Whispers of a Raven - The Bleak Path We Walk

To say that Amelia had been both surprised and displeased by her brother’s presence at the sight of the attack would be an understatement. Not only was he putting himself in danger but he had all but forced her silence on the matter.

As gifted as Dumbledore and the rest of his group were, they were not aurors. They were a vigilante group and a highly illegal one at that. If Edgar was caught, it was not only his position that would be in jeopardy but hers also, and for the life of her, Amelia could not understand why he would risk so much.

She was pulled from her thoughts as he huffed from the opposite side of the dining table.

“Millie, you can’t ignore me forever.”

“I am not ignoring you,” Amelia denied, “I’m not speaking to you because I do not wish to argue with you, Ed. You have made your intentions clear.”

“Yes, I have,” he agreed. “I am doing what I can to ensure that what happened to mother and father does not happen to anyone else. I thought you would understand.”

Amelia shook her head.

“I do,” she replied, “but what you’re doing is dangerous, Ed. What if you are killed? What would happen to the family? How do you think mother would feel? If father was still here, do you think he would approve? Have you even thought about that?”

“Of course, I have,” Edgar snapped. “I think about all of those things every time I’m out there. Someone needs to stand up to them, Millie, and I’m sorry, but the Ministry is not doing enough. I respect what you do and I’m proud of you, I truly am, but do not treat me as though I am wrong for doing this. You forget that I can handle myself and I am able to make a difference to the people that are being attacked.”

“I know, Ed,” Amelia sighed. “I don’t doubt you.”

She didn’t. Her brother was one of the most capable wizards she knew. He had always been diligent with his practice and even now with her training, he would likely best her.

That did not stop her from worrying about him.

“I don’t want to fight with you Millie, but I will not stop what I am doing. It is the right thing to do.”

Amelia knew he was right, but it made it no easier for her to accept. She loved and cared deeply for her brother but these were not normal criminals he was out there combatting. The entirety of the auror force was having no luck in apprehending any of these cloaked figures and it felt as though Edgar was putting himself needlessly in danger.

“I know, Ed,” she conceded. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“And what about you?” he countered.

Amelia shook her head.

“I’m an auror,” she reminded him.

“You’re still my little sister,” he countered. “It doesn’t matter how old we get or how far in the ranks you climb. You’re still the same Millie that used to sit on my shoulders during Quidditch matches when you couldn’t see. It will always be my job to protect you, so let me do it.”

Amelia grinned at the memories of being on her older brother’s shoulders. She had always been smaller than most of the other children and Edgar had always been there to make sure she could see.

Sometimes, he would even allow her to tie his hair up with one of her scrunchies. Well, he never gave her permission but he never stopped her doing so whilst she was up there.

“I don’t like it but I know you won’t change your mind, you stubborn git.”

Edgar offered her a winning smile before unceremoniously hoisting her out of her seat and putting her over his shoulder.

“Ed! Put me down,” she warned.

She was an auror and was being manhandled by her brother as though they were both still children.

“Not until you say the magic word.”

“I am not five anymore,” Amelia ground out, yelping in surprise as he began spinning her. “ED!”

“Fine.” he conceded with a huff as he placed her on the floor. “You’re not fun anymore.”

Amelia pushed her hair out of her face and scowled at her brother.

“No,” she denied, “I just like a different kind of fun now.”

Edgar’s eyes widened as she drew her wand and he fled as she took aim, cursing as her spell narrowly missed him.

(Break)

The mark that had been plaguing the skies of Britain for the past two weeks hung ominously above the pensieve in his office and Albus Dumbledore stared at it speculatively. It was a trivial thing, a calling card to send the message that the very same group of wizards was behind each attack that occurred. Much to his relief, they had not increased anymore so than they had been happening prior to the mark’s appearance, but they had not slowed either.

It was frustrating to say the least, and what made it more so was the nature of these intrusions. The men and women that donned the white masks and dark robes didn’t seem to relish confrontation with those that could defend themselves. As such, whenever Albus and the rest of the order arrived, they left promptly.

There was much to be said for the nature of such people. They were content with tormenting and torturing those that could offer no resistance, but when it came to be confronting those that could, they had little interest in doing so.

He sighed as he vanished the mark with a wave of his hand before reaching into his robes and removing the phoenix pendant.

“The Order of the Phoenix,” he mumbled.

It was a moniker the group had collectively decided on and he did not know what to think of it. Regardless, he was proud of each and everyone of them for what they were doing. Night in and night out, they were putting their lives on the line to protect the muggles, as were the aurors, of course. Their combined efforts were making a difference, but not enough.

The sheer numbers they were confronted by was as worrisome as it was baffling to the headmaster.

Had the pureblood movement truly gained so much support?

Often, they found themselves outnumbered considerably and Albus could not help but think how fortunate they had been thus far that the Dark Lord’s followers had fled. As much as he wished to bring these people to justice, he wanted to keep his people safe first and foremost.

Their efforts were quickly becoming a very dangerous undertaking and he knew in his heart of hearts that it was only a matter of time before someone was hurt.

That did not bear thinking about for the old man, not with who he was convinced their foe was.

Tom had not been present at any of the attacks Albus had dispersed. Sightings of a wizard with red eyes had been reported at others but he had yet to lay eyes on his former student. A part of him hoped that he was wrong, that it was not Tom behind this, but he was not so naïve. From what Edgar Bones had said, he could not deny what was all but staring him in the face. Tom was out there somewhere, plotting and causing many misery, as was his way.

How this Lord Peverell was connected to him, Dumbledore did not know. He had yet to seek the man out and was reluctant to do so. Edgar insisted he could be trusted, but Albus had his reservations and more so with asking him to join the order.

He remembered just how Peverell had killed Avery and had seen the duel he’d had with Bellatrix Black. The man wielded very dangerous magic, and though he could be a powerful ally, Albus would not allow the order to devolve into what they were combating.

These masked men and women should be brought to justice, judged by their peers for their crimes and not executed as Peverell was inclined towards.

He had pondered the man extensively, and though what he had done for Lady Bones was admirable, Albus did not deem it necessary.

He replaced his pendant before checking the time. It was late and it appeared Britain would be given a reprieve this evening from the chaos.

Deciding that he would turn in and return to his problems in the morning, he packed away his pensieve and headed towards his chambers, the feeling that what he had witnessed so far was only the beginning ever-present in his mind.

(Break)

Corvus had been as proud of as he was displeased with both his sons for proving themselves worthy of receiving the Dark Mark. It was one thing hunting muggles for sport, but to all but swear an oath of loyalty to another man was a foolish idea, and he should have expected nothing less from his offspring.

They were fools, but it was not what they had done that irked him so. It was the lack of thought they had put into it.

Rudolphus would one day be the head of his family and it was something he should have discussed with his sire at the very least. He had not, and although Corvus did not find the decision his eldest son had made disagreeable, that did not stop him from cursing the boy for his stupidity.

“Fucking morons,” he huffed irritably.

He himself was very much in support of the Dark Lord. For too long, the mudbloods and other less savoury elements of their society had been growing in number, threatening the purebloods very way of life.

Corvus was not one to sit idly by and allow it, but he had made an informed decision to follow Lord Voldemort, whereas Rudolphus and Rabastan had done so to either be part of the trend or without due consideration.

Regardless, they had proven themselves imbeciles and he was still furious with them.

“You wished to see us, father?” Rudolphus asked, having stuck his head around his office door tentatively.

“Get yourself in here, boy,” Corvus growled.

He shook his head disappointedly as his son and future daughter-in-law entered the room and took the seats on the other side of his desk.

“I asked you here to inform you that I will be extending an invitation to Lord Peverell to attend your wedding.”

He held his hand up and gave both a stern look to quell their protests.

“Already, you have embarrassed yourselves where he is concerned, defied the Dark Lord when he explicitly told you to leave him be and only served to turn him away from our way of thinking.”

“I will not have him there!” Bellatrix snapped.

“Then you will take it up with the Dark Lord,” Corvus returned. “It is on his orders that I will be doing so.”

Bellatrix scowled unhappily.

“Why would he want him there?” Rudolphus asked confusedly.

“I believe he wishes to ascertain if he can be brought on side,” Corvus replied with a shrug. “He has his reasons and has asked for this specifically, so you will be polite and courteous. If you are not, it is the Dark Lord you will answer to.”

“But he’s a filthy mudblood!” Bellatrix declared.

“And yet, he would have killed you had your sister not intervened,” Corvus pointed out, much to the woman’s chagrin. “He is a gifted wizard and one the Dark Lord would prefer to keep neutral at worst. Do not antagonise him and let go of whatever grudge you hold for the time being. At least until the Dark Lord says otherwise. Do you understand?”

Neither were happy with the command but nodded their agreement, albeit reluctantly, and Corvus dismissed them with an irritable wave of his hand.

The wedding was proving to be more trying on his patience than he had anticipated. Already the date had been postponed twice because Bellatrix was not happy that some of the planned arrangements would not be ready for the original December date, nor for the January date that had become available. Instead, it would now be held in February and had cost Corvus a rather tidy sum to rearrange.

Still, Rudolphus would be married to the girl soon enough and he took comfort in the fact that he was one step closer to seeing his goal come to fruition.

He simply needed to remain patient a little longer.

(Break)

The Ministry had been uncharacteristically accommodating to Harry when he had written to the Department of Magical Education to enquire about sitting his OWLs and NEWTs. It had been a simple case of booking an appointment to be assessed and pay a two-galleon fee per subject he wished to sit.

He had not hesitated to sit his OWLs in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and Care of Magical Creatures. They had been rather simple, his experience of using all in some form whilst on the run proving to prepare him sufficiently.

His NEWTs, however, were something he was not confident with. He had not finished his formal education and he found that there was still much of the syllabus he needed to learn. He’d had no need for transfiguring Iguanas into purses or anything of the like, so he was not well-versed in such magic.

To aide him in this, he had purchased the current Hogwarts textbooks and set to work in the evenings. For the weeks during his isolation, he had been practicing nightly and learning the required theory. What he quickly concluded was; the NEWTs earned their name.

For the most part, he had progressed well. His practical work, he found, was what he needed to work on the least. The spells came much easier to him now than they ever would have when he was sixteen years old. Perhaps his magic had developed or that what he had faced in the intervening years made the spells rather elementary in comparison?

He knew not, but it allowed him more time to focus on the theory, of which he found equally as fascinating as it was useful. He hadn’t put much thought into magical theory during his formative years, but should have. His mastery of the patronus charm proved that.

As enjoyable and challenging as he found the undertaking, none proved to be more of the latter than potions. After all these years, it still proved to be the one subject he could not grasp.

Whilst on the run, he had learned how to brew the essentials: blood replenishers, pain relievers and even burn salves, but nothing so complex as what was in the textbook. Here, he was out of his depth and finally admitted to himself that he would need help.

“Bollocks,” he grumbled as yet another cauldron was ruined by one of his concoctions.

Somehow, his Draught of Living Death had become a gloopy sludge before solidifying before his very eyes, rendering the cauldron unusable.

With a huff of frustration, he vanished it. Even without Snape breathing down his neck, he could not get the hang of the art and he could not help but think he was wasting his time.

The books he had purchased on the subject had proven to be next to useless and his own efforts were showing no improvement. If anything, they seemed to be getting worse.

The smell left behind from his latest attempt did little to convince him otherwise.

No, he would need help if he was to stand a chance at passing potions. He could quit, and likely would have as a teenager, but now he was determined.

Whether that was part of the coming together of the souls, or his own maturity, he did not know.

What he did know, however, was that he was now running late and only had fifteen minutes before he needed to be in Caerphilly for his second quidditch match.

Although Jason was grateful for his catch during the previous one, he would not appreciate Harry being late.

(Break)

Lucius was becoming bolder in his efforts to convince Abraxus into throwing his lot in with this Dark Lord he had become enamoured with, all but confirming that he was involved with the attacks being carried out against the muggles.

Abraxus firmly believed that the pureblood families should retain their traditions but not by murdering people that were no threat to them. There was little to be gained from such a venture and the Malfoy patriarch was at his wits end trying to explain this to his son.

Lucius would hear nothing of it and was convinced the Dark Lord was a beacon for change. For the life of him, Abraxus could think of nothing that needed changing. His family was exceedingly wealthy, they were influential and were held in high esteem. If anything, Lucius was squandering the hard work that generations of his ancestors had put in to elevating them to their current lofty position.

He shook his head disappointedly.

The boy needed a stern reminder as to what his duties and responsibilities were. They certainly did not involve backing a Dark Lord that would one day be little more than a distant memory, a blight on the history of wizarding Britain who, unavoidably, had been soundly defeated.

One day soon, the world would take notice of this grasping tyrant and he would be dealt with as all Dark Lords inevitably were.

With a sigh, he tapped his ring with the tip of his wand and waited.

It was several minutes later that a tousled and sleepy Lucius arrived, seemingly displeased by his rest being disturbed. It was almost eleven am and his son had always been an early riser until recently.

“You called for me, father?” Lucius questioned stiffly.

Abraxus narrowed his eyes. There were many things he wished to say to his heir, but he had more pressing things to discuss with him.

“How are your efforts with the Black girl going?”

Lucius frowned and released a huff of irritation.

“I have done what you asked of me. I have not appeared too interested nor have I allowed her to believe that my interest is only platonic.”

Abraxus nodded.

With the Blacks having fallen out of favour recently, he was reluctant to proceed with his plans. With the arrival of Peverell and his evident forgiveness of the man, the rest of the lords and ladies had followed suit meaning that Arcturus Black once more sat atop the pecking order of pureblood families.

The time to seal the betrothal between Lucius and Narcissa had now come.

“Good,” he praised. “You will increase your efforts now. Leave her with no doubt as to what your intentions are, and I will begin negotiating with Cygnus to broker a contract. You will begin by asking the girl to be her escort to the Lestrange wedding.”

“I thought you were putting your efforts into delaying the wedding?” Lucius questioned.

Abraxus snorted.

He had done what he could to hinder Rudolphus and Bellatrix being married. He thought that given her display with Lord Peverell, Corvus would have second thoughts about marrying his son to her. Abraxus had toyed with the idea of marrying Lucius to her if that had happened, but he would not subject his son to the deranged woman.

Regardless of any other plans he may have made, his efforts had been in vain and the wedding would go ahead; just at a later date. Corvus clearly was not inclined towards terminating the contract between his heir and fiancé, proving that he was either very savvy or very stubborn.

Abraxus could not be certain which.

“Plans change, Lucius,” he replied, echoing the words he had spoken to his son many times over the years.

“Of course, father, I will do as you ask of me. As always,” Lucius added in a mutter as he turned to take his leave from the study.

“Does that mean you will also stop this foolishness with the Dark Lord?”

Lucius paused his steps and hung his head before shaking it.

“You do not understand, Lucius…”

“No, father, it is you that does not understand,” Lucius snapped, turning to face the man that had sired him, his heavily circled eyes full of anger and resentment. “The Dark Lord cannot be stopped. I have witnessed his power for myself and I will follow him as he leads us to greatness.”

Abraxus could only stare at his son disappointedly.

“You have been lured in through a show of strength, you fool,” he despaired. “He will not win, Lucius. You will stop this madness or…”

“Or what?” Lucius challenged. “Will you disinherit me? Disown me as your son?”

Abraxus swallowed deeply. He did not want to be at odds with Lucius but had hoped he would see sense.

“No, you will not. I am your only heir and what I am doing is for my future. He is not like other Dark Lords. He is powerful and will not be defeated.”

Abraxus chuckled humourlessly.

“They said the same about Grindelwald, and yet, he is dead.”

“And Dumbledore is an old man that cannot match the Dark Lord,” Lucius retorted.

“But there will be another,” Abraxus pointed out. “If history has taught us anything, it’s that there is always one willing and able to bring down a tyrant.”

Lucius shook his head in disbelief.

 “Not this time, father, and I hope you realise it before it’s too late,” he sighed. “Whilst you are denying the truth, I will continue as I am. I will marry the Black girl, as requested, but I will choose my own path.”

With his parting words given, he left and Abraxus deflated in his chair.

Lucius had always been somewhat arrogant, had allowed the family name to give him a sense of entitlement and superiority. What the foolish boy did not remember, however, was that when he was under that mask, it all meant nothing.

He had given himself to another in the pursuit of greatness when all he had needed to do was be his heir and continue as the Malfoys had.

Lucius was risking everything in a gamble that would not end well, or at the very least, ruin the reputation his forefathers had forged.

For the first time since his son had breathed his first, Abraxus was truly disappointed in him.

(Break)

“You seem very happy, Narcissa,” Melania commented, noting the smile she wore as she sipped her tea. “Am I to assume that things are going well with Lucius?”

Arcturus frowned as his granddaughter’s face fell.

“Lucius?” Narcissa questioned, “oh, I haven’t seen him much, not in over a week,” she added with a shrug.

“Is he not supposed to be courting you?” Arcturus asked irritably.

Narcissa sighed and shook her head.

“Lucius is not interested in me. He’s only doing what Abraxus has told him,” she snorted.

Arcturus hummed disapprovingly.

“Slimy bastards,” he grumbled. “Just say the word and I will put an end to it.”

“There’s no point,” Narcissa replied. “Father and Abraxus are keen on us being married and they will get their way. I don’t want there to be any more trouble in the family. We’ve had enough of that.”

“Narcissa…”

“It’s fine, grandfather,” she interrupted. “I’ve known it would happen one day and a match with the Malfoys is better than I expected. It could be worse; I could be married to Crabbe.”

Arcturus grimaced at the thought.

“Very well, I trust your judgement,” he conceded unhappily.

She was right that a match with the Malfoys was a good one for her, despite the political machinations involved. Arcturus was keeping a very close eye on his prospective in-laws, who had yet to step a toe out of line. If they did, they would know about it immediately.

He might be in his advanced years but that would not stop him killing both Lestrange and Malfoy if he needed to.

“So, what were you smiling about?” Melania pressed.

“I was smiling?” Narcissa returned, confused.

“Just a moment ago before the subject of Lucius was raised. You were lost in your own thoughts and smiling.”

The girl’s cheeks flushed a little and Arcturus eyed her speculatively.

“I was just thinking about quidditch,” she answered.

“Quidditch? You’ve never shown any interest in quidditch before,” Melania said disbelievingly.

Narcissa looked sheepish for a moment and sighed.

“I didn’t, not until I saw Harry playing.”

It took but a second for the Black patriarch to connect the dots.

“Peverell?” he questioned, unable to hide his surprise.

Narcissa nodded.

“I went to thank him for what he did for you at the Wizengamot and saw him play. I don’t know much about it, but he’s very good on his broom and won the match for his team.”

“Peverell is playing quidditch? Is that not a little dangerous for someone of his position?” Melania asked.

Narcissa shrugged.

“Like he’d listen if anyone told him otherwise,” she laughed.

“Not bloody likely,” Arcturus chuckled. “Who is he playing for?”

Narcissa frowned thoughtfully as she removed her scarf from her pocket.

“The Hemel Harriers,” she answered, reading the team name off the garment.

“Aww, she even got a scarf,” Melania cooed, “and it’s even got Peverell’s name on it.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow at his granddaughter.

“Well I wasn’t going to get one with a stranger’s name,” Narcissa huffed.

“I suppose not,” Arcturus agreed. “Were you planning on going to watch him again?”

“I was thinking about it. He’s playing today.”

“Then we will join you,” Melania declared. “It’s been years since your grandfather and I went to a Quidditch match.”

“The world cup final of ’54,” Arcturus reminded her. “Why not, I’m sure Peverell won’t mind the extra support. If you don’t mind, of course,” he added to Narcissa pointedly.

“Why would I mind, it’s just a quidditch match,” she replied. “The team could use all the support they can get; they didn’t have much last time.”

“Then it’s settled. What time does it start?”

“At one pm,” Narcissa replied.

“Then we had best start making a move,” Melania said, checking the clock. “We only have thirty minutes to get to…”

“Caerphilly,” Narcissa informed them.

“We best fetch our jackets then,” Arcturus prompted, following his wife from the kitchen as she stood.

“Peverell?” Melania whispered.

“He would be a much more preferred match for her,” Arcturus conceded, “but not a possible one.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because if I was to approach him with the idea, he would think I am doing so only for an alliance.”

“Does that matter? She is clearly not enamoured with the idea of marrying Lucius. You saw that smile, Arcturus. At the very least, she would be happy.”

“She would but she would not want me to interfere. She would resent me for being presumptuous and we don’t even know if that is what she wants.”

Melania sighed and nodded her understanding.

“Are you ready?” Narcissa called as she entered the hallway, neither of her grandparents missing the gold and green scarf she had wrapped around her neck.

“Of course,” Arcturus replied. “These tired old bones just take a moment to get into a coat these days.”

(Break)

“Are you sure he won’t mind us being here?” Dorea asked.

“I’m sure he won’t,” Charlus replied. “Besides, it’s a public event. If he’s half as good at quidditch as he is flying, he won’t be able to avoid the attention.”

Dorea nodded as they entered the small stadium.

“I thought they were a new team?”

“They are but it seems as though they’ve already gathered quite the following,” Charlus commented, seeing dozens of witches and wizards sporting green and gold amongst the stands.

“Is that Arcturus?” Dorea asked in disbelief as she pointed to a trio of people only a short distance away.

“Why would your brother be here?”

“I don’t know,” Dorea answered as she began heading towards the man who was also surprised by their presence.

(Break)

“It seems that they have more supporters than we were led to believe,” her grandfather pointed out as they settled themselves into the front row of one of the stands.

“There were less than twenty people last time,” Narcissa explained, taken aback by the livelier atmosphere.

Arcturus nodded towards a banner a short distance away.

“It seems they have heard of how well Peverell did.”

Narcissa too looked towards the banner that depicted a crudely drawn picture of Harry chasing a snitch on his broom with his family name written in bold letters just above.

“Did you expect Charlus and Dorea to be here?” her grandmother questioned.

Narcissa turned and, much to her surprise, her Aunt Dorea was walking towards them with Charlus in tow.”

“Arcturus, what are you doing here?” the Potter lord questioned as he shook her grandfather’s hand.

“I was told Peverell was rather good and wished to see for myself.”

“Told by whom?”

Her grandfather nodded in Narcissa’s direction and Charlus offered her a smile.

“Ahh, the beautiful Black sister.”

“Excuse me?” Arcturus pressed.

“Oh, something Lord Peverell said when we first met,” the man replied dismissively. “He told me of your meeting with him and I explained that I was married to Dorea. He mentioned the women of your family were beautiful. I assume he meant Narcissa as she was the only one, he’d met at the time.”

“He is quite the flatterer,” Melania said, offering her husband an indiscernible look that was missed by the younger blonde as she stared at Charlus questioningly.

Had Harry really said that about her? No, surely he was merely being polite as her grandmother explained. He was not exactly going to say anything unpleasant about her to a man married to her great aunt.

“I could ask the same of you, Charlus. What brings you here?”

“I’ve seen him fly and I’m interested to see if he is as good as I think he is,” Charlus replied.

Any further conversation between them was cut off by a loud voice that rung out across the small stadium.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please make some noise for the Caerphilly Colts!”

The opposing stands erupted in a cacophony of cheering and applause as a team in red took to the air and began flying laps around the pitch.

“In goal we have Bryan Craddock.”

A short cheer sounded from the Caerphilly fans.

“Your beaters are Eoghan Callaghan and Peter Corbett.”

Another two cheers as the two men waved their bats in acknowledgement to their supporters.

“Your chasers today are Bryn Matthews, Alan Smith, and Maria Catchpole.”

 A trio of cheers sounded this time.

“And your seeker for today is Scott Daniels.”

Daniels was rather big for a seeker, his red hair and crooked nose unmissable even from a distance. It appeared as though he had been hit with a few too many bludgers.

“Now for the opposition. In goal for the Harriers we have Jack Foley.”

The man was given a polite round of applause as he took up his position.

“The beaters for the green and golds: Carl Watson and David Jennings.”

They too received a warm reception from their fans.

“The three chasers for The Harriers: Jane Winter, Claire Lewin and Alison Carrey.”

A series of wolf-whistles and catcalls could be heard from behind her and Narcissa scowled.

“Ignore them Cissy,” Dorea urged. “Men will be men.”

“And finally, their seeker, Harry Peverell!”

Narcissa thought her eardrums would explode from the almighty cheer and feminine whistles that erupted from behind her. Even Harry paused on his broom, shocked by the welcome he received.

“GO ON PEVERELL, SON! SHOW THAT GINGER BASTARD WHAT YOU CAN DO!” an overzealous fan who was shirtless and clutching a tankard of mead shouted.

Both Charlus and her grandfather smirked at his antics but Narcissa was not focused on him. She was distracted by another sign she spotted a few rows behind him seemingly having been written in lipstick.

KISS ME PEVERELL!

It had even been dotted with lip marks where the woman who was holding it had peppered it with kisses of her own and Narcissa frowned.

Harry wasn’t the kind of person to kiss her because she had made a sign asking him to, was he?

“I can’t help but notice, Charlus, the resemblance between yourself and Peverell,” her grandfather spoke, pulling her from her thoughts. “I was going to mention it at dinner but, well, you know.”

“I told you it was noticeable,” her Aunt Dorea sighed.

Charlus nodded.

“It goes no further than us, but we are related,” he muttered. “The Potter line merged with one of the Peverell’s around five centuries ago.”

“Truly?” Arcturus questioned. “I thought it was merely a coincidence, but it makes sense. It explains why you reached out to him.”

“He hasn’t got any other family,” Charlus sighed.

“Does he know?”

“He does,” Charlus confirmed. “We haven’t seen him much, but he does write often.”

Arcturus nodded.

“None will hear it from me, old friend.”

The match got underway and the chasers began their efforts in earnest, avoiding the bludgers sent their way by the beaters, and doing all they could to intercept the quaffle.

Narcissa paid little attention to them, her eyes firmly on Harry as he searched for the snitch, drifting around the stadium as he focused on the task at hand.

“He’s seen it!” she announced only a minute later as he suddenly shot upwards before heading into an almost vertical dive, followed by the opposing seeker.

“He’s bloody mad!” Arcturus muttered as the young man plummeted towards the ground, showing no sign of relenting.

“Pull up, Harry,” Charlus urged, cringing as he stopped and spun under his broom.

The other seeker, Daniels, panicked, and lost control, him along with his broom crashing into the ground.

“TAKE THAT, GINGE,” the shirtless man shouted giddily, spilling his mead over the spectators in front of him.

The rest of the crowd unleashed a collective groan of sympathy as the large man clawed his way back to his feet, offering Harry an obscene gesture via a raised finger.

Harry, however, had already flown away, charging towards the opposing chasers as they attempted to shield the quaffle from his own teammates.

Seeing that he had no intention of stopping, their formation broke apart at the last second, the red ball falling into the hands of Jane Winter who put the ball through the centre hoop for the first ten points of the game.

“The boy is suicidal,” Melania commented.

Narcissa could only nod her agreement, her heart beginning to pound in her chest as Harry took the sky once more, becoming but a dot floating above them.

“Merlin, he can fly,” Arcturus complimented. “He’s making the rest of them look like amateurs.”

“I think he’s seen it this time,” Charlus announced, pointing to where Harry was now spiralling towards the ground once more.

“YOU DIRTY BASTARD!” the shirtless man yelled as Daniels flew directly into Harry’s path, the two colliding in mid-air.

 Narcissa gasped as Harry was unseated, her eyes widening as he hung on to his broom for dear life with one hand.

“Isn’t someone going to help him?” she asked, panicked.

“This is Quidditch, Narcissa,” her grandfather answered with a shrug as though that was sufficient enough to explain why Harry was being left dangling almost seventy feet in the air.

She could only look on helplessly and screamed along with many others as he seemingly lost his grip and began falling, bereft of his broom.

She frantically fumbled for her wand, and heaved a sigh of relief as Harry snatched the broom out of the air from beside him and mounted it, his toes skimming the tips of the grass as he wrested it back under control.

“He’s bloody mad!” Charlus declared, “Worse than James!”

Dorea was pale and clutching her chest, the moment overwhelming her with worry. She had seen many horrific Quidditch injuries during her career as healer, but had never witnessed them occurring.

“What a show!” Arcturus praised, a grin plastered across his face, unaware of the look of disbelief his wife was sending his way.

Narcissa shook her head and searched for Harry once more. He appeared to be no worse for wear nor deterred from being a complete lunatic on the back of the broom.

Daniels had pulled ahead of him in pursuit of the snitch, but Harry was gaining on him quickly and closed the gap between them only a moment later, the pair engaging in a mid-air tussle for dominance.

Whatever happened, she did not see, but both ended up crashing into the ground and Harry was the first to his feet, the fluttering wings of the snitch protruding from either side of his closed fist as he held it aloft.

“Thank Merlin that is over,” Melania sighed. “I though I was going to have a damned heart attack.”

Narcissa nodded her agreement, any words she had being drowned out by the cheering crowd behind them.

“And there it is, Ladies and Gentlemen. After an exceptional competition, Harry Peverell has caught the snitch. The Hemel Harriers win 180-20!”

A final resounding cheer from those wearing the green and gold, or no shirt for that matter, went up and the crowd began taking their leave of the stadium, some remaining behind to try to talk to the players.

Harry awkwardly exchanged pleasantries with a few of them, his discomfort from during the situation evident to those looking in.

“He’d better get used to that if he’s going to keep playing,” Charlus chuckled.

“The man should be playing in a better league,” Arcturus added. “He pissed all over this lot. Well played, Peverell,” he called as Harry walked past.

He stopped at the familiarity of her grandfather’s voice and approached with a look of confusion marring his features.

“What are you all doing here?” he asked.

“Well, we are relatively local to here and the fixture was advertised in the newspaper,” Charlus explained. “You caused quite the stir with your last performance.”

“It will be even more with this one,” Arcturus declared. “You’re a mad bastard, Peverell. Quidditch fans love that.”

Harry smirked and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he turned to face Narcissa, frowning as he did so.

“Are you okay? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” he said.

Narcissa shook her head.

“You have got to be the stupidest man I have ever seen,” she replied amusedly. “It’s a wonder you have lived this long.”

He seemingly nodded his agreement.

“If you think that was stupid, maybe one day I will tell you about the time I outflew a dragon.”

Out of any rebuttal he could have chosen to give, that was not one she would have expected, though when she looked him in the eyes, there was no hint of fabrication there. Surely, he was joking?

When she opened her mouth to question him, however, his attention had shifted to Charlus.

“Are you crap at potions too?” he asked bluntly.

Charlus was taken aback by the question and frowned.

“Who told you that? Was it you, Arcturus?”

The Black patriarch shook his head in denial and held his hands up innocently.

“No, I was just wondering,” Harry assured the embarrassed man. “I’ve done my OWLs but can’t get the hang of NEWT potions. It’s the only one giving me problems.”

“Ah, so I can blame the Peverells for our lack of brewing ability,” Charlus replied almost giddily. “Wait, you’ve only just done your OWLs?”

“Yeah, things haven’t exactly been conducive for studying for me,” Harry returned coyly. “I’m not getting paid for Quidditch so I will still have to get a job. I’ll need OWLs and NEWTs for that.”

“You will,” Charlus agreed. “I would be a terrible choice to help you, but Dorea…”

“I’ll do it,” Narcissa broke in, uncertain as to why she was volunteering herself. “You need an O at both OWL and NEWT level to train as a healer. I can help you.”

Harry did not appear to be enthused by the idea.

“I think that is a wonderful idea, don’t you, Arcturus?” her grandmother pressed.

“I do,” Arcturus agreed after a moment of hesitation. “She is a fine potioneer, Peverell and I approve. I respect what you are doing.”

Narcissa shot the man a questioning look and he pointedly ignored her in favour of staring at Peverell who seemed to be trying to find a way out of such an arrangement.

“Then I would appreciate it,” he finally spoke, offering her a nod of gratitude.

“Excellent,” Arcturus declared, “Now, why don’t you get changed and I will take us all for dinner to celebrate your excellent performance?”

Harry nodded.

“I’ll only be a few moments.”

With that, he headed towards the changing room and Narcissa, the Potters and her grandparents were left waiting for him to return.

“I could have helped him with his potions, Arcturus,” Dorea pointed out.

“You could, but Narcissa completed her NEWTs more recently,” he explained. “Besides, I remember when you tried to help Charlus with his. I thought you were going to kill him.”

Charlus nodded severely, evidently remembering it well.

“You’re not so patient with people who can’t brew,” he muttered.

“Because it is not that difficult,” Dorea defended. “How hard is it to follow instructions?”

“Really hard when someone is shouting at you,” Charlus countered with a grin.

Dorea narrowed her eyes at her husband before sighing.

“Fine, maybe I’m not all that patient,” she conceded.

“It’s not as though he can enroll himself at Hogwarts,” Arcturus explained, “and private tutors are astronomically expensive. Only idiots like the Malfoys would pay for them.”

“Arcturus!” Melania chastised, nodding towards Narcissa.

“Well, they’re about the only ones who can afford it that would pay for them. Didn’t Abraxus bring in a Russian to teach Lucius during the summer when he was at school? I remember him bragging about it during a Wizengamot meeting.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Charlus offered with a shrug. “I wouldn’t trust a Malfoy as far as I could throw one of the weasels. They’re always up to something.”

Arcturus nodded his agreement, a deep frown creasing his brow.

Narcissa wouldn’t pretend to know Abraxus well at all, only having met him a few times throughout her life. Lucius had been a year older than her at school and they hadn’t had much interaction. She did remember him being a bit of a braggart but no more than any of the other boys in her house.

However, the more time she spent with him, the more it felt that he was not being himself. His smiles would never reach his eyes and it appeared that he did not want to be there with her.

He didn’t, not really, and she had long suspected that he only did so at the behest of his father.

“Ah, here comes Peverell,” her grandfather’s voice broke into her thoughts.

(Break)

A dinner with the Blacks was not something he had expected to be on the agenda for the day, nor was seeing the Potters. Even less expected was the offer from Narcissa to help him with his potions work and he could not help but think that it would prove to be a bad idea.

He didn’t dislike the woman. If anything, he admired her for what she had already done for him, and that was the problem.

For the past two weeks since she had arrived unexpectedly for his first game, he had been thinking about her, much more so than expected. The only two people he had ever thought of this much had been Ginny Weasley and Cho Chang; neither of those having ended well for him.

Thinking of Narcissa in such a way was a problem for him. This was the woman that would one day be a Malfoy, wife of Lucius and mother of Draco. Regardless, he still thought of her, against his better judgement.

Being on the run, romantic thoughts of any form had been far from his mind. For the most part, he had lived his life in fear and in a state of vigilance. He had not even considered the notion that one day he would have the chance to explore the idea let alone actually being here where he could live it.

He shook his head of those thoughts.

He may well have the opportunity to do so now, but not with someone like Narcissa Black. She was all but spoken for and Harry did not want to involve himself in such a complex issue. Whatever agreement that had been struck between the Malfoys and Blacks was their business and he was even reluctant to allow himself to be tutored by the woman.

He couldn’t imagine Lucius being happy with it.

That thought did cause a smirk to tug at his lips. He didn’t care what Lucius did and didn’t like, but he wouldn’t wish for anything to be made difficult for Narcissa. Lucius was a vile and unpleasant man at best, and Harry did not understand their relationship from where he’d come from.

Perhaps Narcissa would change from what she was now, become like him or maybe already was? Either way, it wasn’t his business and the less he had to do with either of them, the better.

Well, that had been his thoughts on the matter until today and he now found himself once more with her being a presence in his life. It was moments like this that he questioned whether fate was still mocking him.

Not that he wouldn’t appreciate her help in potions, and even as he reached the waiting group, he could not imagine the blonde before him being anything like Lucius Malfoy, his former thoughts on her making him feel guilty for thinking them.

“I’m ready,” he said, returning the nervous smile Narcissa sent his way.

And there it was, the rare gesture he saw from her that he had been thinking of recently.

He liked her smile, it suited her.

To him, it was a shame that it would not be something he would be able to experience much of. In a matter of months or even a few years, they would likely be at odds, on opposite sides of the impending conflict.

He did not relish that realisation and it did nothing but leave him feeling conflicted.

As much as he liked seeing her smile, it would not sit well with him seeing it given to Lucius Malfoy. That, however, was what the future held and deep down, he knew he would be the cause of her eventual misery.

He would one day kill Lucius and even the smile of this woman could not prevent that.

(Break)

It was around two hours later that Narcissa returned home having shared a rather nice meal with her grandparents, the Potters, and Harry, though the latter was quieter than usual. It may have been that he was tired from his efforts during the Quidditch match but he stayed on the edge of conversation, offering his input only when prompted.

Perhaps he was still wary around her family?

He didn’t appear to be but he was certainly reserved. It wasn’t until she broached the subject of assisting him with his potions work that it was discussed and he agreed they would begin the following week.

“Narcissa? Is that you?” her mother called as she entered the front room. “Come in here, please, there’s someone that wishes to see you.”

She frowned. There was no one that would come to her home to visit and her guest was certainly not one she would expect to go out of his way to do so. As she entered the parlour room, she was greeted by the sight of her parents seated at the table with Lucius Malfoy.

With how comfortable the man had situated himself, he must have been here for some time. There were empty plates in front of them where they had evidently shared a meal and even mugs from where they’d had coffee.

“Lucius?” she questioned.

He stood as she entered and gave her one of those smiles that did not quite reach his eyes.

“Lucius has been waiting for you,” her mother sighed. “Where have you been?”

“It’s okay, Mrs Black,” Lucius placated. “I fear that I have been an imposition on your parents.”

“Nonsense,” Cygnus denied. “It has been nice getting to know you.”

Lucius offered her father one of the same smiles and a slight bow.

“I apologise for not writing but I wanted to ask you in person if you will allow me to be your escort for Bellatrix’s wedding to Rudolphus?”

Her parents beamed from behind the man and Narcissa was taken aback by the question. Lucius was a confusing person and became more so with each encounter with him.

“O-of course,” she agreed, as was expected of her.

The smile she received this time came with a gleam of excitement in his eyes, but it did not fill her with warmth nor anticipation. It unsettled her, but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone again and she could not be sure if it had even been there in the first place.

“What is that you are wearing?” her father cut in disapprovingly, gesturing to the scarf she had kept on even after the game had finished.

Narcissa internally chided herself for her laxity.

“It’s just a scarf,” she replied.

“With Lord Peverell’s name stitched into it?” her mother asked curiously.

“Yes, he plays Quidditch and I went with grandmother, grandfather, and the Potters to watch him play.”

“Oh, Narcissa, what must Lucius think seeing you wearing that?” Druella sighed.

“No, no, it is quite alright,” Lucius broke in. “We all have the pursuits we enjoy. I thank you for your hospitality and I look forward to the wedding. I’m sure it will be quite the enjoyable affair.”

Narcissa nodded and Lucius took his leave of the house.

Oddly, he didn’t appear to be upset but he was not unmoved either. As with the spark of excitement, another emotion flickered across his face, one that was unreadable but not a comforting one.

“I believe he feels offended,” Druella muttered.

“As he should,” Cygnus huffed. “What on earth were you doing with Peverell? It is Lucius that is courting you.”

“I went to a Quidditch match with several other people,” Narcissa reminded him.

Cygnus shook his head.

“There will be no more of it,” he commanded. “I will not have the Malfoys think poorly of us because of the company you keep. Peverell is not an ally of our family and you will not see him anymore.”

“Then that is something you will have to discuss with grandfather,” Narcissa returned evenly. “He has given his blessing for me to help Harry with something and I intend to do so.”

“You will do no such thing,” her father growled as he stood. “You will not jeopardise this arrangement.”

“Cygnus!” Druella chastised. “You will control your temper. Narcissa is helping a potential ally to the family.”

“The Malfoys are all but our allies already!”

“Not until Narcissa and Lucius are married,” Druella pointed out. “If that even comes to pass.”

Cygnus looked at his wife in disbelief.

“Why would it not come to pass? We would be fools not to seize this opportunity.”

“Because I have my reservations about the boy. Your vision is clouded by the prestige the match will bring but I look at Lucius as I would any other boy.”

“He is a fine young man,” Cygnus argued. “What bloody reservations do you have?”

“That remains to be seen,” Druella replied. “You see him only for his name but have you truly thought about the kind of person he is? Shouldn’t Cissy get a say in this?”

Cygnus glared at his wife; his nostrils flared in displeasure.

“The decision on whether or not they marry is mine alone to make. You’ve already seen what happens when too much freedom is given. I am grateful that Bella was not as foolish as the other one. I will not risk such a slight against us again. Make no mistake, if Potter had not interfered, Andromeda and the mudblood would be dead!”

Druella was stricken by the words of her husband and said nothing as he swept from the room.

“Mother…”

“I’m fine,” Druella said dismissively.

She wasn’t and Narcissa could see that she was trying fight back her tears. With a gentle sigh, she sat in the seat opposite her mother and took her hand in her own.

“She has a child, a girl I think.”

“A child?” Druella asked gently.

Whatever anger the woman had felt towards her eldest daughter had evaporated and had been filled with sadness. It was hard for Narcissa to see her mother this way.

The Rosiers were a pureblood family that stood for pureblood traditions but not as ardently as the Blacks. Druella had been furious with her daughter’s actions, but that had seemingly passed.

Narcissa nodded.

“She was born not long after I started at St Mungo’s, she must be around two now.”

“Was Andi okay? Did everything go well?”

Narcissa could only shrug.

“I only saw her brought in and heard that she’d given birth to a girl,” she answered. “I’ve not seen her since nor heard anything else.”

Druella nodded her understanding.

“I’m still angry with her but I do not wish her harm, or her baby.”

Narcissa gave her mother’s hand a squeeze. It was the first time since Andromeda had run away that they had spoken of her and she could not help but think what happened in the weeks after would be one of life’s regrets for her mother.

“Anyway, what is it you will be helping Lord Peverell with?” Druella asked, changing the subject.

“With his potions NEWT,” Narcissa answered honestly. “He never had the opportunity to complete them and it’s something he struggles with.”

Druella gave a watery chuckle.

“It is hard to think after what we saw of him that he would find something such as potions so difficult.”

“It is, but I suppose he hasn’t had time to practice much,” Narcissa replied. “I don’t know exactly how his life has been, but it has not been good to him.”

“No, it doesn’t appear so,” Druella agreed thoughtfully.

A comfortable silence fell between them for a moment before Narcissa could no longer ignore something that had been said when her father had been present.

“Mother, you said you had your reservations about Lucius…”

Druella shook her head.

“Think nothing of it, Cissy. It is probably me worrying about you too much.”

“No, I would like to hear them. What is bothering you?”

Druella sighed.

“I don’t know, but there is just something about him. It’s as though he puts on a show for people…”

“Like he’s wearing a mask?”

“Yes,” Druella agreed, “like he’s wearing a mask.”

Narcissa deflated in her chair.

She knew she had not been seeing things, had not imagined the lack of warmth in the smiles or the odd looks he would send her way at times. No, there truly was something about Lucius that did not sit right with her and her mother saw it too.

“Then I only hope that he is not a cruel man,” she sighed as she left the room.

(Break)

Tonight, was not one of respite from the pureblood movement’s cruelty and the Order had been caught off guard by the sheer number of incidents that had triggered their sensors.

For the most part, the attacks had come in threes or fours, but not this evening; there had been eight to contend with.

This was the fourth that Albus Dumbledore had attended, the arrival of the Order coming too late to assist the muggles that had been targeted as had been the unfortunate trend of the evening.

He could only shake his head sadly as he took in the devastation around him.

“Another one,” Benjy commented angrily.

“Another one,” Dumbledore confirmed quietly. “The Ministry will arrive soon. I would advise we all left before that happens.”

“We tried, Albus,” Dorcas offered comfortingly. “We will get them.”

Albus released a deep breath as the Order members that had accompanied him vanished and he took a moment to compose himself, a few steps into the carnage sobering him but serving as a reminder as to why they were doing what they were.

They had not made it on time tonight, but their efforts would continue.

He paused suddenly and frowned as he felt a familiar presence, one he hoped he would never come across again, but one he suspected he would.

Tom had been here, the essence of his magic as unforgettable as it was unmistakable. It was different from when he had last sat with the man to discuss his possible placement as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor so many years prior, but it was undoubtedly him.

Feeling his way to where the magic was emanating from, he came upon the body of a young man, his shirt having been crudely torn open. Carved into his flesh was a disturbingly legible message. Tom had taken his time with this or had become so adept at such a practice that it was done with apparent ease.

‘Better luck next time, old man.’

Albus shook his head.

How could one grow to be so cruel? He knew not, but his former student had and had resorted to goading him with his unforgivable obscenities.

It was not often Albus felt anger, an emotion he had done his utmost to quell since what happened to Ariana the last time he succumbed to his temper. Now, however, he felt it pumping through his veins, Tom’s perversion of this innocent man’s body proving enough to provoke such from the usually benevolent old man.

“Next time indeed,” he mumbled before apparating away with an exaggerated crack as he disappeared.

(Break)

He had come to learn that tending to his needs was no longer viable during an attack. Either the aurors or Dumbledore and his ensemble of fools would appear at the most inconvenient of moments. As such, he needed to temper his urges until a more advantageous opportunity presented itself, or he sought one out.

Tonight, had been particularly difficult to do so. Even before the frenzy and chaos had ensued, his aggression had been pent-up. During the attack, he had involved himself more with his peers, cursing more muggles than he usually did, seeking to cause harm to them in an effort to rid himself of the rage he was carrying.

Despite how many had suffered under his fury, it had not been abated. No, it would take a more personal enjoyment for the contentment to come.

For the second time in only a matter of hours, he found himself in the same muggle dwelling.

The Ministry workers had done a remarkable job at cleaning up the mess Lucius and his comrades had left in their wake. None would ever know that only a short while ago the streets had been full of screaming muggles with many of the houses burning.

His jaw tightened as another wave of anger threatened to overwhelm him.

Black had been cavorting with another. She was his and the thought of her with him infuriated Lucius.

He cared not for her but for the principle of what she was doing. It was Lucius that was courting her, it was him that would be marrying her, and yet, she was spending time with another man.

It was unacceptable to say the least, an insult to him, and he could not allow it to stand.

She would need to learn her place, learn that she was to be his and not Peverell’s.

With a growl, he stormed towards the house he had chosen earlier in the evening, one he had prepared accordingly for his return.

With a well-placed kick, the door swung open and he stomped up the staircase that led to the bedrooms, enjoying the whimpering he could already hear.

Without pause, he opened the door with a tap of his wand and entered, the young, blonde woman he had chosen for this evening trembling on the bed.

“I told you I would return,” he snorted as he seized her by a handful of her hair.

She didn’t look much like Black, but she would do until Narcissa was his.