Whispers of a Raven - Initiation

“It appears that Arcturus was right to be so concerned about this Peverell,” Corvus mused aloud as he exited his pensieve. “He is dangerous and will be even more so when this becomes common knowledge.”

“What will we do about him, father?” Rudolphus questioned.

“We will do nothing, not until I learn more about his line,” Corvus said firmly. “We do not want him as an enemy, for now. Do not provoke him. We must wait to see what the Dark Lord wishes to do.”

Rudolphus nodded his understanding.

“I will avoid him,” he agreed. “He is not our problem.”

“No, he is not, not yet,” Corvus mumbled. “Perhaps I should write to him, tentatively extend an olive branch. At the very least, he will know that we do not intend to cause him harm.”

Rudolphus frowned.

“What about what he did to Bella?”

Corvus laughed.

“The stupid bint got what she deserved. You were a fool for attempting to intervene, but I would think Peverell has more on his mind than pondering that,” he added.

“So, I just let it go?”

“Of course,” Corvus sighed. “Pick your battles, son. There is nothing to gain from vengeance here. It is Bellatrix who dishonoured her family and that is what people will remember. She is still a Black and it will be them that endures the ire of our peers.”

“But he’s a mudblood!”

“As is Dumbledore. Would you raise your wand against him?”

Rudolphus shook his head sullenly.

“No, because it would be foolish to do so,” Corvus pointed out. “Forget Peverell. I will decide what action to take if any.”

“Yes, father,” Rudolphus complied before taking his leave of the room.

Corvus leaned back in his chair and released a deep breath.

Rudolphus was a borderline imbecile, and for the life of him, Corvus did not know where that trait came from. His younger son was even worse and the thought of leaving the family lordship to either did not sit well with him.

Perhaps Rudolphus would prove himself in the coming years.

Corvus had his doubts but he had no choice in the matter. The Black line may well be vulnerable but his own was even more so.

He needed more heirs and would have liked the opportunity to betroth Rabastan to Cygnus’s younger daughter, but from what he had seen, Abraxus had beaten him to it.

Had the Malfoy Lord caught on to the same vulnerability that he himself had seen with the Black succession? If so, was he a future foe?

Surely, he knew that any children Lucius and the younger Black would have would fall behind any that Rudolphus and Bella birthed?

Corvus nodded thoughtfully.

Abraxus was an astute man and knew exactly what he was doing. Corvus would need to be vigilant where any children born to his line were. He had no doubt that if Abraxus was successful with his own efforts to ingratiate himself with the Blacks, he would do whatever was necessary to see his ambition come to fruition.

(Break)

Never had Charlus seen both James and Sirius so subdued at the breakfast table. It was common for them to be chided by Dorea for their rambunctiousness or even simply talking too much in lieu of eating their food, but today, the teens were quiet, lost in their own thoughts as their stared at their plates.

Had the Potter lord not been so caught up in the unpleasantry of the previous night, he would not have allowed them to witness the duel between Harry and Bellatrix. Even for him, what transpired had been a sobering experience.

If truth be told, he did not know much of his ancestors. Although he was a descendant of the Peverells, they were as mysterious to him as they were other wizarding families. He had the notebook that depicted the lineage, but nothing more. His own father had told him the most fantastical tales of the Peverells deeds, but he had thought of them as nothing more than fabrications, stories that had been shared to keep him amused as a child.

Having witnessed what he had the previous night, he could no longer be sure if they were merely what he had believed all these years.

“James, eat your breakfast,” Dorea urged, snapping the boy from his reverie.

“I’m not hungry,” he replied.

Dorea shot Charlus a look and he nodded his understanding.

“I know what you boys saw last night couldn’t have been easy to watch,” he sighed. “If I was not so focused on what was happening, I would not have allowed it, but you’re getting older now and need to understand that even the most trivial things can deteriorate into what happened. You’re both heirs to important families and it is important you know this.”

James nodded solemnly and Sirius grimaced at the mention of his status.

“What happened to cause that?” the former asked curiously.

Dorea released a frustrated huff.

“Harry and Bellatrix had a disagreement about blood purity and the pureblood movement. She lost her temper and drew her wand on him. As you saw for yourselves, it did not end well for her.”

“Bitch,” Sirius grumbled eliciting a chastising glare from his great aunt. “What? She deserves it. It’s about time someone put her in her place.”

“She is still your cousin,” Dorea pointed out.

Sirius shrugged uncaringly.

“After everything she’s done to people, Peverell should have killed her.”

Dorea shook her head.

Bellatrix put on a façade of being kind and polite in front of those she wished to fool. Dorea had seen through her when she was a young girl and was caught practicing the family magic on Sirius and Regulus during the summer before her second year at Hogwarts.

She had claimed that she was only playing and meant nothing by it, but the tears and remorse had been fake. Bella had known what she was doing but had gotten away with it because the boys were either too young to understand what she had done or too scared to speak up.

“What was the magic that Peverell used?” James asked.

“Probably his family magic. I’ve never seen anything like,” Charlus answered with a frown marring his features.

“If he’s family, shouldn’t we be able to do it?” James pressed.

Charlus shook his head.

“No, the Peverell magic in our line is non-existent now,” he explained. “It has been several generations since our families merged and we have our own, different magic to what you saw.”

James nodded his understanding.

“That does beg the question as to how Harry has it,” Dorea mused aloud.

“Maybe it’s because he isn’t a pureblood,” Charlus replied thoughtfully. “It might be that the only magic available through his lineage is the Peverell one and it’s manifested with him.”

“It could be,” Dorea conceded. “I feel so sorry for him and angry that what happened was allowed to. Cygnus has been too soft on Bella and has done nothing but make excuses for how she behaves. She’s damned lucky that Harry did not kill her.”

“She is,” Charlus agreed, “and he would have if it wasn’t for Narcissa.”

“I wonder how he’s feeling after everything,” Dorea sighed.

“Probably pissed off,” James snorted.

“Probably,” Charlus agreed. “I’ll give it a few days and then write to him just to make sure he’s okay.”

He hoped so. Harry had done nothing wrong and acted as a Lord would be expected to when faced with that situation.

What did concern Charlus, however, was the reactions the other families would have. Already, Harry had received missives from some. The others would follow suit soon enough and he found himself wondering if the young man was ready for what was to come.

(Break)

“Thank you for seeing me so quickly,” Lucius offered at he took a seat opposite the masked figure.

“You made it sound as though it was urgent, Lucius. Pray, tell me what has happened that has you rattled so.”

Lucius shook his head as he released a deep breath.

“There are two things that concern me, and I believe our Lord should be made aware of them,” he began, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “We were told specifically to not attack Lord Peverell. Bellatrix Black did not listen and disobeyed that order.”

The man beneath the mask hummed irritably and gestured for him to continue.

“Bellatrix is a very gifted witch, as sharp with her tongue as she is her wand, yet, her deranged state of mind was her folly. She openly threatened Lord Peverell and almost died because of it.”

“And you witnessed this?”

Lucius nodded.

“I did, and as much as I wish to lay the blame at the feet of Peverell, Bellatrix brought what happened upon herself. Were it not for her sister pleading for mercy, she would be dead.”

“Foolish girl,” the masked man grumbled. “I would like the memory so I can review it myself and then I will bring it to the attention of our lord. You have done well, Lucius.”

Lucius removed the memory, though it did not remove the burden of what he felt. He was still expected to associate with the Blacks and a part of him was excited by the prospect, the very same part that caused his urges to surface when they attacked the muggles.

He wanted to break the blonde woman so very much and would not be satisfied until he did so, despite the inherent danger.

This Peverell was dangerous. If he decided to take exception to what had happened to him during the dinner with the Blacks, things could become very messy.

Still, if that were to occur and he took vengeance on them, it would make his father’s task all the easier. It certainly would have been so already had Narcissa not intervened on her sister’s behalf. Had she not, Bellatrix would be dead; a significant obstacle in the way of the Malfoy ambition removed from their path.

There was time yet.

The Blacks were crumbling, and Bellatrix would likely get herself killed if she sought another fight with Peverell. That was almost inevitable.

The woman did not know when she was beaten.

That, however, would only work in Lucius’s favour. Cygnus would feel compelled to betroth Narcissa quickly, and with Lucius on the scene, there would be no better match.

He smiled at the thought as he exited the room.

He would get his chance to break her. One way or the other, regardless of what happened, it was all but a forgone conclusion.

(Break)

As far as anyone in the house knew, Bellatrix had spent the past few days sulking in her room. She had gone there immediately when they had returned home and had not been seen since.

Narcissa had no doubt that her sister was embarrassed by what happened, but beyond that, Bella’s emotions were too unpredictable. She could be simply wallowing in self-pity, but it was more likely that she was furious, the thought of losing at anything never sitting well with her.

Eventually, she would do something stupid. She was too stubborn to admit that she had been bested, would play over what happened in her mind time and time again and convince herself it had been nothing more than a fluke.

Any fool could see that it was not. Bellatrix had no reply for Harry’s magic, had either underestimated him or overestimated her own abilities. Regardless, the outcome had been the same. Bellatrix had lost and was fortunate to escape with her life.

Narcissa was under no illusion that Harry would have hesitated to kill her sister, and as she could not blame him for what had happened, she could only blame Bella for instigating the duel. Bella had tried to kill him, the spells she sent as wicked and lethal as they came, and it was her that had drawn her wand and threatened such.

There was little that could be done after that occurred. Bella was irrational at the best of times and would have accepted no compromise. What was worse, was that she would learn nothing from it. She would try again and Narcissa did not believe anything would stop Harry from putting an end to her.

“Have you even checked on her?” Druella asked her husband for what must have been at least the dozenth time.

“She is not answering her door,” Cygnus grumbled irritably. “Stupid girl. I’ve had it in the neck from father every other minute since it happened.”

Druella released a deep sigh.

“What are we going to do with her?”

“Nothing,” Cygnus answered with a frown. “Why would we need to do anything?”

“Merlin, Cygnus, you saw what she did and the things she has done over the years,” Druella despaired. “There is something wrong with her and we cannot ignore it any longer.”

“There is nothing wrong with my daughter,” Cygnus growled.

“Father…”

“Shut up,” he cut Narcissa off firmly. “I will not hear another word about this. Bella is fine.”

He shot them both a filthy look before stalking from the room, leaving behind two dumbfounded women.

“He’s in denial,” Narcissa muttered.

Druella nodded her agreement.

“If she doesn’t get help, she is going to do something stupid.”

“She already has,” Narcissa sighed. “You heard her last night, mother. If she’s not involved with the pureblood movement and out there attacking muggles, I will quit my job and marry Rabastan Lestrange.”

Druella deflated.

“I had my suspicions,” she whispered. “Maybe I did not want to face it. Make no mistake, Narcissa, I do not like the filthy creatures, but I would not harm one without cause.”

“Bella does and I’ve seen what those masked fools do to them. The women…”

She choked slightly as she remembered the faces of all the women and young girls she had patched up over the past months. How many there had been, she did not know, but the faces were many.

“How many have been in and out of St Mungo’s?”

Narcissa shrugged.

“Too many,” she answered simply.

“And Bella is involved in it?”

“She is,” Narcissa confirmed, any modicum of doubt she had clung to for so long having been all but shredded by Bella’s actions during the family dinner.

“What will we do?”

“What can we do?” Narcissa returned. “By the end of the year, she will be married to Rudolphus. I think grandfather has already washed his hands of her.”

Druella shook her head sadly.

“Shouldn’t we do something?”

“Unless Bella wants help, there is nothing we can do. She has chosen her side and you know as well as I she will not change her mind.”

“No, she will not,” Druella agreed. “I’m just grateful Peverell did not kill her. We are fortunate he listened to you.”

“I didn’t think he would, but I had to try,” Narcissa admitted.

She didn’t understand why Harry had listened. He was within his rights to kill Bella but just a simple plea from Narcissa had prevented it. It’s not as though she was not ungrateful for his mercy, but why?

Despite what Bella had done, she was still her sister and Narcissa would have been remiss not to at least try to save her. Harry was an enigma to her, impossible to understand and even less so the more she thought about him. He was an exceedingly gifted wizard, of that she had no doubt, but with that came a seeming lack of understanding of many other things.

He was an interesting man to say the least.

She had written to him this morning to apologise for what Bella had done and to thank him also. Whether or not he would reply, she did not know. He had no reason to, not really. She had been his healer once but nothing more. They had not struck up a friendship in any way, and yet, he thought enough of her to spare her sister.

“Perhaps he was grateful for all the help you gave him,” Druella offered.

Narcissa nodded thoughtfully.

“Maybe,” Narcissa conceded. “I doubt he will be grateful if the pureblood movement goes after him next,” she added, a deep frown marring her features.

“Well, I do not envy them if they do,” Druella snorted. “From what I saw, that would not be a wise move.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

The thought of Harry being pursued by the very same people that had wreaked so much havoc in the muggle world did not sit right with her. It was the kind of thing the overzealous purebloods would band together to do, especially if they were amongst the masked mob plaguing Britain.

He was not a fool and would take precautions, as was his nature from what she knew of him, but she still found herself worrying.

Bella would not let what she saw as a slight against her stand.

Despite what she had seen of Harry thus far, he was still only one man with seemingly no one he could turn to for help if he needed it.

(Break)

He stared at the veil, the voices he had come to know in his dreams continuing to whisper to him; the same words over again, endlessly. They haunted and teased him when he took time to consider them, but he was no closer to finding the answers they urged him to seek.

He did not know what book they referred to, the vault or what they meant when they told him to ‘unite them’.

He had all three of the hallows, had they not been united already?

It was frustrating to say the least, only made worse when he knew he would get no further help.

However, he would not be broaching that subject today. There was something else he hoped to be enlightened with. Everything else could wait.

“Peverell, once more I find you seeking me out,” the cloaked figure huffed irritably.

Harry nodded. He had rehearsed what he wished to say when he was here, but the words were lost to him.

“What is happening to me?” he blurted. “With Bellatrix, I wanted to fight her and even kill her. I’ve never felt that before or used magic like I did.”

The figure seemed to eye him speculatively for a moment and nodded.

“Walk with me, Peverell,” it instructed as it gestured for him to follow.

Harry did so, falling into step with the cloaked figure who released an uncharacteristic sigh.

“To understand what is happening to you is simply a matter of understanding souls,” it began. “Souls are one thing I know better than any, as is the magic you wield.”

Harry nodded and waited for it to continue.

“You have never truly been who you were born to be, your own soul corrupted by a piece of another when you were a babe in arms. It became a part of you, and you have unknowingly taken on traits of its owner. Your own soul accepted the foreign piece so readily because there is a familial connection between you. It is distant, but your magic recognised that connection and brought you together seamlessly.”

“So, I’m not a horcrux?”

“No, your soul is no longer corrupted,” the figure clarified. “I suppose I did not give enough thought to what would happen when I added another part of a Peverell soul to your own. The coming together of the three different souls you now carry has proven to be more than I expected. Your willingness to fight is a trait of the latter piece. The Peverell with the wand did not shy away from battle and now neither do you.”

“So, I will always be like this?”

The cloaked figure shook its head.

“Not necessarily,” it denied. “That depends on what happens when the souls finish becoming one. As things are, you have three different souls of one line merging, when they are finished, that is who you will be. Until then, some traits may be more prominent than others.”

“I won’t be me when this is done?” Harry muttered.

“No, Peverell, you will be more,” the figure corrected. “I did tell you that Harry Potter did not exist here, did I not? If you wish to defeat him, you will need to be more than just Harry Potter as he is more than just Tom Riddle.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Harry conceded. “I am supposed to be the balance, after all,” he added.

The figure stopped walking as it stared at him once more.

“Fate has decreed the two of you will meet as equals, one will live and the other will perish, but this does not have to be your whole life, Peverell. You are free to walk your own path, do what you wish to. The only thing that life promises you is that you will meet him in battle, and you will one day come to me to rest. I wish to see Riddle here before that, Peverell.”

Harry frowned as the figure began walking walk towards the veil.

“Why?” he questioned.

“You are my chosen, Peverell. You wield my magic and Riddle tries to flee from me. Prepare for him but live your life also. Your dreams must extend further than convening with me. Live them. Everything else will happen when the time is right, you can be assured of that.”

Harry watched almost amusedly as the figure waved at him as it vanished through the veil and he was pulled from this place.

He woke in his bed to the sound of the seagulls outside his tent, and he felt oddly lighter than he had before he slept. Of all the feelings the cloaked figure elicited within him, this was the one he never expected.

He had made tentative plans for what he would do with his life here, but perhaps he had been reluctant to implement them with what he knew was to come. He’d never had a life of his own, not truly. Maybe he was a little scared of what that would entail?

Since he had been born, Voldemort had been there, in the shadows for the most part, but Harry had felt his presence. His life at Hogwarts had been fraught with danger and even more so when he had taken his leave of the castle.

When he thought back, it had always been inevitable that he and Voldemort would meet, and Harry had done all he could to avoid it. He had run, knowing he was no match for his foe.

He was tired of it, tired of running from the inevitable, tired of merely existing. Was he ready to face the Dark Lord now? No, but he refused to hide like a terrified rabbit in a hole any longer, waiting for the day to arrive when the two would settle their differences.

He had his dreams too, had his own vision of what he wanted his life to be and hiding forever was not one of them. Here, he had been given the chance to at least live a semblance of his desires, and he would do that.

He would never forget what it would all lead to, he would prepare as needed, but he would do so whilst finally doing what he wanted to also.

With seemingly a new lease on life, he left his bed and entered his living area, frowning at the mess it had become over the past few days.

His discarded clothes from his exercise sessions were strewn about, his sink full of plates that needed cleaning and the table was still awash with the plethora of missives he had received.

He shook his head disapprovingly as he unholstered his wand. The mess would not do and only reflected his disorganised mind. He was not completely certain on where he would begin but getting his tent in order seemed to be a good place to start.

With only a few waves of his wand, the plates were cleaned, put away and his clothes were freshly laundered and folded in neat piles.

“Death!” Olin squawked approvingly.

“One day, my friend,” Harry replied as the bird landed on his shoulder. “One day,” he repeated as he took in the sight of the many pieces of rolled and sealed pieces of parchment.

They had continued to arrive in a steady stream, and he had added them to the pile, putting them to the back of his mind. All these people that had written to him wanted something, and as far as he was concerned, he had nothing to give. His whole life, he had given, and given and had received nothing for all his sacrifices. He was as tired of it as he was running.

Their well wishes meant nothing, were likely nothing but empty words in an attempt to either ingratiate themselves with him or to gain the opportunity to manipulate him. Perhaps both.

Harry was no politician but he had been around manipulative people throughout his life to recognise this fanfare for what it was; offers of marriage to have him beholden to that family, intent of an alliance for the very same and the honeyed words to lower his guard.

He cared for none of it. He owed nothing to any of these people who had reached out to him. He did, however, need to sort through them and take note of those that had taken an interest in him. It could serve him well in the future, give him an understanding of how far they were willing to go to win him over.

He eyed the Peverell lordship ring speculatively. This was why so many had taken an interest in him, even those that would one day become enemies had done so. He recognised many names as he sifted through the parchment; Malfoy, Lestrange, Rookwood…

Drawing them away from Voldemort was out of the question. Already, they had likely allied themselves to the Dark Lord, but that did not mean Harry could not gain something from them. If they were so determined to make his acquaintance, they would need to prove just how much they wished to do so.

For that to happen, however, Harry would need to make himself available.

He was not foolish enough to leave himself at their mercy by attending their homes, but there was one place they would congregate and it was the one place he could begin to make a difference.

Harry may not be a politician, but he did not need to be, not when there was so many of them wanting to earn his favour.

He nodded thoughtfully as a plan began to form in his mind. It would take much thought and he was not so keen on it, but between now and when Voldemort emerged from the shadows, it could be a boon.

What he could achieve from it, he could not be certain, but he had nothing to lose and everything to gain from the venture.

“Bloody hell,” he huffed as he read the letter sent to him by Lord Selwyn.

The man had openly offered him the choice of any female in his family that Harry found suitable as a bride. How desperate was this man?

He shook his head as he pushed the note aside and unfurled another, this one in a much more delicate scrawl than the others he had read thus far.

Dear Harry,

He paused at the familiarity of using his first name instead of the ‘Dear Lord Peverell’ the others had begun with.

I wanted to first apologise for what happened during dinner the other evening. Bellatrix did not give a good impression of our family, treated you unfairly and overstepped with her actions.

I have never seen my grandfather as furious than he was after you left nor as regretful. You were put in a position that you never should have been, and for that, I’m sorry.

I am angry that what happened could have been prevented, but more relieved that you found it within yourself to listen to me, even if you didn’t have to. Thank you for sparing my sister. I know she is difficult at best, but still, she’s the only one I have left.

Anyway, I just wished to apologise and let you know how grateful I am. I’m sorry this happened and hope you’re doing well.

Please write back even just to let me know that you’re okay.

Narcissa Black

He sighed as he added it to the smaller pile of letters he would keep, along with the latest received by the Lord Black.

He too had expressed his regret of how the dinner had ended, offered his apologies and assurance that the possibility of an alliance between them was still open for id and when Harry decided he would like to accept it.

The prospect had seemed like a good one to begin with, but having shared dinner with them, he realised just how many of Voldemort’s supporters there were amongst them and the people they associated with.

Even Narcissa, the person who had helped him more than any since he arrived would eventually be married to Lucius, a process that had already begun judging by the man’s presence.

No, it would not do. As much as he would need powerful allies, he could not tie himself to the Blacks, not with how many of his enemies were already close to them.

Finally, the letter received from Narcissa had brought him to the end of the piles of parchment and he stood to stretch.

It was still early in the morning and he needed to exercise his legs, study some of the books Dumbledore had given him and some spell work. First, however, he wanted to fly.

As such, he removed his firebolt from his trunk and exited the tent.

Having gotten some of the answers he sought from the cloaked figure, he felt better than he had since he arrived, and he wanted to take advantage of his good mood. To him, there was no better place to do that than in the air.

Events would undoubtedly unfold around him, things he could change and others that would remain as they had been from where he came from. As much as he would like to change it all, he was still just one person.

One day, he would meet Voldemort, but, as the cloaked figure had told him, what happened between now and then was up to him.

Harry had a life to live, something he had not been able to do for so long, if ever, and he was fully intent on doing just that.

Even as he took to the sky, the possibilities of what he could do came flooding in, and he began making a mental list of each of them. Some he discarded and others he filed away to ponder further.

Regardless of what he decided to do, he would do so on his terms, and it was the most freeing thing he had ever felt.

(Break)

The Dark Lord frowned as he exited the pensieve, surprised and angry at what he had witnessed. The former was due to the skill with which the Lord Peverell wielded his very intriguing magic, and the latter courtesy of the foolish young woman that had needlessly provoked the situation.

The Peverell Lord was indeed impressive, someone worth thinking further on in the coming months and years, but not his current priority.

“You were right to bring this to my attention,” he praised the man that did so. “She is the one that you have been watching closely?”

“She is, my lord,” the man confirmed.

Voldemort nodded.

“My Lord, what will we do about this Peverell? You heard his words for yourself.”

“Peverell?” Voldemort questioned curiously.

“Is he not a threat to us? Already he has killed Avery, and look what he did to Bellatrix…”

The Dark Lord cut him off with a stern glare.

“Peverell did only what was expected of him in that moment. He is not sympathetic towards us but made no outright threat. He merely defended himself from Black, and did so admirably,” he pointed out. “No, Peverell is not the problem here, Black is.”

“Bellatrix, My Lord?”

“Yes. She was told to not seek a fight with Peverell, yet, she did. I had hoped that he could perhaps be an ally and the actions of the foolish girl has set that back considerably, at the very least. She defied me.”

“My Lord, she was defending your ambition…”

“And she had been told to leave Peverell be. I have plans in motion for the man that, if we are fortunate, have not been foiled by her stupidity.”

His companion nodded reluctantly.

“Do you still believe that she is worthy?” Voldemort questioned.

“I do, My Lord. Despite this blip, she is still the one with the most potential out of all the recruits. Her wand work is excellent, and she is loyal to the cause.”

“I will be the judge of that,” the Dark Lord declared. “You will have her brought to me and I will see for myself what she is worth. Now, leave.”

The man did so hurriedly, and Voldemort shook his head.

The girl had acted rashly, and without thought to the consequences.

This Peverell had garnered the attention of many, including those he had recruited from the very beginning. Lords from prominent families were seeking this man’s favour, and Voldemort understood.

He was from a family as old as his own, carrying an enviable legacy. Nothing like the Slytherins, of course, but his was one of mystery.

Having seen the magic Peverell wielded, he was impressed. Black was perhaps caught off guard, but from the reports he had received, it was more likely that Peverell was an excellent duellist.

To bring him on side would be difficult now, but not impossible. If he could one day get the opportunity to speak with the man, he could prove to be a very strong ally.

Now, however, was not that time. He could perhaps send a note of apology when Peverell had calmed down enough from what had occurred with Bellatrix?

Thoughts of the woman elicited another shake of his head.

He had heard of the Blacks, their reputation unmatched by any other family. Bellatrix was proving to exactly what he expected from one of them but was she too much of a liability?

If she could not follow a simple order, could she be trusted amongst his inner circle?

He knew not but would find out soon enough.

He would see just how loyal she was to him, just how much potential she had and, ultimately, how far she was willing to go to be welcomed by him.

(Break)

It was seldom that Albus Dumbledore would invite a former student into his office, especially so if it had been many years since they had graduated. This evening, however, was different. He was perhaps taking a risk by doing so with this particular person, but he was certain he was making the right decision.

The past days had seen him hold such meetings with those he trusted implicitly, those he had worked with for many years on the Wizengamot or those he had struck up a close friendship with.

Millicent had seemingly finally begun paying attention to what was happening around them and had given him the opportunity to make a difference. What difference that was with what limited liberties he had been given, he could not be sure, but for now, he would take it.

If he could save even a single life, his efforts would not be in vain.

To that end, he knew he needed more allies, even those that did not always agree with his political agendas. Wizarding Britain would need to come together to put an end to the threat this pureblood movement posed.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle tapping on his door.

“Come in,” he called as he settled himself behind his desk.

His guest entered, his countenance wary and his eyes searching the room before finally resting on him.

“Please, take a seat,” Dumbledore offered warmly, trying to set the man at ease.

He did so and the headmaster slid his bowl of soured treats towards him.

“Sherbet lemon?” he offered.

“No, thank you, headmaster,” the man replied.

Albus chuckled as he helped himself to one. Minerva was still the only person that had accepted one before and he did not expect that to change any time in the near future.

“I suppose you are wondering why I asked you to meet with me, Lord Bones.”

“I am curious,” Edgar returned. “I believe the last time I was in this office was when I was caught in a broom cupboard with Eleanor Carmichael during my sixth year.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore confirmed amusedly. “I believe you were given three weeks detention.”

Edgar nodded, a ghost of a grin tugging at his lips.

“It was worth it,” he muttered.

“I am pleased, however, that your sister was never that way.”

“As am I,” Edgar agreed, grimacing at the thought.

Dumbledore chuckled once more as he shook his head.

“As much as I enjoy reminiscing, your past transgressions within these walls is not why I invited you here,” he explained.

“Then why did you?”

“Because I believe you can assist me with a most important task, Lord Bones,” Dumbledore replied, any trace of humour he had felt only a moment ago all but absent.

“Help you how?” Edgar asked suspiciously.

“This pureblood movement.”

Seeing the younger man stiffen in his chair and his eyes narrow angrily, Albus knew he had made the choice.

“What about them?”

“I am assembling what I would call a resistance against them. I have been given the blessing of the Minister to begin taking steps to stop their attacks and I need trustworthy people to help me.”

“I’m in,” Edgar replied without hesitation.

“I have not explained what it is we will be doing,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“I don’t care,” Edgar said dismissively. “My father was killed by them and my mother would be too if they had their way.”

Dumbledore nodded his understanding. He, of course, knew this already which was why the new Lord Bones was the first he was approaching away from his usual cohorts. He already had reason to see them brought to justice.

“You have my condolences,” he offered with a slight bow. “Your father was a good man.”

Edgar nodded, the same words having seemingly been spoken to him several times over the intervening weeks since the death of his father and being here.

“So, what will this resistance group do?”

“For now, we will be placing additional magical sensors and monitoring them. We will then notify the aurors if they are triggered.”

Edgar frowned thoughtfully. With Amelia working as part of the auror force, he understood how important these sensors were. If more of them were to be put in place, it would increase their chances of catching the masked witches and wizards in the act.

“I’ll help,” he agreed. “I won’t allow my father’s killer to get away with it.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore declared happily, pleased with how willing the young man was.

“When will we begin?” Edgar asked eagerly.

“We already have,” Albus informed him. “I will be in touch with you shortly with a list of places I would like you to place some sensors, and Lord Bones? I’m sure I do not need to say this, but our work must be kept under wraps. We cannot be certain who are enemies are.”

“Of course,” Edgar agreed as he stood, “my lips are sealed.”

Dumbledore nodded gratefully.

“Also, if you can think of any other that we may be able to trust to join us, I will take any suggestions under advisement.”

Edgar seemed to ponder the headmaster’s thoughts for a moment before speaking.

“Lord Peverell.”

“Peverell?” Dumbledore questioned with a frown, his stomach sinking at the thought of the man, the wand he still kept with him suddenly weighing heavy in his sleeve. It no longer responded to him at all and appeared to be nothing but a useless slither of wood.

Edgar nodded confidently.

“It is not my place to explain why, but he has just as much, if not more reason to want them dealt with than even me, and I trust him. He was the first person to believe me and my mother when she told him about the pale wizard with red eyes.”

Dumbledore’s stomach sunk even further as a memory of another former student surfaced, though he had not been so pale nor had eyes of red when he roamed the castle.

That hadn’t happened until after he had graduated and returned a few years later with tales of his adventures and asking to take up the vacant Defence Against the Dark Arts post.

He shook his head.

No, it couldn’t be. He had heard nothing of Tom Riddle since that night. As was his nature, he had faded once more into the shadows, or had he?

“Are you okay, Headmaster?” Edgar questioned.

“This wizard you mentioned, how is he involved in the death of your father?”

Edgar shrugged and released a deep breath.

“I don’t know. My father met with him and was dead only a few hours later. I suspected he was involved but had no explanation until I dined with Lord Peverell. He seemed to recognise the description my mother gave him and warned us to be careful. He said this wizard is extremely dangerous.”

Dumbledore nodded is understanding.

The thought had crossed his mind that this Peverell may be involved with the pureblood movement but that no longer made sense. If he was at odds with the man that had murdered Lord Bones and knew of this mysterious wizard, perhaps Albus had been wrong?

“Did Lord Peverell say anything else about him?”

Edgar shook his head.

“Like I said, Professor, it is not my place to say anything else on the matter. I’m sorry, but I will not break Lord Peverell’s confidence. It is him you will have to speak to.”

“Of course, I would not want to put you in a compromising position,” Albus sighed. “Thank you, Lord Bones, your help is truly appreciated, and I will be in touch shortly.”

The man offered Dumbledore a bow before exiting, leaving a very thoughtful headmaster in his wake.

“This could be much worse than I believed,” he mumbled as he stroked Fawkes’ plumage. “Much worse, indeed.”

He did, however, take comfort that he may well have been wrong about Lord Peverell, but his meeting with Lord Bones had only left him with more questions.

If Peverell was not involved with the pureblood movement, was he truly at odds with them or just the pale wizard with red eyes?

Dumbledore shook his head.

No matter how much he pondered such, it would bring him no closer to the answers he sought. There was only one person that could provide those and Albus was still reluctant to speak with the man, though he could not ignore just how powerful an ally he could prove to be.

If he could bring Peverell on side there was a good chance that more would be receptive to joining also, and if their foe proved to be who he was beginning to suspect, wizarding Britain would need all the help it could get.

(Break)

She was nervous. Not because she was finally getting the opportunity to meet the Dark Lord for the first time, no, she had been waiting for this but because the man that had brought her hear had told her not to expect a warm reception.

Evidently, word of what happened at Potter manor had gotten out and the Dark Lord was very displeased with what had transpired.

Had he heard the full story? Did he know why she had challenged Peverell?

She was certain when he became aware of it, she would be forgiven for any perceived slight. She had done what she had to defend the purebloods from the filth who dared attack and kill one of them, after all.

He had to understand that what she did was for them. If she had not done so, who would have?

No one else in her family were seemingly willing to do what was right, so she did.

She shook her head as she was led through a corridor in an unfamiliar home.

She was angry that Peverell had somehow gotten the better of her. She did not know what he had done, what magic he had used or how he had bested her.

What she did know, was that she would not let it lie. He had caught her by surprise, used tricks she had not expected and had ultimately embarrassed her.

She remembered being hauled into the air by his flock of birds and then seized around the throat by the cloaked figure. She had been disorientated, unable to defend herself and wandless.

If she’d had it, he would not have been so successful. The cloaked figure would have been immolated with Peverell following soon after.

Instead, her sister had intervened and all but begged the mudblood for her life. Bellatrix had never felt so much shame as she had in that moment.

For days she had kept herself hidden in her room, playing over what happened again and again.

She knew she could beat him, knew that he had been lucky against her, and she would have her chance to redeem herself.

She would not have her family look down on her as though she was unworthy to carry their name, nor would she have the Potters, Rudolphus or Lucius remember that she had been beaten by an inferior wizard.

Bellatrix always got the last laugh, and this would be no different.

She grinned at the thought of facing off with Peverell once more, the image of her standing triumphantly over his unmoving form more exciting than anything else she could imagine.

Ever since that night at Potter Manor it had consumed her. She had focused on it, envisioned their next meeting in countless ways; each ending with him dead, his body broken and the light leaving his eyes as she looked on with glee.

“Wait here,” the man that brought her instructed firmly as he entered a door at the end of the hallway.

He returned a few moments later, though he did not gesture for her to go in. Instead, he approached her once more and took her firmly by the wrist.

“You will only speak when given leave to do so. You will address him as ‘My Lord’ and you will not bring further shame upon yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

Bella scowled at the man and ripped her arm from his grip.

“I am a Black, you fool. Do not tell me things I already know.”

She shot the man a disgusted look before entering the dimly lit room, the only light source being that of the fire crackling merrily away below the mantle where a robed figure was seated, waiting for her.

“Come, sit, Bellatrix,” he instructed in little more than a whisper. “There is much for us to discuss.”

She did so and took in the appearance of the man before her, balking slightly at the crimson irises their stared into her own violet ones. He was very handsome, despite the odd colour of his eyes and pale skin.

“You have been impressive,” the man commented. “Often, I hear of your prowess with your wand, your dedication to our cause and your unwavering loyalty. It is commendable.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said gratefully.

He gave her an easy smile that set her stomach aflutter.

“You see, Bella, I have a vision of what our world will one day be, would you like to hear of it?”

Bellatrix could only nod as he continued to smile at her.

“One day, our world will sit in its rightful place. Above the muggles we have thus far cowered from and even above those that do not share our remarkable heritage. There are differences, Bella, even between those who are gifted with magic.”

“Mudbloods,” Bellatrix spat.

The man nodded.

“Mudbloods,” he parroted. “They have the gift, that cannot be denied, but they do not share our rich history. They come into our world from one so different believing they can change our traditions, change our way of life. That cannot be allowed. Our ways must be preserved, our blood untainted by theirs and our magic protected. They would have us share the knowledge of our families, have us all stand as equals, but that is not what we are. We are superior, don’t you agree?”

“O-of course, my lord,” she responded.

“Good, then you will understand that for my vision to come to fruition, I must be surrounded by those I can trust, those that will follow me and those that will not disobey my orders.”

“I d-do, my lord. If I could just…”

“Be quiet,” the man hissed furiously.

Bellatrix swallowed deeply as his smile vanished and the anger he was feeling surfaced. She shivered as his magic washed over, but her trembling was not from fear. It warmed her the same way his smile had, excited her and the burning eyes drew her in deeply.

He was handsome, that she knew but he was even more so when he was exerting himself over her. It made her feel weak, though not in a way that displeased her. If anything, it made him that much more appealing.

She found herself shifting in her seat as his narrowed eyes bored into hers and his nostrils twitched almost as though he could smell her arousal. It was as terrifying as it was exciting.

“You disobeyed me, Bella,” he whispered.

She supposed that it was intended to sound dangerous, but to her, it was almost sultry. He, however, was not amused by her response.

“Crucio!”

He had drawn his wand quicker than she could blink and she found herself screaming as the agony tore through every fibre of her being. It was pain beyond any pain se had ever experienced and any thought she’d had before he’d cursed her was gone.

She gasped, gulping in lungsful of air when the spell ended, her chest heaving from the effort to do so. When, after several moments, she was thinking with clarity, she moved, only to groan as her body quivered in agony.

Her gaze, however, found him, standing over with his wand still pointed in her direction. Despite the pain, she found herself once more excited by the sight.

He had hurt her, and whilst he was doing so, she despised him and wanted to hurt him back. Now, as he stared at her speculatively, a small part of her wanted him to do so again.

In her mind, it sounded wrong, but oh so right also. It was a strange feeling; one she did not understand but it somehow brought her joy and anticipation unlike anything she had ever experienced.

“You were told to not approach Peverell, and yet, you did so. You disobeyed my orders. Let it not be said that I am not a merciful lord. Stand up.”

He turned away from her and she did as she was bid reluctantly, that small part of her that was thrilled by what was happening almost causing her to defy him.

“Take out your wand.”

“My Lord?” she questioned confusedly.

“Take out your wand and prove to me that you are worthy of a place amongst my inner circle.”

At first, she thought that he was not being serious, but as he sent a cutting curse her way that she managed to avoid, the doubt vanished, and she complied.

“Let us see how superior you are to the others, Bella. Give me everything you have.”

Another spell, one she did not recognise screeched towards her and she met it with one of her own.

The Dark Lord nodded approvingly.

“You are fast, but you must be faster.”

Three more spells she did not know came at her one after the other and she barely managed to block them, her own wand a blur as she defended herself.

“Good, but you must fight back. You cannot win by shielding.”

Bellatrix nodded and tentatively sent a trio of her own spells at the man that were batted aside carelessly.

“No, Bella, I mean for you to really fight. This is your one chance to prove yourself to me. Hold nothing back.”

He gave her no chance to gather herself and unleashed a barrage of spells that she had to throw herself to the floor to avoid. It angered her, reminded her of how Peverell had toyed with her and she immediately stood almost expecting something to grab her by the throat.

She would not allow that to happen again.

The Dark Lord nodded but she paid it no heed as she returned fire, the spells leaving her wand without thought as she complied with his wishes.

For several moments, the two of them went back and forth, each defending when needed but mostly attacking. She kept pace with him, matched him spell for spell and felt jubilant that she managed to do so.

Suddenly, however, he seemingly grew bored of the exchange and the rate in which his offerings increased left her speechless and floundering to prevent herself falling victim to him.

Already tired from her efforts, his renewed vigour proved to be too much, and she collapsed to the ground as the flesh on the shoulder of her wand arm was torn open.

She screamed as her wand fell from her grasp and looked up at the man, panting, her hair stuck to her sweaty brow.

Once more, she had been bested but she was not angry this time; she was enraptured.

His speed and skill with a wand had been more than she had ever imagined, the glimpse she’d had of him as he burned the muggle village so many months ago paling in comparison to what he was truly capable of.

Although her wound stung and the blood flowed freely, it did not bother her. If anything, it made the experience more real, more intimate and she would wear the scar he had given her with pride.

“Come, Bella,” he whispered as he sheathed his wand and took his seat by the fire.

She followed, hissing as a bead of sweat trailed from her neck into the lacerated flesh.

“You did very well, but you will be better,” he spoke once she was seated. “You are more impressive than I expected, and I would like you to take your place as one of my most loyal.”

“Of course, my lord,” she whispered excitedly, her gaze not leaving his.

He smiled at her again, eliciting another shiver from her.

“I will train you, Bella. I will bring out the very best in you, show you things that you would not believe to be possible. Prove yourself to me and there will be none that will stand as your equal.”

“I will, my lord,” she gasped.

“I hope so,” he sighed. “You will not disobey me again.”

Bellatrix swallowed deeply as she shook her head.

“Then there is only one thing left to do. You must carry my mark, the very same one that will be feared and respected by all soon enough. For now, however, it is for your eyes only. Do you understand?”

Bellatrix nodded as he took out his wand once more and gently gripped the wrist of her left arm.

“Take a deep breath, Bella, this will hurt.”

She did not hear his final words, her eyes drawn and locked on the pale fingers wrapped around her arm, and though the pain that followed burned as the black mark was seared into her skin, she did not make a noise.

The sheer ecstasy she felt from his touch made the pain bearable and she would endure it again and again so long as he held on to her arm as he did.