door, curse them,” Narcissa moaned as she squeezed Harry’s hand once more.

“Just one more push should do it,” Camden announced.

By now, Narcissa was breathing heavily, her usually kempt hair was in disarray and she was sweating.

Harry felt useless, even more so than when Dumbledore had died, and he’d had to shoulder the responsibility of dealing with Tom.

That, he could do, but watching his wife suffer as she was in this moment, was proving to be too much, but with a final moan of agony, Narcissa’s entire body tensed before falling limp.

“She’s here,” Camden whispered followed by the sound of crying that reverberated around the room.

“She?” Harry asked as the woman checked the baby over and cleaned her up.

“She is a beautiful little girl,” the healer announced emotionally before she placed a small bundle of blankets in Narcissa’s arms.

From where he was seated, Harry could see little but the faintest tuft of blonde hair protruding from the swathe of fabric, but Narcissa’s tired smile told him all he needed to know. She had given birth to a healthy baby girl and as he stood to take in the vision of his wife and daughter, somewhere within him, he felt whole for the first time in his life.

(Break)

“You sent for me, my lord?”

“Ah, Bella, I bring you the most excellent tidings,” Voldemort replied.

Bellatrix frowned suspiciously but waited for her master to continue.

“Word has reached me that your sister has born a child.”

“I have no sister, my lord,” Bellatrix denied furiously.

Both those she had once considered such had taken filthy mudbloods to bed with them, and now both had spawned mudblood children.

“Well, I am glad you see it that way because the time to act will soon come. I know just how to break Lord Peverell and you are just the person I need to help me.”

Bellatrix simply grinned in response, pleased that the wait would finally be over.