Whispers of a Raven - Proceedings

It was not often that such an impromptu gathering of the Wizengamot was called, and Albus Dumbledore found himself very curious indeed as to what had transpired to necessitate it.

The missive informing him of it had arrived late the previous evening, too late for him to learn much but there was quite the tense atmosphere within the room. Whispered conversations were being had by Abraxus Malfoy, his heir and surrounding associates. It did not sit well with the Chief Warlock. Something was afoot and it was unnerving to say the least.

He despised the clandestine ways of some of his peers and gatherings such as this rarely boded well. His suspicions only grew when the Minister entered with Marcus Avery walking solemnly by her side and a larger than usual contingency of aurors.

She took her seat and began shuffling a thick stack of parchment she had removed from her handbag before nodding for him to proceed.

Without preamble, he tapped his gavel on his podium before addressing the gathered Lords, Ladies and members of the public that had arrived to witness the proceedings.

“I call to order this meeting of the Wizengamot and defer to Minister Bagnold as the one who requested such. Madame Minister?” Dumbledore prompted.

“Thank you, Chief Warlock,” she replied as she stood. “I have gathered us here today to discuss and pass judgement on a most heinous of crimes that took place two weeks ago. Due to the nature of this crime, I saw fit to not release the details to the public until the full facts of the matter could be ascertained. The crime I refer to is that of murder.”

Dumbledore’s gaze swept across the gathered members of the Wizengamot who were mumbling amongst themselves at the declaration of the Minister. From the mixture of reactions, he could tell that most were not aware of what had happened, but there were those that had already been informed of the details before this morning.

Abraxus Malfoy was such, as were those around him, evidently and Dumbledore frowned but waited for the Minister to continue.

“If only it was a simple case of murder,” she sighed deeply. “The crime itself is repugnant but this murder was committed against one of our own. Lord Avery’s son and heir, Thomas, was the victim.”

The revelation elicited a much more dramatic and unanimous response from the Lords and Ladies. The murder of an heir was indeed one of the very few things that would inspire unity amongst those that often shared different views on most things.

“Do you have the murderer in custody?” Lord Longbottom questioned over the din.

“We do,” the Minister confirmed. “He has spent the past two weeks in Azkaban whilst the investigation against him has been carried out. Bring him in,” she instructed.

Dumbledore looked on with interest as a young man was led into the chambers by Alastor and eleven other guards. An excessive gesture and one reserved only for the most dangerous of criminals.

This man did not appear to be such. He could have only been out of school for a few years, though it was not a face that had passed through Hogwarts. Despite the familiarity of his features, he was certain of it.

“For the gathered Lords and Ladies of wizarding Britain, state your full name,” Millicent instructed.

The man stared at her unrepentantly, his nostrils flaring defiantly.

“My name is Lord Harry Peverell.”

Dumbledore felt his heart sink into his stomach, the weight of the wand he carried becoming almost cumbersome within his sleeve as he looked upon the man. It had always been a burden, a reminder of the losses he had suffered throughout his younger years, but even more so recently.

It no longer worked for him as it once had, stubbornly resisting his efforts to wield it.

He shook his head.

It was impossible. The Peverell line had been extinct for many generations, he and Gellert had established such in their youth. Had they missed something?

His eyes roamed to the ring that adorned the young man’s finger and he swallowed deeply. The symbol was there but could it be a forgery?

Many in the room were looking upon the boy in confusion, the name not one they knew. Those that had been told of the Peverells appeared to be in a state of shock and some were even shuffling nervously in their seats.

The legend was very much alive even if the family had not been heard of in so long. Even for Albus, the Peverells had been the proverbial ‘bogeyman’ his father spoke of when he, Abe or Ariana found themselves caught up in mischief.

“SILENCE!” Bagnold demanded.

The room steadily fell quiet once more, though Albus’s eyes remained on Peverell. If he was who claimed to be, then where had he been? What had happened that the family had been absent from society for so long?

“Lord Harry Peverell,” Millicent addressed him sarcastically, “you stand accused of murder and assaulting two prison guards, both of whom are suffering long-term effects of your attack.”

Peverell snorted.

“They attacked me and tried to remove my ring,” he explained. “Any idiot in here could tell you that touching a Lord’s ring without permission would end badly.”

Murmurs of agreement met his words and the Minister flushed irritably.

“QUIET! You will not speak unless prompted to do so.”

“Then how am I expected to defend myself?” Peverell questioned. “I am very interested to hear your case against me. Since I have not been granted legal counsel, been asked to provide a sworn statement, nor memory of the event, I can only assume that such a thing is not necessary and that I will be acquitted of all charges without delay.”

Millicent’s flush deepened as the members looked to her to answer the man. Such a neglect of his rights and primary investigative evidence was an error on her part.

“It was not necessary,” she returned. “You were discovered at the scene by no less than a dozen witnesses who saw you kill Thomas Avery.”

“Who saw me defending myself after the moron attempted to kill a patient and then me,” Peverell insisted. “I would be very interested in hearing their version of events. Surely you have copies of the statements gathered?”

Millicent’s jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Peverell was much better than she had expected, much better than Dumbledore had expected, in truth. Those who had spent a fortnight under the effects of the dementors usually lacked clarity, were sluggish at best and much more compliant during these proceedings.

Albus leaned back in his chair and watched interestedly.

He knew not where Peverell emerged from but, depending on the outcome today, he would be looking into it.

(Break)

“Well, what evidence have you got against me?” Peverell pressed. “I am very happy to provide my memory for all to see and then the truth will be known. The only thing I am certain of is that I found a dead auror outside the corridor and an idiot in a dark robe and white mask casting the killing curse on an unconscious woman. I defended myself and he died. After that, I was taken in by the aurors and don’t know anything else, so, what are the details of your case, Minister?”

Arcturus fought the grin that threatened to form.

Peverell was doing well. He was not so well-versed in politics, but his blunt and brash approach was enough to unsettle the Minister. She had expected his stint in Azkaban to weaken him, but it had not, and Peverell went up in the Lord Black’s estimation.

“I too am very interested to hear this, Minister,” Lord Bones broke in. “As it was my mother that Avery was attempting to murder, I have a particular interest in the matter.”

“Thomas did not try to kill anyone!” Lord Avery returned angrily.

“Then what the hell was he doing on the secure ward of St Mungo’s at 3am?” Bones fired back. “He certainly wasn’t there to visit or pay his respects.”

“ENOUGH!” Bagnold interjected. “Thomas Avery is not the one on trial here.”

“The facts must be established,” Bones replied, undeterred by the Minister’s dismissal.

“I believe Lord Bones forgets himself,” Abraxus Malfoy intervened. “He is emotional and has a vested interest. I say we forgive him for his impertinence and urge him to take his seat before he brings shame upon his house.”

Edgar Bones glared balefully at the Malfoy lord and Arcturus gave him a subtle nod.

He had expected this to happen and stood to be recognised.

“I too am interested in establishing the facts,” he declared, surprising many in the room, including the Minister who looked at him as though he had betrayed her. “You bunch of posturing piss-monkeys may be happy accepting the word of our Minister, but I am not. What bloody evidence have you got, Bagnold, and do not waste my time with your platitudes and diversions. I’ve been at this game long before you were suckling at your mother’s teats.”

The Minister was taken aback by his words and began shuffling through her papers once more. Arcturus huffed irritably and spoke before she could.

“You have no solid case. You aim to convict a man for saving the life of Lady Bones merely because you cannot accept that the perpetrator is someone close to you. Why is it that you have decided to take the lead on this investigation? Why is Crouch not here acting as the prosecutor?”

“I felt that a case such as this warranted my full attention…”

“No, you overstepped and failed to carry out the investigation correctly in the hope you could condemn a man who did the right thing.”

“HE MURDERED MY SON!” Avery bellowed.

“Who was in the process of attempting to murder a Lady of a great house and who had already murdered an auror.”

“There is no proof of that,” Avery denied.

“How very convenient,” Arcturus returned. “It does so happen, however, that I have seen the memory of what happened. Lord Peverell was under the care of my granddaughter at St Mungo’s and she accompanied him during the entirety of the event. I must say, Minister, Lord Peverell’s account rings much truer than your own clumsy attempt to preserve Avery’s reputation.”

“That memory should not have been shared with you. I specifically instructed all members of staff that were at the hospital that night not to discuss it. Your granddaughter will lose her position!”

Arcturus merely raised an eyebrow at the irate woman and shook his head.

“We spoke of it before your order was issued, Minister. Now, why do we not view Lord Peverell’s memory of what happened, and I will ascertain its’ veracity?”

“No,” Bagnold denied hotly. “The case is clear. Harry Peverell murdered Thomas Avery.”

“If it is so clear, Minister, then why deny the request to view the memory? Surely it will only confirm what you have said, which has very little regarding solid evidence,” Abraxus Malfoy pointed out.

He offered Arcturus a respectful bow and the Black Patriarch fought the urge to throttle the man.

Just as he had suspected, Malfoy had taken his side, realising that supporting the Minister in this was a lost cause and hoping to ingratiate himself further to him.

This time, the betrayal that Bagnold and even Avery felt was evident for all to see. Evidently, Abraxus had offered them his support initially and had now rescinded it.

“Memories can be tampered with,” Bagnold pointed out somewhat victoriously.

Arcturus shook his head. The woman could not see that she had already lost. The fact that the investigation had been improperly handled at best would not convince many to convict Peverell.

“Then you can question me under veritaserum,” Narcissa offered from her place in the public gallery.

Arcturus gave her a smile as she stood.

He had tried to prevent the need for this but with the Minister being as stubborn as she was and the other Lords and Ladies seemingly reluctant to question her version of events, it may be the only way to prove what happened.

Bagnold did not appear to be happy this development and shot Abraxus a questioning look. The Malfoy lord ignored her, and Arcturus’s jaw tightened. He could only deduce that Malfoy had promised to keep Narcissa silent, though his efforts had been in vain.

Abraxus’ heir was surprised and appeared as though he wanted to say something to Narcissa. With a look of warning from his father, he resisted the urge to do so and remained silent.

Peverell too was surprised but offered her a nod of gratitude.

“If Miss Black is amiable, then that is the approach we should take,” Dumbledore spoke. “It is the most apt way to clarify what occurred without bringing into question Lord Peverell’s testimony, which would likely be called into doubt by those wishing to prosecute. Does anybody have any objections to Miss Black submitting herself to questioning under veritaserum?”

There were a few who looked displeased but did not voice their thoughts. As such, Narcissa was called forward and she approached with all the poise Arcturus would expect from his granddaughter.

(Break)

She could feel the stare of each member of the Wizengamot on her as she made her way from the public to a rather uncomfortable chair that Dumbledore gestured for her to sit in.

When she did, she was certain that the chains adorning the arm rests would spring into life and bind her, but, much to her relief, the remained motionless.

“Miss Black, before we administer the veritaserum, may we ask you a few questions to establish some basic facts?” the Chief Warlock asked.

“Yes,” she agreed, nodding her consent and ignoring the stare of Lucius that was burning into the side of her head from where he was seated.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore offered. “What is the nature of your relationship between yourself and Lord Peverell?”

Narcissa frowned at the question, but answered it, nonetheless.

“I am a Trainee-Healer and Lord Peverell is a patient of mine. He was brought into us having been found floating in the River Thames a number of weeks ago.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“And in your opinion, the night Thomas Avery was unfortunately killed, did Lord Peverell act accordingly to the situation that resulted in Mr Avery’s death?”

Narcissa swallowed deeply before nodding.

“He did. He was left with no choice but to defend himself, Lady Bones, and me the way he did. Thomas fired a killing curse at Lord Peverell. Of course, we did not know it was Thomas at the time. He was wearing a black robe and a white mask to cover his face.”

Murmurs broke out amongst the members of the Wizengamot as she supported Harry’s version of events.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said warmly. “Although it is unlikely to be pleasant, I believe we should review a memory of the incident and then question Miss Black under veritaserum. Unless, of course, there is a better suggestion to clarify what occurred.”

“NO! I will not have my son’s memory be besmirched by lies and fabrications,” Lord Avery declared.

“I do hope that you are not suggesting that my granddaughter would lie, Avery,” Arcturus growled as he stood. “You will remember just who it is you are aiming your accusations at.”

Avery snarled but his anger was quelled by the hand of Abraxus being placed on his shoulder. He retook his seat unhappily and turned his gaze to the Minister.

“Is this really necessary?” Bagnold questioned. “I have all the evidence needed to prove that Thomas Avery was murdered!”

“No, Minister, you do not!”

Narcissa’s eyes widened slightly as Charlus Potter stood, his mouth set in a hard line.

He hated the Wizengamot just as much as her grandfather and she was surprised to see him here. One glance towards the head of her family told her all she needed to know; her grandfather had requested his presence.

The two may not share views on most things political, but they had always been able to rely on the other for support when needed. Evidently, Arcturus had thought it wise to have the additional assistance today.

“Your relationship with Lord Avery and his son has clouded your judgement, Minister,” Charlus continued. “I agree that the death of Thomas is upsetting, and we would all feel the pain of loss that Lord Avery is experiencing, but we are not here to allow our emotions to overshadow facts. It is both unbecoming and makes a mockery of this body. You have overstepped, Minister, and I suggest you do not do so further. You have embarrassed yourself with your attempts to fool us into believing your conclusions. I would have the truth of the matter now.”

He sat once more as calls of agreement sounded.

Bagnold shook her head but offered no further resistance. Taking her seat defeatedly, she gestured for Dumbledore to proceed.

“Miss Black, if you would be so kind?” he prompted as he approached with a vial.

Narcissa withdrew the memory and placed it within, eliciting a nod of gratitude from her former headmaster who returned to his place and tapped the top of the podium with his wand.

A stone basin emerged from inside and he swirled the contents of the vial before pouring them in.

“I would kindly suggest to those that do not wish to view the memory that they leave the room,” he spoke severely.

When none did, he activated the pensieve and what occurred that night at St Mungo’s played out for all to see.

It started from when Harry woke up and insisted that something was wrong. She watched as he led her through the corridors until they came upon the dead auror and then what transpired within the room on the secure ward.

He was fast, faster than anyone else she had ever seen in a duel and equally composed. His defence had been cool and calculated and her reaction born of one who feared death.

Screaming was all she could do in that moment before she froze.

The members of the Wizengamot whispered loudly amongst themselves as the scythe buried itself in Thomas’s chest, many wincing as he screamed before he fell silent.

The memory continued until the moment that the two aurors arrived at Harry’s room where it faded, and the chambers remained silent as each person digested what they had seen.

Eventually, it was broken by Lord Longbottom who cleared his throat.

“Although that made for some unpleasant viewing, I think it is clear to see that Lord Peverell only defended himself. Thomas Avery was clearly in the process of attempting to murder Lady Bones and then Lord Peverell when he intervened. I’m sure questioning under veritaserum will clarify that this was a true account of what happened.”

Nods of agreement followed, the only sound to be heard was that of Lord Avery sobbing in a mixture of grief and anger.

“Before we do that, I have questions for Lord Peverell, If I may?” Lord Potter requested.

Dumbledore nodded his approval and Charlus tuned his attention to Harry.

“The spell you used to defend yourself, was that family magic?”

Harry nodded after a moment.

“I thought as much. It is not something I have ever seen before,” Charlus replied thoughtfully, “and, for my own curiosity, you said that your parents were murdered?”

“When I was a little over a year old,” Harry answered.

It haunted him still and Narcissa could see it. His eyes became dull when he spoke of them, whatever ability he had in the mind arts unable to conceal the pain.

“You have my apologies, Lord Peverell,” Charlus offered, “I merely needed to know.”

Harry nodded, not meeting the eyes of the Potter lord.

“Then all that remains is to administer the veritaserum,” Dumbledore announced solemnly, gesturing towards a clerk who was evidently responsible for this.

When prompted, Narcissa opened her mouth and allowed the three drops to be placed on her tongue. Within a matter of seconds, her thoughts became cloudy as though a warm fog had descended within her mind.

She had never experienced the effects of the potion, but it was a somewhat comforting feeling.

“For those gathered, could you confirm your name?”

The voice was distant but a familiar one and she found herself speaking before she could consciously do so.

“Narcissa Black.”

Even her own voice sounded distant, as though it was being spoken by someone other than herself. She had no time to ponder this, however, as the first voice broke into her thoughts once more.

“Was the memory you provided pertaining to the death of Thomas Avery accurate and truthful to the events that transpired?”

“Yes,” she answered without thought.

After a moment, the fog began to shift, and she felt as she had before the potion had been administered to her. She came around to the sight of the clerk pulling another vial away from her lips; the antidote, evidently.

“Are there any other questions that need to be asked before we deliberate?” Dumbledore questioned.

“What use is a deliberation?” Arcturus huffed irritably. “We all saw what happened. Peverell saved Lady Bones’ life and defended himself. You might not like how he did it, but I can promise the little shit would have gotten worse if he cast the killing curse at me.”

“And me,” Lord Potter agreed as many other Lords and Ladies nodded their agreement.

“Avery won’t like it, but it is tough. He should have done a better job raising his son and maybe then he wouldn’t have turned into the little bastard he was. What kind of scumbag tries to murder a sick woman in her bed?” Arcturus questioned the room.

Lord Avery was apoplectic but was evidently not keen on picking a grievance with the Lord Black.

“Very well, we will hold a vote,” Dumbledore sighed. “Those who find Lord Peverell guilty of the charges brought against him?”

More wands were raised than Narcissa would have expected, mostly those from Avery’s associates, though neither Malfoy nor Lestrange supported them.

“And those that do not find Lord Peverell guilty?” Dumbledore instructed when he had finished counting.

Many more were raised, but once again, neither Malfoy, Lestrange nor several other Lords raised theirs, choosing to abstain from the vote.

“Lord Peverell, though I do not condone your methods, you have been cleared of all charges by your peers and are free to go,” Dumbledore announced.

Harry merely nodded before turning to the Minister.

“I will have my wands returned to me,” he demanded coldly.

Narcissa could only look on as she removed them from her bag and reluctantly handed them over.

She breathed a sigh of relief, pleased that the day had passed. She had done the right thing, despite those that would have her think differently.

Lucius merely offered her a shake of his head as he followed his father from the room, and she shrugged in response.

If he could not understand why she had done what she did, then she had nothing to say to him.

(Break)

Accepting the holsters, he strapped them to his arms before sliding each wand into his hands to inspect them. They were as he’d parted with them, the warmth of his holly and phoenix feather wand washing over him as did the cold but no less welcoming feel of the elder wand.

Although he could not fathom anything happening to them, he felt compelled to check. He’d be very surprised if someone managed to even remove them considering all the hidden curses and jinxes he had placed on the holsters. If someone were to try, they would experience an exceptionally painful recovery with nothing to show for their efforts and no memory of what had happened to them.

“I don’t suppose you will need to spend anymore time at the hospital,” a voice broke into his thoughts.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he replied turning to face Narcissa. “I will need to get my trunk though.”

“I got it for you,” she explained, removing the shrunken box from within her robes. “I didn’t open it.”

Harry grinned as he accepted his possessions.

“I know,” he assured her. “If you did, you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he released a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he offered sincerely, “for what you did. They probably would have sent me back to Azkaban without you.”

She gave him a tight smile and shrugged.

“Why did you help me?” he asked curiously. “I doubt it will do you any favours with that lot,” he added, nodding in the direction of the door the lords that sided with Avery were leaving through.

She frowned thoughtfully for a moment.

“I’d like to think that no matter what situation I find myself in, I’d help someone if they really needed it,” she answered. “I might be a Black but we’re not all bad.”

“I never said they were.”

“I’m pretty sure you did,” she returned dryly, her eyes alight with amusement.

“Well, that doesn’t apply to you then,” he chuckled.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“You haven’t gotten on the wrong side of me yet.”

“Nor should he,” a voice broke in and Harry found himself greeted by the sight of the Lord Black, his steely grey eyes contrasting the warmer blue of his granddaughter.

He was an older man, not as old as Dumbledore but in his advanced years, nonetheless. His black hair was liberally streaked with grey, but he stood straight, his posture belying his age.

“Lord Black,” Harry acknowledged him with a respectful nod. “I should be thanking you also, though I find myself asking why you would help me? I may be young but I’m not a lackwit.”

Arcturus almost smirked at him but refrained from doing so.

“No, you are quite sharp,” he conceded, “and you are right. I have my reasons and will make them known to you. Now is not the time for that, however,” he added, nodding over his shoulder where a few people were seemingly waiting to speak with Harry. “I will write and look forward to meeting you in more pleasant circumstances,” he finished, offering his hand.

Harry accepted it, cursing internally.

Arcturus Black had not said as much, but Harry now found himself in the man’s debt; not a favourable position for anyone to be in.

“Come, Narcissa,” the Lord Black instructed, making his way towards the exit.

“I want you to come back to the hospital for a final check-up tomorrow at nine pm,” she said firmly as she scratched some information on a card before handing it to him. “Don’t be late, Lord Peverell, or you might just see the side of me that isn’t so nice.”

“I’ll be there,” he assured her with a mock-salute and she too left, following in her grandfather’s footsteps.

Any notion Harry had of slipping away also vanished as he was approached by a tall, thickly built redhead; the Lord Bones.

“Lord Peverell, you have my apologies, I know you have had a rough couple of weeks, but I just wanted to thank you personally. For saving my mother,” he explained.

“I just did what was right, Lord Bones” Harry replied.

“I know and myself and my sister are grateful for it. If you had not been there…”

“But I was,” Harry comforted seeing that the man was rather upset. “How is she?”

“She is doing well, much better now that she is home and safe,” he answered, relieved that she was where he could protect her if needed. “She wishes to thank you in person. I hope that I am not imposing but, she would like you to join us for dinner this evening, we all would.”

Harry pondered the request for a moment but could find no way of denying it without causing offense.

He was curious about the Bones family. He had come to know Susan well after Amelia had been killed and remembered her fondly. She had died pursuing vengeance against the Death Eaters. It had been Dolohov that got her eventually and he had become another target of Harry’s, though he never got the chance to confront him.

He could use the opportunity to learn more of the world he found himself in. Fundamentally, he could see little difference thus far. Corruption was apparent within the Ministry, the purebloods were as self-important as ever, and Dumbledore was still Chief Warlock.

He had not been surprised to see the man within the chambers, but he had quelled the heartache he felt at his appearance. This was not the same Dumbledore that had spent his final days helping him prepare to fight Tom. This was the good-natured but manipulative headmaster that hid beneath a veneer of benevolence.

Perhaps one day he would be able to trust the man again. For now, he could not. He would never forget what had been kept from him.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he turned his attention back to the Lord Bones who was awaiting his answer.

Being on good terms with a prominent family and the woman who would likely one day become the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could only be a good thing, so he nodded his acceptance.

“Of course, I look forward to it.”

Lord Bones deflated, relieved, and offered him a smile.

“Thank you, Lord Peverell, she really will appreciate it,” he replied. “I will open up the floo network at 7pm. Just call for Bones Manor and I will let you in.”

“I will see you then, Lord Bones,” Harry returned.

The redhead offered him a nod as he too left the chambers and Harry found himself alone, much to his relief. The others that had seemingly wanted to talk to him had decided it against it, something he was pleased with.

He was tired and was in desperate need of a shower, the damp, musty smell of the prison clinging to his robes.

Taking his leave of the Ministry he apparated to a wooded, muggle area where he knew he would not be disturbed. It had become one of his favourite places he had found when he was on the run. The beach was close enough that he could smell the salt on the air, but he was isolated enough that none would intrude upon him.

Still, as had become his habit, he cast his protection charms before setting up his tent and entering what had been his home for several years now. It wasn’t much, but it had kept him safe and that was all that mattered to him.

As exhausted as he was, he forwent the needed shower in favour of a few hours of peaceful sleep, something he had been deprived of for too long.

For the first time since he had arrived here, he was truly alone, and he felt the weight of what was to come rest heavily on his shoulders.

Already, he had endured much and there was only more to come.

(Break)

He was pleased with the progress being made. Slowly, but surely, he was gaining followers, from those that sympathised with his cause and through the work of those closest to him, his numbers grew still.

For the most part, these were young and rather insignificant members of the pureblood families, but at the very least, they would serve as a gateway to those of import. Thus far, he had secured the loyalty of a Black, a Malfoy, a Lestrange and many others, with more undoubtedly to come.

It would be some time before he was ready to act, but time was something he had. It mattered not if it took a year or even ten, he would one day be ready. For now, he was content. His recruits were serving him well during their training expeditions and a few had caught the attention of his watchers. If they continued to impress as they were, they would perhaps find themselves elevated into his inner circle and have his mark bestowed upon them.

“My Lord,” a whispered voice interrupted him.

Currently, he was occupying a restaurant in Knockturn Alley, enjoying one of the finer establishments here that was owned by a family of werewolves.

“Sit, tell me what you have learned,” he instructed.

“The Avery boy’s killer was acquitted.”

The Dark Lord frowned. That was a rather unexpected outcome.

“Explain,” he demanded as he helped himself to a mouthful of the rare steak he had been enjoying.

“There isn’t much to say, my lord,” his associate replied with a shrug. “The evidence was more than enough to clear him. Lord Peverell, his name is.”

The Dark Lord’s chewing paused, though he was not savouring the taste of the meat.

He knew that name, had come across it when he was a teenager seeking out the answer as to whom he was a descendant of.

Learning that his father had been a muggle had been a bitter pill to swallow, that his mother had been too weak to survive childbirth, incomprehensible. The truth, however, had led him to the knowledge of his sires. Slytherin; he was a direct descendant of the founder of his house.

He had been jubilant and eventually disappointed when he made the acquaintance of his only surviving uncle; an inbred, destitute and maniacal fool.

The name Peverell, however, was one he had come upon whilst tracing his lineage. It had proven to be little more than a footnote of the journey through the ages that led to him being born, but his own line had passed through theirs. This Peverell was a relative of sorts.

Finishing his mouthful of food, he nodded.

“Would you like him dealt with?”

“No,” the Dark Lord decided. “The Peverell family is an old one and our dealings with the Bones has not ended favourably for us. We must keep our intentions hidden, but we will watch him closely.”

His associate nodded and left him to finish his meal, the taste of the steak now one of ash. As such, he pushed the plate away feeling uneasy, though he did not know why.

He was not hung up on the knowledge that Peverell may well be family, he had learned long ago that family was only a disappointment. No, he was more bemused by the sudden appearance of him. From what he could remember, the family had vanished centuries ago, having been absorbed into others.

Just how had a Lord Peverell emerged after so long?

Surely, it could not be so, not unless there was a direct lineage leading to his birth. The Dark Lord knew of this, had discovered the line of inheritance would eventually be interrupted as the generations passed.

He had faced a similar issue when he had attempted to claim the title of Lord Slytherin many years prior. A descendent he was but too many generations had come and gone for him to lay claim to more than the inherited talent.

So, where had the Peverells been? Had they left the wizarding world, moved elsewhere or did another line exist that had not been documented?

There were many questions that he was unlikely to get an answer to. The family was steeped in secrecy and he had found little more than the connection to his own when he had been making his inquiries.

It mattered not, not truly.

This Peverell had gotten away with killing Avery and that was that. Perhaps it was merely a blip and young Thomas had been careless. Regardless, he felt fortunate that not too much attention had seemingly been paid to the motive of the Avery heir for wishing the Lady Bones dead.

That was not an avenue he wished the aurors to explore.

For now, he must tread carefully, build and consolidate his strength. He would need it in the future and would need those he could rely on.

Thomas Avery was but one of what would become many followers, as was this Lord Peverell who had unintentionally hindered him.

It may be that they would meet in the future. Until then, the Dark Lord would pay him no mind. He was as inconsequential as the next Lord, and they would all fall into line, eventually.

(Break)

Bella had spent much of the meal glaring at her from across the table. Her father had not noticed it, but her mother had and was sporadically shooting them both looks of warning. Of course, Druella was unaware as to what had caused the tension between her daughters. She rarely involved herself in their affairs and Narcissa had not spoken to her of what had transpired over the past fortnight. She would not risk her job for the sake of her mother’s gossip circle she shared with the other select pureblood wives.

“I suppose Rudolphus told you,” Narcissa sighed.

Bella’s jaw tightened as she nodded.

“I can’t believe you did that. Why would you cover for Peverell? You knew Thomas!”

“What’s all this?” Cygnus interjected, a deep frown marring his features.

“Cissy helped her patient get away with murder,” Bellatrix accused.

Cygnus switched his gaze from Bellatrix to Narcissa and looked at her questioningly.

“I did not help him get away with murder,” she denied. “Your friend tried to murder Lady Bones. Harry stopped him.”

Bellatrix cackled as she shook her head in disbelief.

“It was not his place to interfere!”

“One of you had better explain what the hell you are talking about,” their father demanded.

“Tell him, Cissy,” Bellatrix said sweetly. “Tell him how you helped someone who murdered a pureblood heir get away with it.”

“Narcissa?” Cygnus pressed.

“That was not how it was,” the blonde bit back. “Thomas Avery tried to murder Lady Bones whilst she was on the secure ward at the hospital. Harry caught him and Thomas tried to kill him. Harry was better and Thomas died, that’s what happened.”

“And you saw this?” her mother asked.

Narcissa nodded.

“If Harry hadn’t done what he did, Lady Bones would be dead and if he had ducked the killing curse Thomas aimed at him, it would have hit me. I was right behind him when it happened. I don’t suppose you thought about that, did you, Bellatrix?”

The older sibling said nothing but scowled at her sister.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Cygnus questioned.

“I wasn’t allowed to,” Narcissa replied with a shrug. “I managed to speak to grandfather about it before the Minister put the order in place that we weren’t allowed to, and she did everything she could to hide what Thomas did and blame Harry.”

“He still killed Lord Avery’s heir,” Bellatrix mumbled.

“Why do you care? It’s not like he was your friend, unless he was?” Narcissa added accusingly. “It’s strange how you, Malfoy and Rudolphus are all upset about it when Harry is the Lord of a much older and more prestigious family than Avery. This isn’t about pureblood politics at all. If it was, you would be pleased that Thomas didn’t succeed.”

Bellatrix’s nostrils flared. She was furious but would not allow her parents to see her lose her temper as she was prone to.

“Watch it, Narcissa,” she warned. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Narcissa swallowed deeply before raising her chin in the air.

“Why? Are you and the other idiots in white masks going to kill me next?”

Bellatrix shot to her feet as she drew her wand, her eyes bulging in their sockets almost comically.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” their mother intervened, her own wand in hand ready to act if necessary.

It was not often Druella lost her temper, but when she did, her daughters knew they had gone too far. Their father may have been a Black, but their mother was the one they were wary of.

She was a doting woman for the most part but her anger when provoked was a sight to behold. Even Cygnus knew not to get on the wrong side of his wife. As such, he remained silent and merely looked on.

“I do not know what this is about, and I do not care,” Druella hissed. “You are sisters and I will not have you fighting like this. It ends now and if it does not, I will curse the pair of something rotten, do you understand?”

Narcissa nodded and Bellatrix continued to stare angrily at her sister.

“Bellatrix put your wand away or I will ensure you do not hold it again,” Druella threatened.

Bellatrix sneered at Narcissa before complying and storming from the room.

“What has got into the pair of you?” Druella huffed.

“Ask Bellatrix,” Narcissa returned irritably. “She’d rather an innocent person die than accept one of her friends was a scumbag.”

“That’s enough, Cissy,” Druella reiterated firmly, “and what did you mean by idiots in white masks?”

“Nothing,” Narcissa replied with a shake of her head. “I need to get ready for work.”

It was not her place to tell her parents what Bellatrix was up to, but her sister’s actions had all but confirmed her suspicions.

Bellatrix was not friends with Avery at school, had barely spoken to him as far as she knew, so why the outrage to what happened?

Only one thing made sense and for the first time in her life, Narcissa found herself disappointed in Bella.

She had seen what these people in white masks had been doing this past year or so, had treated the people that had been attacked by them, each giving similar reports as to what happened.

They would attack in the dead of night, this mob of white-masked and dark-robed witches and wizards, spewing vitriol about pureblood supremacy.

She hadn’t wanted to believe her sister was a part of it, but she could no longer ignore the truth.

She had treated women who had been violated in the worst possible ways, men who had helplessly witnessed their wives subjected to it. Victims of torture had become commonplace, many dying from their wounds, but where was the coverage from the media?

There wasn’t any. For reasons unknown to her, it was not being reported.

The world was changing, and it was only a matter of time before something significant happened. Sooner or later, people would take notice of it.

What would happen then? She knew not.

She could only hope that her sister saw sense before it was too late. She would either end up dead or in Azkaban.

Neither was what she wanted to see.

(Break)

It felt as though that every time he closed his eyes, he found himself here, another reminder he did not need of the enormity of the task before him. He did not fear it any longer; neither the whispers nor the cloaked figure that plagued his dreams. He had grown accustomed to it, the odd somewhat mournful nature of this place paling in comparison to that of the prison he had recently left.

“Why did you want me to save her life?” he asked as the figure emerged from within the veil.

During his incarceration, he had not given it much thought, his mind occupied by what had happened. Now, however, he wanted answers.

The figure shrugged almost non-caringly, as though what had happened truly was of no concern.

“Fate led you here, Peverell, whatever you do is your choice, but your actions will have consequences,” it replied. “I thought you should understand that. Already, you have made a significant change to what once was. I am curious to see how much of a difference you can make.”

Harry’s mouth dried as dozens of possibilities ran through his mind.

“My parents…”

“If you wish. Everything that happened has been undone for you, but it is you that must decide what comes and what does not. Remember, Peverell, your actions will have consequences, some for the better and perhaps some for the worse. Only time will tell.”

Harry nodded as the figure turned away from him.

“Listen to the whispers, Peverell,” he advised as he vanished through the veil.

“Unite us as one…”

“The book…”

“The vault… as one…Harry…”

He woke with the screams of the three brothers ringing in his ears and he groaned as he rolled over.

Flicking his wand into is hand, he checked the time and saw that it was just past six pm. He needed to shower and dress appropriately for his dinner with the Bones family, something he now wished he had delayed until he had recovered from his time in Azkaban.

Nonetheless, he dragged himself to his small bathroom, cut off the hair that had regrown during his imprisonment and showered.

When he was done, he rifled through his trunk for something acceptable to wear, pushing aside the practical clothing he had been favouring for the past few years and happened upon the robes he had worn for Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

With a shake of his head, he put them on and found that they were looser now and too short. With a few waves of his wand, he fixed them and decided that he really needed to take better care of himself.

He had eaten poorly for too long throughout his life, but he was certain that with regular meals and exercise, he could right that. For now, however, he had an appointment to keep and he exited his tent to do so.

“DEATH!”

Although the familiar caw of Olin startled him, he smiled as the raven took flight from a nearby tree and landed on his shoulder.

“I’ll take it you missed me?” he chuckled as the bird rubbed its head against his neck almost affectionately.

Olin was smart, and though he had the habit of screeching only the one word, he had grown on Harry over the years. He was so very different from Hedwig who had been as gentle as she was haughty. Olin was unsettling in many ways, sharp and observant; a gift from the very figure that had eventually brought him here.

He missed his loyal owl and not a day went by that he did not think of her. She had been his first friend and he had spent many waking hours tormenting himself as to what had happened to her.

“Go on, Olin,” he said, pushing thoughts of white feathers and amber eyes aside.

Instead of taking flight as expected, the raven disappeared in a puff of black smoke and Harry felt something sink into his skin and come to a rest where the odd tree had taken up residence. Apparently, Olin was not ready to be away from him.

With an amused snort, Harry vanished with a gentle pop and appeared at the arrival point in Diagon Alley, a place he had not seen since before his sixth year of Hogwarts.

It was different than he remembered, many of the shops not familiar to him, though some he knew remained. A short distance away he could see Olivander’s and even Florean’s and Gringotts in the distance. The rest, however, would have to wait for another day when he had time to investigate.

Turning his attention to the unassuming brick wall across the other side of the alley, he approached and tapped the three bricks that would grant him access to The Leakey Cauldron.

When he entered, it was to a room that had not seemingly changed. The same décor, the carpet and even Tom was here; the latter only appearing younger than Harry remembered.

The pub itself was quite busy and he had no problems navigating his way through the room unhindered and to where he knew the fireplace was. Helping himself to a handful of the black powder, he threw it in.

“Bones Manor,” he said clearly, not wanting to repeat the mishap he had experienced shortly before his second year at Hogwarts.

There was a delay before the flames erupted into the emerald hue and he stepped in, his head spinning immediately from the force he was sent through the network by.

Much to his relief, he slowed quickly and found himself stepping into a rather stately parlour only a moment later.

“Lord Peverell,” the head of the Bones family greeted him enthusiastically, “I’m pleased you could be here. Come, dinner will be served shortly. No offense, you look as though you need it.”

Harry chuckled as he shook the man’s hand.

“The food in Azkaban is not exactly sufficient,” he replied.

“No, I don’t expect it is,” Bones returned with a shake of his head.

He said nothing else on the matter and Harry followed him through the house, an enormous one at that. The only one he had seen bigger was Grimmauld Place, though he had not exactly been invited to many pureblood homes.

“This house is almost four hundred years old,” the redhead explained as the passed through a long hall. “It was built by one of my ancestors and we have lived in it since.”

“It’s impressive,” Harry offered sincerely.

It was not as grand as what the Blacks had on display but it much more than what most had. It was warmly decorated, and the hardwood floors polished to a dazzling shine.

It was certainly more welcoming than his godfather’s house had been.

“Just in here,” Lord Bones informed him as he opened a door that led into a rather intimate dining room that did not seem to fit in with the rest of the house.

It was decorated similarly but was smaller than anything else he’d seen.

“Forgive me, Lord Peverell, we felt it would be more comfortable dining here than in the formal room. We only use that for larger social gatherings,” his host explained.

“Think nothing of it,” Harry said dismissively, “making things too formal is not always for the best. I prefer simplicity.”

Lord Bones offered him a genuine smile.

“Then we are alike in that way,” he replied, evidently relieved. “My mother thought I was slighting you, but I got the impression you would not want anything so formal after today.”

Harry nodded gratefully. He did not have the energy nor knowledge to simulate all the proper protocols expected in pureblood society.

Perhaps that was something else he should learn.

“Lord Peverell, this is my mother, Lady Valerie Bones, mother, this is Lord Peverell.”

“I can see that, Edgar,” the woman sighed. “He is not someone I am likely to forget, though I am pleased we are meeting under more pleasant circumstances,” she added, her blue eyes somehow warmer than her home.

She was not an elderly woman, likely only in her late forties or early fifties at most. Her blonde was starting to grey in places, but it was clear that she had once been a very beautiful woman.

“As am I,” Harry agreed as he took her offered hand and brushed his lips against the back of her knuckles, one of very few customs he had learned.

“And this, is my sister, Amelia,” Edgar continued, gesturing to a redhead who shared all her other features with her mother.

“We’ve met,” Harry retorted before repeating his gesture on the younger woman.

She raised an eyebrow at him unashamedly, her gaze stern and unwavering.

“I was only doing my job,” she defended.

“I know,” Harry assured her. “I do not hold a grudge against you for that.”

The woman scrutinised im for a moment before nodding.

“Ignore Millie,” Edgar sighed. “She thinks that because she is an auror she’s not allowed to have fun anymore. Honestly, she’s harmless really.”

Harry chuckled as Amelia glared warningly at her older brother who remained unfazed.

“Please, take a seat, Lord Peverell,” he offered.

“You can call me Harry,” he offered. “This Lord thing is all new to me.”

The redhead nodded and offered him a look of sympathy.

“Of course, but call me Edgar,” he insisted. “You’ve earned that right at the very least.”

With the formalities adhered to, Harry found himself relaxing. Being around purebloods was not as daunting as he expected, though the Bones weren’t exactly known for being unpleasant people.

“I see that you recovered well from your surgery,” Amelia commented.

“I did. I suppose being in Azkaban gave me time to work on it.”

“I am sorry that you had to endure that,” Lady Bones broke in. “If I was in a position to do so, I would have done all I could to get you out of there.”

“You were recovering yourself,” Harry pointed out. “I won’t pretend it was a pleasant place to be, but I managed and I’m away from there now. You’re doing much better than you were also.”

“I am,” she agreed, “thanks to you.”

Edgar nodded as he raised his glass.

“To you, Harry Peverell,” he toasted, “I will never be able to show how grateful I am for what you did.”

The other Bones followed his lead and toasted to him and he shook his head.

“You already have,” he insisted, “you helped me avoid a longer stay in Azkaban. There is no debt between us.”

Edgar offered him another smile.

“Then I can only hope that Lord Black is as generous as you. It was him that helped me secure your release,” he explained. “I would have done what I could but without him, I doubt I would have succeeded. This is all new to me too. Our father only recently passed away, unexpectedly.”

“Unexpectedly?” Harry asked curiously.

“Ed, not when we are eating,” Amelia interjected.

Her brother nodded solemnly and returned to his meal.

They ate in silence, the apparently new Lord of the Bones family lost in thoughts as were his mother and sister.

When the plates were cleared, Edgar sighed deeply.

“I’m sorry, Harry, we have not exactly been the best hosts.”

Harry waved him off.

“You have nothing to apologise for, I can see you have been through a lot.”

“We have,” Edgar confirmed tiredly. “We lost our father, and as you well know, almost my mother. It has been a trying couple of months for us.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“You said your father died unexpectedly…”

“He was murdered,” Lady Bones cut in, “and that Avery boy tried to do the same to me so I could not speak. Not that anyone will listen.”

“My father was poisoned,” Edgar explained, “apparently by a very loyal elf that had served our family for generations. She even admitted to the crime.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully, the method a familiar one.

Voldemort had done the same to Hepzibah Smith and Hokey had also admitted the deed. It appeared as though he had repeated the feat with the Bones family.

“And mother so happened to fall down the stairs at the same time,” Amelia continued. “She is not a clumsy woman but only Alastor would listen to us.”

“What is it you remember, Lady Bones?” Harry asked. “I’m no auror but it is unlikely they would leave you alive, as shown by Avery’s attempt whilst you were in St Mungo’s. That was a big risk to take.”

Lady Bones shook her head.

“It’s foggy and vague but I remember a man with red eyes arriving to meet with my husband, I think, unless I dreamed that,” she added confusedly. “Other than that, I know that I was pushed down the stairs. I remember feeling the hands shove me in the back. The next time I woke up was when you saved me.”

She had not dreamed of the man with the red eyes and Harry felt his chest tighten at the thought of how fortunate the woman was to be alive. Would Tom try again? Or was he content with the death of the Lord Bones that it was not worth the risk?

Harry could never be sure where the Dark Lord was concerned.

“I believe you,” he muttered.

“You do?” Edgar questioned, surprised.

“Yes, and I am only saying this because you need to understand how serious I am. The man with the red eyes is very dangerous.”

“You know of him?” Edgar pressed nervously.

Harry nodded.

“I do but I have no proof of what he has done other than what I saw when I was a baby…”

Edgar frowned before his eyes widened in realisation.

“He murdered your parents,” he whispered.

Harry could only nod.

“That is why you must be careful, Edgar,” he advised. “Believe me, I know that all you want is justice for your father and what happened to your mother, but you have to bide your time. I’ve been doing it for twenty years and the right moment will arrive, I promise.”

Edgar swallowed as he stared at Harry speculatively.

“You’re out to get him, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Harry answered honestly.

“Then I’m in.”

“Ed,” Lady Bones pleaded.

“No, Mother, I will not allow him to get away with what he has done. If I can help in any way, you can count on me, Harry.”

“And me,” Amelia declared.

“Millie, you’re an auror…”

“He was my father too, Ed,” she bit back stubbornly.

“I know but I won’t have you throwing away your career for this.”

“I think we are getting a little ahead of ourselves,” Harry cut in before Amelia could respond. “This is not something that will likely happen overnight. It could take years.”

“The pureblood movement,” Amelia muttered. “He must be connected to those people in white masks that are responsible for the attacks. That’s the only thing that makes sense if Avery…”

She petered off and Harry internally applauded the woman. She had made the needed connection.

“Then you’re in the best position to learn about them,” Edgar pointed out. “It’s all being hushed up at the moment.”

“Crouch’s orders,” Amelia sighed. “He doesn’t want to cause panic and is trying to learn what we are facing. We haven’t managed to catch any of them yet, but we will.”

“Then, for now, we have to be patient,” Harry reiterated. “We keep our eyes and ears open for what is going on out there. Eventually, it will lead us to him.”

Edgar nodded his agreement and Harry felt himself relax more so.

He had not intended for the evening to go this way, but he had made quite the ally in House Bones and he would not turn away assistance that could prove to be valuable. He knew next to nothing of Edgar, but Amelia was a bright and formidable witch.

For the first time for as long as he could remember, he felt a spark of hope ignite within him, hope that even though he was very much against the odds, there was a chance for him to emerge victorious.

(Break)

He was not one to turn to drink often. Only in his deepest moments of contemplation and indecisive moods did he seek solace in the bottom of a glass. The events of today had led him to such, an unexpected turn of events that left him in turmoil.

He shook himself from his thoughts as he placed the tumbler on his desk with a dull thud and turned his attention back to the old book he had taken from the hidden compartment of his desk.

He remembered the first time he had been shown it by his own father, a family secret that had been kept so for many generations, one that came back to haunt him as he looked upon the Peverell lord standing trial.

“Ignotus,” he murmured as he traced the line all the way down through to where it ended with his own son. “Cadmus,” he continued, repeating the action and following it down to the names of Marvolo and Merope Gaunt. “Antioch,” he finished with a frown, the line not extending past this brother.

He shook his head.

Something must have been missed by one of his ancestors, the line of Antioch perhaps.

His own line was accounted for, of that he was certain, as was the line that ended with the Gaunts, unless he was the son of Merope who had vanished some decades before?

No, he would not be a Peverell if that was true and would be unable to lay claim to such. His line had to be descended from Antioch, it was the only thing that was plausible, but where had they been all this time.

He released a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair.

If he did not know any better, he would have sworn that Lord Peverell was his own son, his resemblance to James too similar to miss.

Peverell was leaner, perhaps his features a little sharper, but it was uncanny. He had the look of a Potter, and though he wasn’t, he was still family.

“Charlus, what are you doing in here? It’s late,” his wife pointed out.

He offered her a sad smile.

“What is it?” she asked noticing his rather subdued demeanour.

He released a deep breath and pointed to what he had been reading.

She frowned as she read, her glance flitting between the book and her husband when she had finished.

“Is this real?” she whispered.

He nodded, not having shared his ancestry with his wife before now. It had never been important to do so, and he had protected the secret as his father before him had. Now, however, it had become relevant and he would not keep it from her.

“You’re descended from them?” Dorea asked.

“Yes,” Charlus confirmed.

Dorea shook her head as she looked at her husband as though she was seeing him for the first time.

“My father would tell us stories of them, what they did and how frightening they were. I never believed them, but Arcturus became quite obsessed with them.”

“That explains why he supported him today,” Charlus mused aloud.

“Supported who?”

“The Lord Peverell,” Charlus explained. “He was on trial for murdering Marcus Avery’s son.”

“A Peverell?” Dorea snorted in disbelief.

Charlus nodded.

“He looks like James, Dorea, just older.”

“So, he’s family?”

“I suppose so,” Charlus acknowledged. “I don’t know where he came from, but he has the ring and the similarities can’t be ignored.”

Dorea offered him a look of understanding.

Charlus had lost most of his family many years ago and the Potters had dwindled to only them and their son.

“What are you going to do?”

Charlus shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “He probably doesn’t even know we’re related. Maybe it’s better left that way.”

Dorea shook her head. She knew her husband better than any and something else was bothering him.

“Okay, then put the book away and forget about him, Charlus.”

He shook his head.

“His parents were murdered,” he revealed. “He told me himself that he was a baby when it happened.”

“You spoke with him?”

“Only briefly when he was being questioned. He was innocent,” he clarified. “He saved Valerie’s life when Avery tried to attack her at St Mungo’s.”

“Why would Avery do that?”

“I don’t know but there’s a lot going on out there, Dor, I can feel it and this Peverell showing up makes it all stranger.”

Dorea nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You’re curious about him, Charlus, and that is understandable,” she comforted. “Why don’t you sleep on it at least before you decide what you want to do.”

“I will,” he agreed as he closed the book and placed it back in the hidden compartment, already pondering just what he could even say to the man.