Whispers of a Raven - The World Once Past

He couldn’t help but feel that his life was a constant punchline to a joke that had long ago lost all its humour. Everything that he had faced and endured had cumulated to the least likely outcome of all and he knew that this was only the beginning. How could he even begin to fathom what it was he now faced? It was as though everything thus far had been for nothing, had only been for the amusement of those that played the world as if it was there own private chess board and he was but a lowly pawn sent forth to do their bidding.

He shook his head at the thought.

It was much worse than that. Someone had seemingly tired of the rules and had reinvented them. He was still a mere pawn, however, and stood alone staring across the board at a full ensemble of foes.

The cloaked figure had spoken of balance, but where was it? He remained outnumbered and out of his depth. Out of the many questions that plagued his mind, the most pressing was; what could he do about it?

He had almost laughed at the predicament he found himself in but could not do so. He had faced danger throughout his life, had either overcome or barely survived it on numerous occasions. This was different.

There was nothing he had encountered like this, no experience to call upon to help him through. Of all the preparations he had made, this had never been considered. Why would it have been? It was ludicrous to even ponder such a turn of events.

He frowned as he thought about just what it was he knew about the 1970s and he immediately came up short. He knew nothing of the period and couldn’t even be sure if he had somehow been navigated back through his own timeline.

His only experience of such was useless here. He had been thirteen when he and Hermione had gone back but a few hours and he had thought little of it since. The study of time travel had never been of interest to him, if that was even what he had been subjected to now.

Were there alternative universes? If so, what was different here than what would have led to the life he’d lived?

There were too many variables, too many doubts that did nothing but induce a pounding headache.

Even if it was his own timeline and the events would unfold as they had without his intervention, he was no better off. He would still be as blind as if he had been thrown into an entirely different world.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and his mind took the opportunity to throw more questions his way.

If he had indeed time travelled, was the prophecy that pertained to him and Voldemort still relevant?

He swallowed deeply as the weight of the burden settled within him.

The words may not have been uttered yet, but he could feel them upon his shoulders. Voldemort was the sole reason he had been sent here by the cloaked figure and whatever other oddity had a hand in it.

Voldemort may not know of it yet, but Harry did and he could not help but think that was all that mattered in the grand scheme of things. The confrontation between the two of them was inevitable. Fate had decreed it so and if she was as the cloaked figure described, she would see her desired end.

“Neither can live while the other survives.”

Such a thought offered him little comfort and he only felt more helpless than he already had.

Where did he even begin?

That was something he had time to ponder because it was unlikely he would be leaving here any time soon. Both the Trainee and Healer had told him as much.

“That should do it,” the surgeon declared as he sat up from where he had been poring over Harry’s leg and wiped the sweat from his brow. “The damage was significant, but I have done the best I can. If you follow our care plan, there is no reason it shouldn’t heal fully. You are very lucky, young man.”

Harry nodded gratefully as he took in the appearance of his leg and sighed as he spotted his newest scar. At the moment, it was a long, puckered line of pink flesh that had been closed with a skin knitting charm. When it was no longer fresh and tender, it would fade, though not entirely.

“Thank you,” he offered gratefully.

“Don’t thank me yet, this is just the start of your healing process,” the surgeon returned with a grin. “You will remain in that bed for the next few days, and then, you will need to have some intense therapy involving daily exercises and stretching to loosen and strengthen it back up. That is what you get for trying to fix it yourself.”

With his parting chastisement given, the man left the room and Harry found himself once more under the care of the healer he had met a few hours prior. She was older than the Trainee that had checked him over when he first woke, and her name did not set him on edge. She was American, judging by her accent and evidently had emigrated here with her husband some years ago who was a healer like her.

“He is right,” she sighed. “There was a lot of damage in there to fix. I imagine you will begin to despise us in the coming days.”

Harry shrugged. He wasn’t expecting it to be pleasant but there was no way it would compare to a basilisk bite or the Cruciatus Curse.

“So, when did you get your raven?” the woman questioned as she began fluffing his pillows.

Harry’s gaze swept across the room to where the bird had taken residence on top of the speaker, his eerily white eyes closed, and his head tucked under his wing as he slumbered.

“I didn’t get him, he found me,” he answered honestly. “He’s been around for a few years now.”

The woman nodded thoughtfully.

“I imagine people steer clear of you when they see him. Ravens aren’t considered a good omen.”

“Death!” Olin squawked suddenly, startling the healer.

“And it doesn’t help when he says that,” she grumbled.

Harry grinned at the woman. She was trying to take it all in her stride, but Olin was rather unsettling, now more than ever having learned of his origins.

“He’s an odd creature,” Harry agreed, “but he is very smart and all I have left,” he added with a frown.

It was true. The raven was the only living thing he had left of his former life. He had his wands, his trunk and a plethora of other objects, but no one to unburden himself to. It was not as though he could share his problems with anyone. Not even Dumbledore would believe what had happened to him, and that was even if he was here at all.

The healer gave him a look of sympathy.

“My colleague mentioned that you didn’t have anyone. How did that happen? Sorry,” she corrected herself, “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“It’s fine,” he replied dismissively.

When he spoke no more, she too took her leave soon after and returned with a bowl of soup with some bread on the side.

“You should eat,” she advised, “you will need your strength.”

He nodded appreciatively as he accepted the food, his appetite yet to make an appearance.

“I do not wish to pry but perhaps you should speak to someone whilst you’re here. It’s all well and good us fixing your body, but if you don’t take care of yourself up here,” she continued pointing to her head, “it will eat away at you, whatever it is. Just a thought.”

Once more, she exited the room, leaving him to his thoughts.

It was not as though talking to someone was an option for him. How could anyone understand what he had been through and what it was he faced now? They couldn’t, not really. He was not here to try to make sense of what had befallen him but to face his destiny.

How he would do that, he knew not. What he did know, however, was that he needed to prepare. The first step of doing that, was fixing his leg, and then, well, he would have to learn of the world he found himself in.

That would go a long way in deciding what steps he would take next.

(Break)

Much to her relief, she had slept better than the previous night and woke with enough time to spare to ready herself for afternoon tea with the Lestranges. She didn’t understand why she had to go other than it was expected of her.

Once Bella and Rudolphus were married it wasn’t as though she would see them often.

Ever since her older sister had left school, Narcissa hadn’t spent much time with her. By the time she too had graduated from Hogwarts, Bellatrix had her own life and her own friends. She seemingly had little more than a moment to spend with her when she wasn’t occupied by whatever she was up to.

Narcissa had her suspicions. The pureblood movement had been gaining considerable traction over the past several years. Even at school, those signing themselves up to protest mudblood rights had been rife and the worst kept secret. Everyone knew about it, but as was the wizarding way, until it began affecting people, no one would do anything.

That was what was happening now. Narcissa had experienced the aftermath of these ‘protests’ during her shifts at the hospital. People who had been attacked would explain they had been set upon by figures in dark robes and white masks claiming their lord would cleanse the land of the filth that had accumulated.

She had no doubt that Bella had gotten herself mixed up in that crowd and it was only a matter of time before people began paying more attention to it. When the Ministry finally did so, what would follow did not bear thinking about. If the pureblood movement had enough support, as she was beginning to suspect, then a civil war could very well be on the horizon.

She loved her sister very much, but she lacked control and the needed tact. Narcissa often pointed out that flaw in their cousin Sirius, but Bella was not so different, not really. She merely knew how to turn on the charm when it suited her.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she finished her shower and dried herself off before dressing in what would be deemed suitable attire. A simple yet elegant black dress would do. It was not as though she was attending a ball.

She took a few minutes styling her hair, tying it into a messy bun she could keep in whilst at the hospital also. This way, she would not have to change it before her shift began.

“You look as beautiful as ever,” her mother commented as she met her parents and Bellatrix in the parlour. “You’ll make someone a very happy man one day.”

“Hopefully soon,” her father grumbled.

Narcissa ignored the jibe and took hold of the portkey the man removed from his pocket. After a moment of discomfort, she found herself stood along with the other three in front of the imposing Lestrange manor.

It was a grim place, the birch trees overgrown and the house itself constructed from a grey, murky brickwork. There was nothing homely about it and not the type of place Narcissa could imagine herself living in.

“Come along, Corvus will be waiting for us,” her father urged as he began ushering them through the gates that opened upon their arrival.

Narcissa followed in the wake of her parents and sister who were much more eager to be here than her. She could think of better things to do than watch Lord Lestrange attempt to kiss up to her grandfather.

Thankfully, it was his wife that greeted them at the door. If there was ever an obviously arranged marriage made, it would be the Lestrange’s one. Imelda was a warm and softly spoken woman. She was rather striking, her long blonde hair and blue eyes welcoming and friendly. Rudolphus had taken after her in looks much more than his father.

Corvus was a dark-haired, gaunt man who could pass for a wax sculpture. Narcissa believed if he cracked a smile, the skin on his face would crumble away under the strain. When he spoke, he did so with his teeth clenched, his almost black eyes as dull as a November morning. Rabastan very much resembled him, in looks and personality. There was nothing she had seen of either that would qualify as redeeming qualities.

Even when they were trying to be polite, it appeared as though they had gotten a whiff of something deeply unpleasant.

“Druella, it’s good to see you,” Imelda said with genuine affection as she took her mother’s hands in her own.

“And you,” her mother returned.

The two of them had been friends during their own years at Hogwarts. Imelda had been a Selwyn once upon a time, another family prolific for producing Slytherin students.

“Look at you,” Imelda said, pulling her from her thoughts. “You have grown to be a very beautiful woman.”

“Thank you,” Narcissa offered politely.

Imelda gave her a bright smile before remembering why they were here.

“You have my apologies. Your Lord has already arrived with his wife and so has Orion and his with Sirius and Regulus,” she informed them. “Come, I will take you through now.”

Once more, she found herself following at the rear as she was led through the stately home. The inside was more inviting than the outer, but there was no getting past it; the house was not a pleasant place to be.

Having passed through three different rooms used for entertaining, they were led into the grounds at the rear of the property where a table had been set up to host them.

There, the Blacks that had attended were seated, along with the other three Lestranges and a trio of blondes, one she recognised from school.

Lucius had been in the year above her and had all but been in charge of Slytherin house. It was rumoured that he was the one spearheading the pureblood movement there, but it was never proven. There had even been some unpleasant incidents, though none ever linked back to him.

Narcissa had distanced herself from such things. She was too focused on her own work than what the other students were up to. Lucius had always afforded her the respect her family name demanded but they’d had little to do with each other overall.

“Cygnus, I’m glad you could join us,” Corvus spoke, his thin lips barely moving and his words carrying none of the warmth that his wife’s had.

“Thank you for inviting us,” her father returned cordially, “And Abraxus, it’s good to see you. It’s been some time.”

“It has,” the Malfoy patriarch acknowledged politely. “I was just saying to your father that I had not seen you.”

“Something we shall have to remedy,” Cygnus returned as he took a seat and gestured for Narcissa, Bellatrix and her mother to do the same.

“Of course, I am always at your disposal,” the blonde replied with an incline of his head.

“Now that you’ve finished kissing each other’s arses, can we eat now?” her grandfather broke in irritably.

It seemed that the older he got, the less patience he had for the formalities he had once insisted be observed.

“Of course, Lord Black,” Corvus granted, waving his hand over his shoulder, gesturing for the food to be brought to the table.

A team of no less than eight elves arrived wearing aprons that sported the Lestrange family crest. Once they had unloaded the platters they carried, they offered their master a bow before vanishing without prompt.

Narcissa helped herself to a cucumber sandwich and some tea whilst those around the table chatted amongst themselves. Her eyes remained firmly on her plate, as did Sirius’s.

If any were to feel uncomfortable here, it would be him. He despised the pureblood customs and the other two families he had undoubtedly been forced to sit with.

“Narcissa, your grandfather asked you a question,” her mother hissed, startling her from her thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Grandfather,” she offered sincerely.

The man gave her a rare smile.

“I just asked what the progress was with your latest patient? The comatose one.”

“Oh, he woke up last night,” she explained. “He says he doesn’t remember what happened to him, but we won’t be rid of him soon. He’s having surgery today to fix his leg. He spent the last year with a chunk of bone stuck in his thigh after being hit with a bone splintering curse.”

“Bloody hell, that must have been painful,” Arcturus commented.

Narcissa nodded as her father released an irritable huff.

“Must we discuss this vulgarity whilst we are eating?”

“Yes,” her grandfather responded. “I do not get to see my granddaughter much and am interested in what she is doing.”

She caught the ghost of the smirk that tugged at Sirius’s lips as her father was chastised, though he schooled it quickly before anyone else saw it.

“Why would he put up with that for a year?” Rabastan questioned, grimacing.

Narcissa shrugged.

“I don’t know. If it was me, I wouldn’t.”

“No, I can’t imagine that was pleasant,” Arcturus grumbled. “Did you manage to catch his name in the end?”

She nodded; the name still not familiar despite how much she had pondered it.

“Peverell,” she informed him.

As she spoke, the sound of cutlery hitting a plate rung out and everyone turned to look at her grandfather whose eyes had widened, his mouth agape in shock.

“Is something the matter, Lord Black?” Abraxus questioned.

Arcturus ignored him; his eyes affixed firmly on his granddaughter.

“Impossible,” he denied. “The Peverell line went extinct almost a thousand years ago.”

“That’s the name he gave,” Narcissa assured him.

Her grandfather frowned.

“You seem almost concerned, Lord Black,” Corvus broke in. “It’s not like yourself.”

Arcturus shook his head.

“It is not a name I expected to hear again. Think nothing of it. The family has not been heard of in centuries, like I said.”

Corvus frowned deeply.

“If he is who he claims to be, why would it rattle you so?”

Arcturus looked at the man in disbelief, and then towards the Malfoy Lord with the same expression when he too seemed unfazed.

“Have you not heard of the Peverells?” he asked curiously.

Both looked at one another before shaking their head.

“No, I don’t suppose your own parents would have taught you about them. They haven’t been around since long before either of your families arrived here,” Arcturus mused aloud. “My father told me stories of them when I was a boy, probably to frighten me but I never forgot them. ‘Flee the ones with ravens, both man and bird with eyes of white’ he would say,” he chuckled. “The family name is steeped in legend. It is said that if a Peverell wanted you dead, you were not long for this world, that they would personally take you and hand you over to death himself.”

Those at the table laughed heartily at what they evidently deemed to be an old wives’ tale, but Narcissa did not. She could only stare at her grandfather, her mind playing the words he spoke over again.

He noticed her change of demeanour and frowned.

“What’s troubling you?” he asked.

She swallowed and shook her head. It must be only a coincidence.

“Nothing, but you said something about a raven with white eyes?”

Arcturus nodded.

“He has one and it lives in his skin,” she revealed.

Those at the table erupted in laughter, thinking she had made a joke of the situation. Her grandfather, however, found no amusement in her words, especially when her own look of concern did not shift.

“Quiet!” he hissed.

Everyone seated around her fell silent at his command and his steely, grey eyes bored into her.

“Explain,” he commanded.

Narcissa suddenly felt nervous with everyone watching but she released a deep breath and spoke, nonetheless.

“He has a tattoo on his ribs. I saw it when I was doing his checks,” she began. “It’s an elder tree and there was a bird sitting in it. It flew out of his skin and sat on his shoulder.”

“Bollocks,” Rabastan declared, breaking the tense silence that had fallen.

“Be quiet, boy,” Arcturus growled. “Are you sure about this?”

Narcissa nodded.

“I saw it and it has white eyes, just like you said. He has the Lord’s ring too,” she added.

“Did you see it? Can you remember what it looked like?”

“Yes, I think so.”

She had seen it when she had been examining. It had been an odd design. The ravens had made sense but the symbol in the stone was not something she had seen before.

“Corvus, parchment and quill,” her grandfather demanded.

The Lestrange lord did not appear to like being commanded in his own house but complied and an elf brought the requested items a moment later.

“Draw what you can remember,” Arcturus instructed.

She did so and handed him the rough sketch, not expecting the response the man gave. He sunk back into his chair and shook his head.

“It’s definitely their family crest,” he muttered. “I spent hours looking at it when I was a boy.”

“Pull yourself together, Lord Black,” Abraxus sighed. “If they haven’t been seen for a thousand years, then he is no threat to us. He has no influence, no allies and no power. You’re letting yourself be frightened by tall tales.”

“Perhaps you’re right, but that does beg the question; just where have they been this past millennium and what have they been up to? He may not have influence now but all he would need to do is walk into the Wizengamot and he will have it. There are those that will have been told of them and they will wish to curry his favour. If he is who he says he is, this could change things.”

Abraxus blinked in surprise as Corvus snorted.

“If he proves to be a pain in the arse, I’ll kill the bastard,” the latter declared.

Her grandfather shot the man a look of frustration.

People like Lord Lestrange believed that everything could be solved with violence as did his sons evidently as they nodded their agreement.

The Malfoys did not appear to agree with the sentiment. Abraxus had become thoughtful and Lucius wore a similar look. According to her father and grandfather, they were much more politically inclined and were very savvy with it. Abraxus had the reputation of being able to turn the tide in his favour despite what bills and laws were passed in the Wizengamot.

Lucius had likely learned to be the same way. He’d always had a way with words which probably explained why he had been the spokesperson for the pureblood movement at Hogwarts when he had been there.

“Is there anything else you have noticed about this man?” Arcturus pressed.

Narcissa frowned in thought before shaking her head after a moment.

“He doesn’t have any family, but there’s nothing else. His raven is odd. The only thing it says is ‘death’.”

Arcturus nodded severely but said nothing else.

With the conversation having been brought to an end, the meal continued, though her grandfather remained pensive rather than joining in the conversation.

Narcissa turned her attention back to her food, joining in only when prompted to do so. She didn’t have anything against anyone here, but she had little interest in what was being discussed.

Lucius, Rudolphus and Rabastan were talking amongst themselves with Bella listening in. Her father was talking with Lords Malfoy and Lestrange and her mother was speaking with Imelda.

She was aware of the furtive glances sent her way by the younger Lestrange sibling and she pointedly ignored it. If Bella wasn’t already betrothed to Rudolphus, she might be concerned, but her father would see no value in marrying both to one family. There was nothing to gain from such an arrangement.

The looks Lucius were shooting her way, however, were not something so easily dismissed. If her father came under the impression the blonde was interested in her, the match could come to fruition.

She could do much worse for herself. The Malfoys were a very prominent family and Lucius was not an unattractive man. He would one day be a very influential figure on the political field, and it was not as though she would find herself lacking for anything.

Despite the positives, he was still a traditional pureblood. When the subject of her work was being discussed, she had not missed the look of disdain that marred his features.

If she was to be betrothed, she would likely meet a similar reaction from any would be suitors, and the more she considered it, the more likely she realised that her time in her chosen profession was limited.

Her thoughts were intruded upon as the Malfoys stood and began making their farewells, offering honeyed words and compliments to Lord Lestrange and her grandfather.

“I will send you an owl soon, Cygnus. It will be good to catch up,” Abraxus said as his wife wrapped his cloak about his shoulders and handed him his ornate cane.

He seemingly had no need of it, but it stood as a symbol of his status.

To Narcissa, it looked gaudy, but it was not her place to make such thoughts known.

“I will take my leave also,” Arcturus announced. “Narcissa, should you not be heading to work soon?”

She nodded, taking the hint. In truth, she did not need to be at the hospital for another two hours, but her grandfather had indicated that he wished to speak with her.

“Then you can walk with us and be on your way. You wouldn’t want to be late.”

She stood and tucked her chair back in under the table, once more ignoring the stare of Rabastan.

“Thank you for the invite, Lord Lestrange,” she offered as expected.

He said nothing but nodded as he continued eating and Narcissa took her leave, escorting her grandparents through the house and out of the front door.

“Fucking snakes, the lot of them,” Arcturus grumbled. “They think that inviting me for tea and kissing my arse will make me respect them. Bloody pathetic.”

Narcissa fought the grin that threatened to form. The man was not trying to be humorous; he just had that way about him.

“They’re not so bad,” her grandmother sighed.

Arcturus snorted.

“You don’t know the shits like I do,” he said dismissively. “Lestrange is a crafty sod that lacks the brains to make his bullshit convincing and Malfoy is worse. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against him, but he will offer an embrace only to stick a blade between your ribs. You can’t take your eye off that one. If there is something he wants, he always finds a way to get it.”

“You’re being paranoid, Arcturus,” Melania replied.

“Ha, paranoid, my arse. You mark my words; they are after something from me and it isn’t Bellatrix. They’ve already got her so why are their lips still puckered and aimed at my backside?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, neither do I, but I will find out,” Arcturus vowed. “Now, I want you to be careful,” he continued, turning towards Narcissa.

“With what?”

“This man claiming to be a Peverell,” her grandfather muttered. “If he is what he says he is, he could be very dangerous. I don’t put much stock in stories, but more often than not, there’s a kernel of truth to them. I’m hearing a lot of rumours that I do not like the sound of and this Peverell showing up cannot be a coincidence. Just be cautious, Narcissa. It would not do well to get on the wrong side of him until we understand why he is here, understood?”

Narcissa nodded.

“Why are you so worried?” she asked.

She had never seen her grandfather exhibit such concern and it piqued her curiosity.

“The Peverells were once a very powerful enemy, and not just politically. It is said they made a pact with death and he granted the line his blessing, or curse,” he added thoughtfully. “They were feared for a reason. Let’s just say there weren’t many who mourned them when their line vanished. I thought that only daughters had survived, but there must have been a mistake. The magic should be far too diluted now to recognise a Lord of the line.”

“Diluted?”

Arcturus nodded.

“Think of it this way. We know there are families out there related to the founders, but they do not carry the name or the influence. Why? Because the magic of the house is not strong enough. They may be related distantly but they are no longer Slytherins or Hufflepuffs. Don’t you think Lord Smith would claim the Hufflepuff seat if he could?”

“He would,” Narcissa agreed.

She had met the man several times over the years at family functions and ministry balls. He was pompous enough to do just what her grandfather had said and would have. It wouldn’t surprise her if she learned that he had actually tried.

“If this man truly is the Lord Peverell, then he comes from a family older than ours and his line has remained intact more than I could have believed. I want you to be careful around him but try to ascertain what he is doing. Can you do that for me?”

Narcissa didn’t appreciate the position she was being put in but understood her grandfather would not have asked this of her if it was not important.

“I can,” she confirmed, and he gave her a grateful smile.

“You’re a good girl,” he praised. “Now, I need to get out of here and wash the filth from my skin. Who would have thought having people try to cosy up to you would be so nauseating?”

Narcissa laughed and watched as her grandparents vanished.

She hadn’t expected such a reaction when she had revealed the name of her patient. What was odd was that he didn’t seem to be anything like her grandfather described.

He seemed quite normal, had not tried to lord his name over her in any way. Was he even aware of the influence he carried?

She knew not but she vowed to keep a close eye on him and try to understand the kind of person he was. If he proved that he could indeed be a threat to her family in any way, her grandfather would need to know.

A part of her wished that she had kept quiet, but it was too late for that. She had spoken and now had to deal with the potential fallout, but how dangerous could this one man possibly be? That was something she could not understand, not yet.

(Break)

He had been left to his own devices for the most part since the healer had taken her leave, though he was acutely aware that she was watching him from the other room. He could feel her eyes on him, and it made him uncomfortable, but not as much as his leg did.

The numbing charm that had been applied prior to his surgery had worn off some time ago and the limb throbbed dully as his blood was pumped through it. It would be tender for a while and it needed to rest. The time he had been laid down served only to fuel his warring thoughts and emotions.

Having weighed up the pros and cons of what had happened to him, he could only conclude that it was a bittersweet occurrence. He had a chance, no matter how small it currently seemed, it was there, and he was grateful for being granted such.

He had time on his side, and though it was finite, he could make the best of it. He could use it to better himself, to prepare accordingly, and just as important to him, not live life on the run, waiting to be ambushed in the night by the Death Eaters and Snatchers that were always hunting him.

Perhaps now he would be able to rest easier, take better care of himself and find a sense of normality, whatever that was for him.

The bitterness came from his lack of choice in the matter. He had been all but upheaved from his life and was expected to adapt, had been torn away from those he held dear, as few as they now were, and expected to accept it.

He wasn’t sure he could do that.

He hoped one day that he and Hermione would be able to talk again, to put whatever had happened behind them and have a semblance of the friendship they once had. It would not be the same without Ron, but it would be something. He missed her still and found he did not think of her often. Doing so did little but drag him down a deep rabbit hole of despair where he could only ponder all that he had lost.

Almost like he was doing now he realised with a frown.

He shook his head of those thoughts. One day, he would have to confront all the loss and the heartache. Today was not that day, however, and nor would it be tomorrow.

He needed to remain focused on what he needed to do, just why it was his life had been upended and he had been deposited here. That reason was Voldemort and he could not lose sight of that.

Yes, Harry had been granted some liberties, but he would never be truly free, not as long as the man yet breathed.

To him, out of everything he pondered, only one thing mattered and would until the end; Could he defeat the Dark Lord?

“Death!” Olin shrieked, giving him what appeared to be an encouraging look.

“Death,” he mumbled in reply.

It was what Voldemort had spent many decades trying to avoid and Harry did not miss the irony that he had been chosen by the figure itself as its’ champion.

Perhaps it would serve to be a good omen.

“Death!” Olin parroted once again as he took flight and landed on Harry’s shoulder.

The man nodded.

“Death is right, my friend,” he replied, stroking the inky, black feathers of his companion.

The two fell into a comfortable silence, the bird enjoying the attention he was receiving until a tentative knock sounded at the door. When it opened, he was greeted by the sight of the healer, Camden, if he remembered correctly, and two others that were dressed in red robes.

Immediately he was on edge and fought the urge to draw his wand, reminding himself that these were not those that merely claimed to be aurors but were Voldemort’s supporters. Still, any comfort he felt before their arrival had vanished at their appearance.

“I apologise for disturbing you but these aurors would like to have a word. It’s standard procedure for when someone such as yourself is brought in,” the healer explained.

Harry nodded and the two aurors entered, both seemingly young and Camden left the room.

One was a redheaded woman that he recognised as Amelia Bones, her hair bereft of the greys and eye without the monocle she became known for. She looked healthier than he remembered, less tense and not so exhausted. He couldn’t help but notice that she was quite an attractive woman, though her stern gaze would turn many away and he remembered exactly who it was he was dealing with.

The woman was sharp, and her career storied. She, according to Sirius, had been an excellent auror during her years not spent behind a desk.

The other, a man, was not familiar to him. He was around the same age as his partner and seemed to be much more amiable. He even offered him an easy smile aimed to calm him.

It fell flat. Harry would not relax around the pair. He couldn’t afford to be complacent, not with Amelia Bones.

“How are you feeling?” the man questioned. “I’m Auror Gawain Robards and this is my partner, Amelia Bones.”

“I’ve been better,” Harry replied with a shrug.

The man, Robards, nodded his understanding.

“Yes, your healer has informed us of your condition,” he explained. “You received quite the nasty wound to your leg more than a year ago. Why did you not come here to get it healed?”

“It didn’t seem as though it was needed. I fixed it but obviously didn’t do a good enough job.”

The man hummed as he scratched away with a quill.

“And we have been told that you do not remember what happened before you woke up here. Has anything changed?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, my mind is still blank. Maybe it will come back to me. Is this really important?”

“It is,” Bones jumped in irritably. “Not far from where you were found, three muggles were murdered using magic.”

“And you assume that I am responsible?”

“No,” Robards denied. “We just wish to know the circumstances that ended up with you being here, Mr,” he continued, consulting his notes. “Apologies, we do not have your name.”

“Peverell,” Harry answered.

Bones narrowed her eyes at him.

“You can be arrested for providing a false name,” she warned.

“Then it is a good job that I’m not,” Harry returned.

She shook her head frustratedly.

“My surname is Bones,” she reminded him unnecessarily, “and I was educated on the pureblood families of old. The Peverells died out centuries ago.”

“Then you have been ill-informed,” Harry responded with a shrug as he showed her his ring.

She leaned in to look at it closely, her eyebrows almost vanishing into her hairline.

“His name is unimportant, Bones,” Robards interjected. “We have no reason to believe he is responsible.”

“So, he just happened to be there, at that exact time when the muggles were killed?”

“That could very well be the case,” Robards replied.

“Then he will have no objection to surrendering his wand and allowing us to check his final spells.”

“Yeah, right,” Harry snorted.

“Then I will arrest you.”

“For what?” Harry growled, readying to defend himself if needed.

“For nothing,” Robards interjected firmly, shooting his partner a look of warning. “You are not under suspicion and will not be arrested.”

“Come on, Gawain, it is too coincidental that he was there. We should at least check his wand.”

“That can only be done with a warrant that has been signed by the Chief Warlock and the Minister without the carrier’s permission,” a voice interrupted. “Shouldn’t you know that, being an auror, Bones?”

The redhead’s nostrils flared as the trainee-healer Harry had met that morning entered.

“Black,” Bones greeted her stiffly. “Not tired of pretending to care about people?”

The blonde gave no indication that the jab had bothered her. She remained calm and poised under the glare of the auror.

“It’s better than harassing sick people,” she fired back. “My patient is not well enough to be interviewed by your lot so, unless you are arresting him, then I would like you to leave.”

Before Bones could respond, her partner rested a hand on her forearm and shook his head.

“You have our apologies, Mr Peverell…”

“Lord Peverell,” the blonde corrected.

“Lord Peverell. I hope you recover soon,” Robards offered, gesturing for Bones to follow.

“We will be back,” she promised before closing the door behind them, louder than was warranted.

“Nosy gits,” Harry grumbled.

“That is their job,” the healer pointed out, “as it is mine to ensure you get better. Now, relax before you hurt yourself further. I have better things to do than look after you longer than I already have to.”

“No one is forcing you,” Harry replied. “I would be more than happy to get out of here.”

“And if you want that leg to heal, you will stay where you are.”

Harry conceded the point with a nod. With his leg as bad as it was, he wasn’t going anywhere fast. He doubted he could even walk on it if Voldemort himself entered the room.

“Fair enough.”

“Good, now get some rest,” she instructed as she removed a vial from within a bag she was carrying and handed it to him. “It is a sleeping potion.”

He shook his head as he handed it back.

“No, I don’t take potions from people I don’t know.”

She sighed as she pushed it back towards him.

“I am a healer under oath…”

“Trainee-Healer,” Harry corrected.

“I am under the same oath,” she sighed irritably. “It’s just a potion that will help you sleep. Nothing more.”

“It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“Would it if it was someone else giving it to you?” she asked heatedly.

Harry frowned confusedly.

“Is it because I’m a Black that you won’t take it? I could see that you recognised the name when I told you. Everyone in the wizarding world knows us.”

Harry snorted as he shook his head.

“I have and you’re a friendly bunch, apparently,” he chuckled. “Should that be a reason that I don’t take it?”

“As I said, I am under oath.”

Harry smirked slightly as she slowly became more irritated. The Blacks were not known for their calm temperament, though he still did not know who this one was. There was still something familiar about her. Perhaps there had been a portrait of her in Grimmauld Place?

“Fine, I will take it if it makes you feel better.”

“It is supposed to make you feel better,” she huffed as he took the phial from her and downed the contents. “See, you’re still alive,” she added sarcastically.

“It could be slow acting,” he replied causing her to shake her head.

“Sleep well, Lord Peverell. I will check in on you.”

With her parting words given, she left the room and Harry watched her retreating form. She was tense and trying to hide it. He had become very good at reading people over the years, his vigilant mind now very keen on discovering people’s intentions.

As he expected, within only moments of her leaving, he could feel her gaze on him from the adjoining room and he settled into his pillows as much as he could as the potion began taking effect. Soon after, he could no longer keep his eyes open and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

(Break)

It was a common occurrence for Lucius to be summoned to his father’s study. Over the years, the man had done so regularly to bestow pearls of wisdom and educate him on the duties he would be expected to carry out when he became Lord Malfoy.

His father was as sharp as they came, was highly respected and had only elevated the family name and reputation during his years. There were none that could claim to be better than them. Abraxus and his own sire before him had worked tirelessly to ensure that.

They had ingratiated themselves with the wizarding elite, had made calculated and very public donations to charitable causes and had courted the right people at the right time; a shrewd and endless game that had seen them benefit greatly.

Only the Blacks could claim to be their equals, but they would no longer be so when the current lord was gone. His heirs were pathetic, ill-prepared for leadership and far too easily manipulated. When Arcturus breathed his last, their downfall would be swift, of that, Lucius and his father were certain.

“Come in,” he was bid as he tapped on the door of the room his father spent much of his time.

He entered to find the man finishing up a missive and watched with the same curiosity he’d always had as he dried the ink with a wave of his wand, folded the parchment and sealed it with hot wax. He then fed his owl a treat and tied the letter to his leg before sending it out of the window for delivery.

He always watched until he could no longer see the creature.

When it was no longer in sight, he retook his seat and gestured for Lucius to do the same.

“What did you learn from our time at the Lestrange’s today?” Abraxus asked.

Lucius took a moment to consider his answer. He had not expected to be questioned on the meal, though he should have. His father was not one to while away a couple of hours for social purposes.

“I noticed that Orion’s boy, Sirius, did not speak. As the future Lord Black, he should have been looking to cultivate a relationship with me and Rudolphus at least.”

Abraxus nodded.

“That is an important observation, and one I want you to remember for the future,” he urged. “The boy does not wish to be Lord Black, from what I have been led to believe. He does not share their sentiments nor stance on many of the family political agendas.”

Lucius shook his head. The boy was undoubtedly a fool.

“His relationship with the Potters could prove to be a problem,” his father continued. “If he is taken under Charlus’ wing, the man will encourage him to accept his position and the entire political leanings of the Blacks would change. Our block could lose a vital vote, but the fallout of such would be minimal. When Arcturus is gone, they will no longer be feared, and none will be inclined to follow.”

“So, we allow it?”

Abraxus nodded.

“It would not be worth the effort to try to prevent it. At worst, we lose a single vote and it would not do well to draw attention to ourselves where the boy is concerned. Charlus has already proven himself willing to oppose Arcturus with how he handled his granddaughter running of with a mudblood. No, it is a situation that offers us no advantage and comes with risk.”

Lucius’s nose wrinkled at the thought of Andromeda Black fleeing with someone far below her station.

“Then why is Corvus allowing Rudolphus to marry into them?” he asked. “If they are on the decline, would it not be best to avoid them?”

Abraxus smiled proudly at his astuteness.

“It would be were it not for the opportunity it presents,” he replied. “Consider for a moment that Sirius does not take his position. The only option is Regulus…”

“Who is weak and pliant,” Lucius pointed out.

“Who could be eliminated easily,” Abraxus added. “If that were to happen, who would inherit the title, the admittedly faltering reputation and the wealth?”

Lucius frowned in thought.

“I suppose it would be the next male. Either Cygnus or a son of Regulus.”

“And what if it were to pass to neither? If Regulus were to die and Cygnus was unable to take the position.”

Lucius nodded his understanding.

“Then any son Bellatrix birthed would be the next Lord Black.”

“Now you understand Corvus’s shrewdness. With what is happening out there, it is a very possible scenario.”

Lucius stiffened slightly in his chair, though it seemingly went unnoticed by his father who was too occupied by his own thoughts to pay him much heed.

“I don’t see how that benefits us,” he interjected, wanting to steer the conversation away from what his father had alluded to. He did not want to discuss the pureblood movement with him.

Abraxus had specifically told him not to involve himself, though too little too late. Lucius had already established his connection to them and had been one of the first to do so.

He had heard rumours of the Dark Lord and certainly did not want to make an enemy of the man. His father didn’t either, but he believed there were too many variables to consider before allying themselves to him. Lucius begged to differ and he hoped his father would be in agreement with him soon.

“It doesn’t unless we do something about it,” Abraxus sighed. “Corvus has made his move and the chances of his success are increasing. I will not be outmanoeuvred by him. If his ploy comes to fruition, he will gain everything, and we will play second fiddle to the Lestrange’s.”

“And all of this is concerning you,” Lucius stated.

“There are many things concerning me, Lucius,” Abraxus muttered. “With this Dark Lord on the rise, it does not help. Things are shifting already without him upsetting the balance. You heard of what happened to Lord and Lady Bones.”

Lucius nodded.

He had witnessed what happened to them. They had been chosen to assist the Dark Lord with his plans and had refused. Lord Bones was dead and Lady Bones unlikely to wake from her injuries. One did not simply refuse the man, something Lucius was beginning to understand.

The death had been deemed an accident, but Lucius knew better. Now, their son, Edgar, oversaw the family and was making noise about what happened to his parents.

He would likely die also if the Dark Lord felt he was making headway. He was reluctant to act against him so soon after the former lord had been disposed of. It would only raise suspicion and draw undue attention to him.

“So, what will you do?” Lucius pressed.

Abraxus released a deep breath.

“I will do nothing for the time being. You, however, will.”

Lucius frowned but waited for his father to speak.

“Cygnus’s other daughter, Narcissa. She is unwed and could prove to be an advantageous match for you. If we are careful, we can beat Corvus at his own game and take the Black family for ourselves.”

Lucius’s frown deepened.

“She is a healer,” he said disgustedly.

“Something that can change should she be married into the right family,” Abraxus countered.

“So, you will broker a contract between us?”

“Not yet,” his father denied. “No, if I was to do that, Corvus would know that I am aware of his ambition. I will approach Cygnus quietly and state your interest in his daughter and ask permission for you to begin courting her. It must appear as though it is her interested in you and then no unwanted questions will be raised. Can you play your part?”

Lucius was not thrilled by the prospect. The girl was beautiful enough and came from a good family, however, so there was little protest he could give that would be taken on board.

“I can,” he conceded.

“Good, then I will speak with him soon. Be ready, Lucius, the future of our house could very well depend on what happens in the coming months or years. As a lord, you must think ahead and ready yourself for what is to come. Now, there are other matters I need to consider before I turn in.”

Lucius took the hint and stood, his father removing an old, worn book from his drawer before he had even left the room.

The conversation shared was not one he had been prepared for. He wasn’t entirely opposed to the match with the Black girl, but he had hoped his own nuptials would occur on his own terms.

For now, he had no interest in marrying and siring children, he was more focused on creating his own legacy.

However, he would do as he had been bid. If his father was concerned with what was happening with the Blacks, Lucius would not be so dismissive of it. Besides, adding the family wealth to their own would be a considerably boon.

There would be no other family that wielded so much power nor wealth, and that meant the possibilities would be endless. Gold spoke volumes in the wizarding world, as did status, and if they were to succeed in this venture, they would have both in abundance.

(Break)

“You must bring us together…”

“Unite us…”

“The book…”

Harry found himself staring at the veil he had passed through in the Department of Mysteries, the voices of the Peverell brothers, however being spoken by the raven perched on his shoulder.

He stroked Olin’s feathers encouragingly, coaxing him to say more. The words made no sense to him. He had already united the Hallows, hadn’t he? Was there more that needed to be done?

He flinched and took a step back as three agonised screams rent the air, sounding as though they had been within his own mind.

When he turned back towards the veil, it was to see the cloaked figure emerging from within, his steps slow and features obscured by his hood.

“Unite them Peverell, they must all be as one…”

“The Hallows?”

The cloaked figure nodded.

“And what I gifted you… be ready, Peverell.”

Harry frowned as the figure turned and disappeared through the veil once more.

“Death!” Olin shrieked, startling him.

He bolted upright, panting and flicked his wand into his hand, ignoring the throbbing of his leg.

It was silent and empty within the room, no whispers to hear nor any cloaked figures to see. Olin was watching him almost questioningly, his white eyes stark against the darkness.

 “Are you okay, Lord Peverell?” a voice sounded from the speaker in the corner.

“I’m fine,” he sighed. “I’ve never slept well.”

He hadn’t for as long as he could remember. Often, he was either plagued by nightmares or too on edge to relax. At best, he would get four hours a night and must be content with it.

With a shake of his head, he slid his wand back into his holster, knowing he wasn’t in any imminent danger and closed his eyes tightly as the door opened, flooding the room with the light from the corridor.

“I can fetch some dreamless sleep for you if that would help,” the blonde trainee offered as she entered and closed the door behind her.

With a wave of her wand, the lamps on the wall were lit and he immediately felt better. The dream he’d had was an odd one and had unsettled him.

He thought he’d seen the last of the cloaked figure, but apparently not.

“No, thank you,” he declined politely.

She sighed but nodded and took a seat in the chair next to his bed.

“Do you still think I would poison you? I know that my family has a reputation…”

Harry chuckled, interrupting her.

“I don’t think you would poison me,” he assured her.

“But you have heard of my family? When you heard my name, you were surprised.”

He nodded.

Everyone had heard of the Blacks, though he had learned little of them. Sirius rarely spoke of them and his own experiences with them were limited to the portrait of Sirius’s mother and Tonks, who barely stood up to the reputation.

“I have and was surprised that I was being treated by one. Your family aren’t exactly known for their kindness.”

“True,” she conceded, “but we aren’t as terrible as we are believed to be. Not all of us,” she added with a frown. “We’ve had our fair share of unpleasant people, as all families do, but we have had healers, Hogwarts headmasters, and even a Minister or two.”

“Then I apologise if I gave you the impression that I held your name against you,” Harry offered.

“I’m used to it as I’m sure you are.”

“Me?”

The blonde raised a delicate eyebrow at him.

“Are you not aware of your own family reputation?”

“I’ve not really been around much,” he defended.

“Well, it’s not much better than mine,” she snorted. “My grandfather was very surprised when I mentioned your name. He was under the impression your family had died out almost a thousand years ago, Lord Peverell. He had quite a lot to say about it.”

“Death!” Olin screeched, causing the woman to flinch.

“Something about your family being dangerous, and handing their enemies over to death himself,” she laughed uncomfortably as the raven stared at her.

Harry did not see the humour, the words of the woman closer to the truth than she knew.

“Death!” Olin echoed as he landed on his shoulder.

“Just rumours,” he shrugged dismissively.

She eyed him warily for a moment before nodding, though she did not seem convinced. The presence of the raven, evidently, did not help matters.

“I think I will take some dreamless sleep,” he said, moving the conversation away from the reputation he was not aware of.

He would have to learn of it and added it to his list of things he needed to do when he got out of here.

“I will get it for you, Lord Peverell. We keep all of our addictive potions locked away,” she explained.

“Could you just call me Harry?” he asked as she headed towards the door.

She shook her head.

“It’s improper. My grandfather would be very displeased if he heard of it.”

“Well, he’s not here and, no offense, I don’t plan on speaking with him. I give you full permission to if that helps.”

She smirked amusedly as she nodded.

“Very well,” she sighed.

“Thank you, Trainee-Healer Black,” he replied with a grin.

She narrowed her eyes at him but paused before opening the door.

“You may call me Narcissa, if you’re going to be sarcastic about using my title.”

With her parting words given, she left the room and missed the thoughtful frown that adorned Harry’s features.

The name was familiar and not a common one, not even in the wizarding world. No, he had heard the name before and there was only one woman who came to mind.

Narcissa Malfoy.

His eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. Narcissa Black had married Lucius Malfoy, Sirius had told him before his fifth year. He had never met the woman but had caught a glimpse of her on the platform a few times and realised why she seemed familiar.

He had seen her as an older woman, though he had paid little attention to her. To him, she was only Malfoy’s mother and had been inconsequential other than the fact she had spawned the idiot that had attempted to make his life miserable.

“Bloody hell,” he huffed as he settled back into his pillows.

That was not a development he had been expecting. He had no idea the woman was a healer and couldn’t imagine Lucius being married to one, so, what had happened?

It mattered not, but he needed to be cautious around her. She was not yet married to him, but it would happen, and he would likely find himself at odds with her in the future.

He chuckled humourlessly at the situation he found himself in.

It had been a strange day. He had only just arrived and encountered two people that would sit on opposing sides of the war. Strangely, it had been Bones that had been hostile towards him and not the future Lady Malfoy.

He snorted at the thought.

If only she knew what her life would become. Would she change it?

“Death!” Olin squawked.

“Death,” Harry agreed, scratching the raven’s feathers.

There was much of that to come. That was the only thing he could be certain of.