Whispers of a Raven - We Meet Again

Sitting in a pub was a luxury that Harry had never been afforded since he had come of age. As a teen at Hogwarts, he had frequented The Three Broomsticks during visits to Hogsmeade, but he hadn’t reached his majority until after the Ministry had fallen. As such, he had never been one for drinking. He wasn’t opposed to it, but the opportunity had never presented itself.

Tonight, would be no different. If he was not meeting Narcissa for his first tutoring in potions, he may have indulged in some honeyed-mead and discovered for himself why Hagrid had always raved about it. However, he didn’t think she would be best pleased if he was to meet with her inebriated, so he would be sticking to butterbeer.

“Harry!” Edgar greeted warmly, shaking his hand.

“How’s it going?” Harry replied, gesturing for the redhead to take a seat.

Edgar had written to him a few days prior asking him to meet here. He hadn’t seen the Lord Bones for some time and it was good to find an excuse to get away from the Quidditch pitch and his books for a while.

“I can’t complain. I did hear there is a new seeker making waves in the lower leagues, goes by the name of Peverell and I wondered why the same one hadn’t written?”

“Sorry, it’s been a busy few months.”

Edgar laughed and waved him off.

“I understand, believe me, getting to grips with everything takes time, but you’ll get there.”

Harry gave the man an appreciative nod. If only getting to grips with his duties as a Lord was the only problem he faced.

“You’re creating quite the buzz if people are talking about your skills on a broom already. I’ll have to come and watch to see for myself.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” Harry offered.

“Good,” Edgar returned and Harry noticed him drawing his wand. With a careful glance around the bar, he cast a few spells. “I don’t want to be overheard,” he muttered.

“Why not? What’s happened?”

After another, suspicious stare his brown eyes met his own, just as serious as they had been the night Harry dined with him, Amelia, and their mother.

“I just wanted to ask if Dumbledore has contacted you yet?”

Harry frowned confusedly.

“Dumbledore? Why would he contact me?”

Edgar sighed and shook his head.

“No reason. I can’t say anything more but I’m surprised he hasn’t. It’s about what we spoke of. The man with the red eyes,” he added in a whisper.

It took a moment for Harry to connect the dots, but when he did, his heart began to race.

The Order.

Dumbledore must have already formed the group, or was in the process of doing so. If that was true, Voldemort must be gaining traction or the Death Eater activity had increased.

Much to his chagrin, he was very much out of the loop of what was happening. Several times a week he would trail through an edition or two of The Daily Prophet and found no mention of anything that could be linked to them.

Was everything already happening?

It must be or Dumbledore would not be taking such drastic action.

It appeared that Harry had missed much more than he could have believed.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure he will be in touch soon,” Edgar comforted. “Now, I want to know just what the hell happened between you and Bellatrix Black that led to the duel I’ve been hearing about.”

Harry could only shake his head before explaining just what had occurred that evening.

“Well, from what I’ve heard, I expect the wait for Albus to be in touch won’t be a long one. We could use someone like you,” he finished with a conspiratorial wink as he stood.

“You’re leaving already?” Harry asked.

“Given the choice between spending an evening in here with you and going on a date with a beautiful lady, you can’t quite compete. It’s almost nine and she won’t appreciate me being late.”

“Almost nine?” Harry choked as he checked his watch. “Bollocks!”

He wasn’t late but only had a few minutes before he was due to meet Narcissa.

“And you gave me a hard time?” Edgar questioned as Harry stood.

“Sorry, I’ll write to you with the details of the next match,” Harry called as he left the bar, the laughter of the other man following him.

Thankfully, the apparation point was only on the other side of the wall at the rear of The Leaky Cauldron and he arrived in the alley a short walk from St Mungo’s just as Narcissa arrived.

“In a rush, Lord Peverell?” she asked with a delicate brow raised in his direction.

“Yeah, running late,” he admitted sheepishly.

Narcissa shook her head in amusement.

“You do too much,” she commented. “Now, where are we going to do this?”

“I suppose where I’m staying will be best. I’ve stocked up on ingredients and new cauldrons,” he explained.

“You make it sound as though you have to regularly buy new ones,” she returned.

“Something like that,” he agreed. “Shall we?”

She took his offered arm and he apparated the pair of them to the beach, a short walk away from where his tent had been set up. He knew that he should move, but he was reluctant to do so. He liked it here and wouldn’t change location unless it became necessary.

Leading her towards the copse of trees, she eyed him questioningly until she spotted his home.

“A tent?” she questioned, surprised.

Harry nodded as he looked at the weather-worn structure fondly.

“It’s kept me safe,” he replied. “When I need to, I can just pack it away and move.”

He could feel her staring at him and he turned to meet her gaze.

“You’ve never been safe, have you?” she pressed.

He shook his head.

“No, not really,” he answered honestly. “The man who murdered my parents, he’s out the somewhere and would kill me if given the chance.”

“And there’s you becoming a Quidditch star,” she retorted with a grin.

Harry nodded.

“I’m tired of running and hiding. It’s been too long.”

Again, Narcissa stared at him until he gestured for her to follow.

“DEATH!” Olin squawked as they entered, taking flight and landing on Harry’s shoulder.

“Not today, old friend, only potions. Death might be preferable,” he added thoughtfully.

Narcissa shot him a look of annoyance and petted Olin’s feathers, the raven preening under the attention.

“Hello, Olin,” she said softly.

The bird chattered quietly, seemingly content with allowing the woman near him.

“He doesn’t like many people,” Harry informed her. “I think you’re the only other he’s let pet him.”

“He’s just misunderstood,” Narcissa cooed. “He’s a big softie.”

Olin squawked indignantly and Narcissa tutted.

“Well, that’s no way to impress a lady,” she chastised. “I was being nice.”

Olin stared at her for a moment before pushing his head into her hands, demanding more of her attention.

“That’s better,” Narcissa praised, giving in to the raven easily.

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Harry chuckled as he placed an irritated Olin back on his perch. “We have work to do. If you behave yourself, you can have some more attention later.”

“Aww, don’t be mean, Harry,” Narcissa huffed. “He likes me.”

“I was talking to you,” Harry returned with a smirk.

Narcissa was taken aback by his words, but laughed heartily, something he had not heard from her before. He liked it; another thing that he would think about when he was trying to keep his thoughts away from the blonde.

“If I wasn’t so tired from work, I would have a response for you, but I get to watch you brew something, so I’m sure that will do for now.”

Harry shook his head.

“You Blacks really are ruthless.”

“I did say you haven’t seen that side to me yet,” she pointed out, smiling sweetly at him. “Now, where are these new cauldrons and ingredients?”

With a flick of his wand, the trunk he kept his supplies in was summoned and he snatched it deftly out of the air before resizing and opening it.

Narcissa peered inside and immediately shook her head disapprovingly.

“Do you always store your things like this?”

“How else would I store them?”

She looked at him in disbelief, seemingly unsure if he was being serious. Evidently, she decided he was and took pity on him.

“Merlin, this is going to take much longer than I thought.”

Harry frowned deeply.

“I haven’t even started brewing yet.”

“And you won’t, not until you learn how to store ingredients. It’s a miracle you haven’t killed yourself.”

It was Harry’s turn to be taken aback, and he could only look on as she carefully removed each jar and vial from the trunk and began arranging them. In what order, he knew not, but he watched her carry out her work curiously.

“Can you tell me what these are?” she questioned when she was done, pointing at a collection of jars that contained vegetation.

“Plants?” he answered dumbly.

She snorted before her eyes widened.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

Harry frowned and shook his head.

She offered him a patient and understanding smile as she picked up two of the jars she had indicated.

“These are all highly toxic plants and must be stored together,” she explained. “They will corrupt other ingredients.”

“Even through the jars?”

Narcissa nodded.

“They are magical plants, Harry.”

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. It was a rather obvious observation really, something he had never considered.

“It’s okay, you will get there,” she said encouragingly. “This is the first thing you should have been taught. Weren’t you shown this?”

“No,” Harry huffed. “The man I learnt from didn’t teach me that.”

“Then I will,” Narcissa replied brightly. “It will take some time, but it’s okay.”

“If you say so,” Harry returned amusedly. “Why do I have the feeling you are enjoying this?”

“I might be. I did consider teaching once, but I like healing. Now, what can you tell me about these ingredients?” she pressed, picking up another collection of jars, these ones containing organs and skins of various creatures.

It baffled Harry how little he knew when it came to potions. Any notion he had that the art was little more than following a recipe was shredded within five minutes of discussing the subject with Narcissa.

Over the next few hours, she taught him how his ingredients should be stored, what others they could and couldn’t be housed with and what temperature was optimal for them to remain of good and useable quality.

“And finally, this one?” she pressed as she pointed to the final jar. “What is this?” she added, frowning at the contents.

The jar was the largest he owned and contained three different ingredients, all separated into their own smaller containers within. Tapping it with his wand, it expanded to several times its size and Narcissa took a step back.

With what he had learned this evening he realised Snape had been unbelievably negligent in his teaching but he could not deny the man had made what he kept in this jar possible. Harry would not have known where to begin and his former potions master had asked for only a single drop of the venom in return.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he urged.

Her frown deepened as she circled the enormous container and she shook her head.

“It’s a serpent of some kind but not one I’ve ever come across,” she mused aloud. “I have no idea, but it was big.”

Harry nodded.

“She was,” he concurred. “Maybe one day I will tell you.”

“You can’t not tell me,” Narcissa replied indignantly.

Harry offered her a triumphant grin.

“If you help me pass my NEWT, I will tell you what is in that jar and part of the story behind it.”

He had no intention of telling her exactly how he had obtained the ingredients, but an abridged version wouldn’t hurt. Even if she ended up on Voldemort’s side, no one would believe her, and even if they did, they couldn’t prove anything. Here, the basilisk was still alive.

“Fine,” Narcissa agreed unhappily, “but I will hold you to that.”

Harry nodded as he reshrunk it and placed it in the trunk.

“I suppose we will have to wait until next time before we do any brewing,” he sighed.

“You make it sound as though spending more time with me is such a terrible thing, Peverell,” Narcissa returned dryly.

She had no idea. It wasn’t that he disliked spending time with her, quite the opposite, and that was the problem. He already knew that his thoughts would be occupied by her between now and when he saw her next; something he couldn’t help, nor was he sure he wanted to.

Narcissa Black was not what he had expected. In truth, he had never thought of her beyond being Malfoy’s mother, but she was much more than that and his turbulent musings became less easy to ignore with each moment he spent with her.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned internally.

“DEATH!” Olin shrieked, snapping him from his inner turmoil.

“No, Olin, not death,” Narcissa sighed. “Not now we’ve fixed that trunk,” she added, smirking at Harry.

That smile would be the death of him if she kept it up, but he did not want her to stop and he cursed himself, though he could not rescind the self-admission. This woman had his attention in ways that no other ever had.

“Come on, we need to make sure you get home. We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea,” he pointed out.

“Now, that would be quite the scandal,” Narcissa gasped dramatically. “The Lord Peverell luring innocent women to his home for Merlin-knows-what.”

Harry snorted and shook his head as he led her from the tent.

“I imagine your grandfather would have me lynched.”

“Oh, Lord Peverell, you don’t fear the Blacks, do you?”

“No, but I’d rather not be on the wrong side of Arcturus. He’s growing on me.”

“He’s not so bad,” Narcissa replied.

The sudden hoot of an owl nearby startled Harry, and his wand was levelled in its direction in only a blink of an eye.

“That’s one of the Lestrange owls,” Narcissa said, surprised by the presence of the bird.

“Why would one of those gits be writing to me?” Harry asked as the owl took flight and landed on the top of his tent, presenting its’ leg.

“She’s not going to hurt you, Harry,” Narcissa sighed as she relieved the owl of the missive it carried. “See.”

“No, but I very vividly remember Rudolphus trying to curse me in the back when I was duelling your sister,” he reminded her.

“Rudolphus is an idiot and his younger brother is worse,” Narcissa muttered as she handed Harry the sealed envelope.

He accepted it and broke the seal, frowning as he read what the Lord Lestrange had to say to him.

To Lord Harry Peverell,

I would like to take this opportunity to cordially invite you to the wedding of my son, Rudolphus, and his bride to be, Bellatrix Black.

It is my understanding that you have been at odds with my future daughter-in-law and I would like to finally put that to rest and begin anew as she becomes a member of my family.

I understand that you may have your reservations in attending but remain hopeful that any rift between the two of you can be remedied. Please accept this invitation as an olive branch to this end.

Details of the event can be found with the accompanying piece of parchment, and I look forward to your reply and the attendance of you and an escort of your choice.

Sincerely yours,

Lord Corvus Lestrange,

Head of House Lestrange

Harry snorted lightly as he folded the piece of parchment, oddly inclined to attend as requested. At the very least, he would get to observe some of the Death Eaters of this time who would undoubtedly be there.

“Well, I know the Lestranges have no daughters for you to marry so I doubt it’s a marriage offer, unless Corvus has offered himself?” Narcissa teased.

“No, he has invited me to your sister’s wedding,” Harry replied.

“Really?” Narcissa asked surprised. “Are you going to accept?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“It would be rude not to,” he answered. “Now I just need to find someone to take with me,” he groaned.

Narcissa shot him an incomprehensible look as she deflated.

“At least you have a choice in who you go with,” she mumbled.

“Ah, you’ll be there with Lucius,” Harry realised.

Narcissa nodded.

“You don’t seem all that keen on him…”

Narcissa shrugged.

“He’s nice enough in his own way.”

Harry disagreed vehemently. Lucius Malfoy was perhaps the biggest scumbag he had ever come across, but it was not his place to vocalise his thoughts. Narcissa would marry him one day, a thought he pushed aside immediately.

Lucius didn’t deserve the woman in front of Harry. Whatever she would become in the future, the Narcissa Black he had gotten to know was too good for a prat like him.

“It could be worse,” he comforted. “You could be marrying Rudolphus.”

Narcissa snorted.

“I don’t envy Bella for that,” she agreed. “Anyway, same time on Thursday?”

Harry nodded.

“I will see you then.”

With a final, sad smile, she disapparated and Harry could only shake his head.

That sad smile was not one he wanted to see.

(Break)

Harry being invited to Bella’s wedding was not something she had expected given the history between the two. Narcissa could only imagine the displeasure of her sister when she had been informed that he would be there. Bellatrix would not have taken it well.

In truth, Narcissa was not fond of the idea. As she had been during the dinner with her family, she was very conscious of the fact that she would be there with Lucius, be expected to dance with him and spend the entire day in his company.

Harry would be in a similar position with whomever he chose to bring, a thought that, oddly, did not sit well with her. He would have his choice from just about any single woman in wizarding Britain and would likely receive many requests to be the escort of many a prospective match for him.

The Lords and Ladies would not pass up the opportunity when they inevitably heard he would be attending.

Knowing Harry, he would not relish the attention but he would accept one of the offers, if only to avoid having to ask someone himself. Or, he would ignore all social decorum and bring one of the women he played Quidditch with.

Narcissa grimaced at the thought and couldn’t decide what would be worse; a pureblood lady or one of the chasers.

Regardless, she had already been dreading the day and was even more so now.

She would be there with Lucius and Harry with whomever he decided to bring, and she could not help but think that it should be her that he was escorting.

Not that such a thing could happen.

Her father was determined for her to marry Lucius one day, and to snub him would not do. She would not shame the family the same way Andi had, and soon enough, she too would be the one preparing for her wedding day.

She wondered if by then that Harry would have agreed to a match of his own. If so, they would be a lucky woman. He was a Lord, but not like any other she had ever met, and a small part of her ached and perhaps hoped for someone just like him.

(Break)

“Do not allow it to irk you, Cygnus,” Abraxus placated the furious man. “You have raised her properly so I am assured that it will not be an issue.”

The Malfoy patriarch was unnerved by the news that the Black girl was spending considerable time with Peverell, but he would not allow his concern to show. His plans hinged on the marriage of Lucius and Narcissa and he could not allow this blip to deter him from his goal, despite how worrying it could be.

Peverell was perhaps the only one who could be deemed a better match for the girl than his son. No one would blame Cygnus if he chose the other Lord. Abraxus, however, was determined to not allow that to come to pass.

“Perhaps, to assuage your worries, we can begin the process of creating the marriage contract, and at the very least, make an announcement of their intended union at an opportune moment.

Cygnus frowned but gestured for him to continue.

“I would propose that we forgo a dowry. Narcissa will be marrying into a wealthy family and, without insult, the gold received from you would be little more than a token compared to our fortune. I would like to ensure that she has everything she needs provided for her.”

“That is very generous of you, Abraxus,” Cygnus said suspiciously.

“We are friends, Cygnus, who are hoping our children will find happiness and prosperity in their futures. Gold is not a commodity I would like to be discussed when it comes to their happiness. There is one thing that I must insist upon, however.”

“Go on.”

“No Malfoy woman has ever sullied herself with the kind of work she does. If she wishes to continue, it will be through donations from funds that I will make available to her. I would not be willing to negotiate on that.”

He smirked inwardly as Cygnus’ eyes widened briefly in panic.

Abraxus didn’t truly care how the woman spent her time, it was of no consequence to him but he could not appear to be making all the concessions. It merely proved to be beneficial that Cygnus had been very vocal of his own thoughts on his daughter’s career choice.

“Then it will be ceased,” the man declared, nodding his head firmly. “I have not hidden from her that any future husband would likely disapprove and it would be stopped.”

“Then I believe we have reached an accord,” Abraxus declared, offering his hand which was promptly accepted. “The only remaining thing is to decide when we will announce it.”

A thoughtful frown creased Cygnus’s brow before he was seemingly struck by an idea.

“We will do it at Bella’s wedding,” he decided. “That way, all those that matter will be there to hear the news and save us the task of writing to them separately.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Abraxus praised, pleased the man had not taken long to follow his own trail of thought. “I do believe this calls for a toast.”

At Cygnus’s nod of agreement, Abraxus removed a rather expensive bottle of distilled whiskey he kept in the top drawer of his desk and two tumblers. Pouring them both a generous measure, he handed one to the man sat opposite him and raised his glass.

“To the future of both our families. May they both thrive for many generations to come.”

(Break)

“You must be quicker,” Voldemort growled as Bellatrix pushed herself back to her feet, her legs trembling and chest heaving from her efforts thus far.

“Yes, my lord,” she panted.

“Again!”

Without hesitation, she sent a stream of curses his way, some of which he had taught her himself. She was an excellent student and gifted fighter, often pushing him harder than he had expected from her.

Bellatrix was learning, was already a force unto herself, but there was so much more to come from her. If she continued as she was, she would become his chosen; the one that stood above all of his other followers.

She merely had to prove herself worthy of such a position.

“Enough,” he commanded as he felled her with his rebuttal. She was exhausted; exactly the state he wished her to be in. “Now we will see what you are truly made of, Bella. Ready yourself. We will be joining the others shortly to remind the world once more that we are here.”

Bellatrix said nothing but offered a laboured bow before taking her leave from the room.

Yes, she was doing well but tonight he would see just how far she had come. If she managed to avoid being killed or captured during the excursion in her condition, she would have proven herself worthy of the next step in her training.

If the unfortunate was to happen, then his time had been wasted on Bellatrix and the Dark Lord would simply find another to take her place.

(Break)

Considerable effort on his part had been put into remedying the issue the Order had been facing with time between receiving the alert, and their ability to arrive on the scene, before the attacks were concluded.

Much to his chagrin and sobering acceptance, they had been rather ineffective since the Dark Lord’s followers had become aware of them. They had adapted their methods, switching to a ‘hit hard and fast’ approach and retreat before any could react to them.

Dumbledore too had been considering the methods of the Order, and with some difficulty, had created a variant of a portkey. Instead of a location, his were keyed to the phoenix pendant he wore around his neck.

When the Order member’s own were activated, they would be brought to him, wherever he was, so long as it was outside the Hogwarts grounds. He would not risk one of his creations falling into the hands of the Dark Lord or his followers. The thought of the man having access to the castle unsettled the aged headmaster.

Still, he was happy with the results thus far but was looking into finding a way to key them to the Order members so that they could only be activated by them. He could do so using blood magic, but would only resort to such if necessary.

There were other branches of magic to explore before considering that option any further than he already had.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of a patronus, and his heart sunk.

“An alarm has sounded in Dorset, Albus,” the rhinoceros of Caradoc Dearborn spoke.

The voice had barely faded when the next arrived, the penguin of Dorcas Meadowes.

“An alarm in Buckinghamshire.”

“An attack in Kent!”

That was the orangutan of Edgar Bones and Dumbledore shook his head.

The Order could not attend all three and time was of the essence. Any indecision could be the difference between arriving on time and once again, too late.

“Fawkes,” he called, having made his mind up.

With a trill, the phoenix took flight and Albus seized a handful of the fiery creature’s tailfeathers and vanished in a plume of fire.

Arriving a short distance away from where the sensor had been placed, he touched the tip of his wand to his pendant, and one by one, the Order members arrived on the scene much quicker than had been previously possible.

The sounds of the devastation being wrought by the Dark Lord’s followers could be heard in the distance, and without preamble, Dumbledore began heading towards the din, the Order members trailing behind him, all with their wands drawn.

“Be ready,” Dumbledore muttered as they arrived on the outskirts of the small village, the darkened sky being sporadically lit by spell fire.

Their introduction to the carnage came in the form of a startled roar as they were spotted rounding a corner.

“IT’S DUMBLEDORE!”

The shout was accompanied by a barrage of spells sent desperately towards them, none even close to hitting the mark, but they gave the man the opportunity to flee.

Almost immediately, the activity of those in the robes and masks halted and the streets fell eerily silent. Only a moment later, a lone figure approached from an alleyway a short distance away, his pale skin and crimson eyes alight with amusement.

“I did wonder when you would involve yourself, Dumbledore. I must say, I find myself disappointed that it took so long.”

“Albus, do you know this man?” Benjy questioned.

“You will all leave,” Dumbledore instructed.

“Yes, you should all leave,” Voldemort echoed. “Myself and the headmaster have old business to resolve.”

“We aren’t leaving you, Albus,” Dorcas denied.

“Ah, so the old man is a coward now,” Voldemort mused aloud. “I will only ask you once more.”

Benjy laughed loudly at the implied threat.

“He thinks he can take us all!”

He had just finished speaking when an overwhelming wave of heat could be felt and an enormous, fiery serpent began to bear down on the group.

“GO!” Dumbledore commanded as he attempted to fend of the accursed flames.

Reluctantly, the Order members began vanishing one after the other, some understanding they were out of their depths with this unknown wizard and others out of respect for Dumbledore.

The only one that remained was Edgar Bones, his eyes burning in fury as he levelled his wand at the Dark Lord.

“Do you fancy your chances, boy?” Voldemort spat.

“EDGAR, NO!” Dumbledore pleaded.

His appeal came too late and the Lord Bones was sent spinning to the ground by a curse the headmaster did not recognise, his hastily conjured shield torn through as though it was nothing.

With a guttural roar, Dumbledore manged to vanquish the flames and turned his attention to his former student who was cackling.

“You’re old, Dumbledore,” Voldemort sighed disappointedly. “You are not what you once were. You can’t hope to match me.”

“I’m not so old that I do not remember the boy I met at the orphanage, Tom,” Dumbledore replied sadly. “I long-hoped that you would change your ways, that you would turn your talents to improving our world. I will not pretend I am not disappointed in you.”

Voldemort frowned at him before laughing once more.

“Ever the sentimental fool,” he eventually replied. “Now, the time for talking is over. Face me, Dumbledore and witness my might.”

Albus was given no time to respond as Tom’s wand became blur, the spells sent his way fast but predictable. Despite how much Tom believed he had changed and grown over the years, he was still a petty child, merely one that had done undoubtedly unspeakable things in the pursuit of the power he now wielded.

Realising that he would not get past the defences of the headmaster, Voldemort ceased his efforts, his leer unwavering in the face of his apparent failure.

“You always did resort to crude means in your proclivity towards violence, Tom,” Dumbledore said in a lecturing tone. “I expected much more from you by now.”

His words struck a nerve and his former student growled as he waved his wand in an elaborate arc, unleashing a shadowy, winged creature that careened towards Dumbledore, its wings flapping silently.

It was met with a blindingly white phoenix courtesy of Albus who breathed a sigh of relief as his conjuration cut through the inky form, reducing it to a shapeless, black fog.

Unwilling to remain on the back foot, he twirled his wand between his fingers, sweeping up some nearby debris in a powerful wind before sending the vortex towards his foe.

Whilst Tom was distracted with his creation, he summoned a pile of rocks from behind the Dark Lord and enclosed the man within a make-shift dome which the debris within the vortex fell on top, trapping him.

With as much effort as he could muster, Albus focused on fortifying the structure with his magic, his wand arm trembling under the strain.

Tom had been right; Dumbledore was old now. When he had faced off with Gellert some three decades ago, the duel had been much longer than this altercation and he had not felt so drained as he did now.

With a loud crack and the sound of tumbling rocks, Tom broke free and Albus shook his head.

It was with bitter acknowledgement that he realised he could only hope to force a stalemate with Tom, who did not appear to be at all fatigued from his own exertions.

Still, someone needed to stand against him and Albus may well be all that wizarding Britain had.

To that end, he would fight with his final breath if necessary.

(Break)

When he woke, it was to the feeling that all the organs in his torso had been lodged in his back. Breathing hurt, he could taste blood in his mouth, and his vision swam in and out of focus.

He coughed, regretting it instantly as his body curled up from the agony, an action that only caused him further pain.

Never had he experienced such a myriad of things from falling foul of a curse. Whatever spell he had been hit with had left him all but helpless and he could only watch as the fight continued in earnest before him.

Edgar fancied his chances in a duel with most, having practiced the art ardently since he had first received his wand. Even Amelia, as gifted as she was, could not defeat him.

The magic wielded by Dumbledore and the Wizard with the red eyes, however, was like nothing he had ever seen. Even through the haze of his blurred vison and the pain, he knew he was inferior in comparison.

Oddly, his thoughts turned to Harry Peverell, who had vocalised his intent to kill the man he believed responsible for the death of his parents and he made a mental note to warn him against such an attempt.

The wizard with the red eyes was dangerous, more so than Edgar could have imagined.

He gasped as Dumbledore was forced to shield from an acid green spell which imploded the barrier and sent his former headmaster sprawling across the ground.

With a nimbleness that belied his advanced years, he deftly rolled away from the following barrage, the ground where he had been lying now a deep crater. When Edgar managed to tear his eyes away from the devastation, Dumbledore was back on his feet, the two wizards now locked in a battle of spell work; shielding and defending with speed and magical ingenuity.

Edgar was as much in awe as he was scared for the headmaster. If this red-eyed man was successful, wizarding Britain had no hope of preventing his ascension. He knew not what the man hoped to achieve. But it would become an inevitability.

With those thoughts spurring him on, Edgar groaned as he forced himself to his feet and levelled the wand he had miraculously clung on to towards him.

With a laboured motion, his spell flew from the end, his arm bucking from the force and sending him back to the ground in a crumpled heap.

He watched as his spell was batted aside as thought it were a mere inconvenience and was too tired to wither under the glare sent his way.

He may have failed but Albus did not and the man with the red eyes was caught off guard, distracted by Edgar for the briefest of seconds that proved to be to his detriment.

A loud snapping sounded as Dumbledore’s spell collided with the man’s shoulder and his glare switched from Edgar to the headmaster, his eyes narrowing.

“Until next time, Headmaster,” he offered irritably, vanishing in a plume of black smoke, Dumbledore’s next offering passing through where he had been standing.

Edgar breathed a sigh of relief, allowing himself to relax for a moment before another bout of coughing overcame him and he groaned.

“It’s okay, Edgar, you’re going to be fine,” the distant voice of Dumbledore sounded, though he could feel the man’s cold, clammy, and trembling hand on his forehead. “The aurors are here now and we’ll get you help.”

“Who was that?” Edgar wheezed.

“A very dangerous man,” Dumbledore answered. “Think no more of it, not until you are better.”

Any response Edgar had died on his tongue as another familiar voice spoke to him.

“Ed? Ed? Can you hear me?” Amelia asked.

He managed to nod and felt her squeeze his shoulder.

“I knew this would happen, you idiot. Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“You never listen to me,” he countered childishly.

He heard her huff frustratedly and he coughed once more.

“I saw him, Millie. The man that killed father. I don’t think I can beat him…”

“So, you will stop this foolishness?”

Edgar shook his head.

“No, Dumbledore will need us all. He can’t win alone, not against him.”

(Break)

Narcissa watched as Harry meticulously cut the leaves into strips, the look of concentration on his face unguarded; a rare but not unwelcome sight. It was difficult to believe that he was the same age as her, his usual, somewhat haunted expression, speaking volumes of the life he’d lived. She wished she could spend but a moment in his mind, just to see what it was that had shaped him.

“That’s much better,” she praised as he finished.

Harry shook his head.

“It doesn’t look any different to any of the others,” he muttered.

She smirked at his petulance. It was odd to see such a thing from someone so serious.

“They don’t look the same,” she denied. “This is why you are doing this. You need to be able to identify well-prepared ingredients compared to poor ones. If you want the best results from your potions, you need to know the difference.”

“I know,” he sighed.

“Aww, well if you’re a good boy and cut another one just like that, I will let you fly on your broom for a little while.”

His eyes lit up momentarily before they narrowed and he mumbled incoherently.

“Did you have something to say?” Narcissa questioned.

“Not a thing,” Harry replied, grinning at her.

She raised an eyebrow in his direction and shook her head.

“Again,” she instructed.

With a huff, he set to work on another leaf.

He had improved over the past few hours, his skills with a knife having been clumsy. He had even held the blade as a toddler would and wielded it with the same proficiency.

It had amused her to no end and reminded her that, despite what she had seen from him, he was still human. If anything, it only served to endear him to her, not that she would voice those thoughts.

He had been occupying them enough recently.

“Have you thought about who you will bring to the wedding?” she asked casually.

He paused his cutting as he shook his head.

“No, I don’t really know anyone enough to ask them and I’m not taking someone I’ve never met,” he snorted, pointing to a neatly pile of parchment on the table he kept his mail.

Narcissa’s eyes widened slightly at the number of missives he had received in the last day since she had been here.

“Are all of them asking for you to escort someone?”

“Most,” he sighed. “I thought if they found out I wasn’t a pureblood they would stop.”

Narcissa had almost forgotten that about him.

“A name carries power and influence, none more than yours,” she pointed out.

Harry nodded.

“I know, but I wish they’d bugger off,” he replied with a shrug.

Narcissa nodded her understanding.

If anything, she had learnt that Harry was a private person who didn’t like being imposed upon. It certainly explained why he lived in such an isolated place.

“Were your parents muggles?” she asked, regretting doing so as he met her gaze.

“Would it be a problem if they were?” he challenged.

Narcissa shook her head.

“No, I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just interested.”

He deflated and offered her a look of apology.

“No, my mother was a muggleborn and my father a pureblood,” he replied sadly.

“So, you’re a half-blood?”

“For what that’s worth,” Harry answered. “I’m still a mudblood to your lot.”

It wasn’t said with any bitterness but matter-of-factly. Having a half-blood in a pureblood family would be considered taboo, something to be hidden from the outside world, but Harry seemed to wear his status with pride, though she couldn’t argue his observation. For all intents and purposes, he would be viewed as mudblood.

Not that it mattered judging by the continued interest in him shown by the pureblood families.

“What were they like?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “I only know what I’ve been told and that isn’t very much. My father was a pain in the arse but apparently very talented.”

“And your mother?”

His posture slumped just a little more at the mention of her and a Narcissa saw a look of longing flash across his features.

“I know even less about her, but she was incredible. Amazing with charms and potions, a talent I certainly didn’t inherit,” he added with a humourless chuckle. “If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here. She sacrificed herself to save me.”

Narcissa swallowed deeply, her chest tightening at the raw emotion he could not hide when discussing them.

“You really remember it, don’t you?”

Harry nodded soberly.

“She didn’t beg for her life when he came. Her last act was to save mine.”

Narcissa placed her hand over his, unable to ignore the need to offer him some comfort. He froze but didn’t pull away.

“She loved you, Harry, of course she would do that.”

“DEATH!” Olin shrieked, intruding upon and putting an end to the moment.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

The raven became restless on his perch and Harry approached, flicking his wand into his hand as a large barn owl entered the tent. It left immediately after Harry removed it’s note.

“If this is another bloody…”

His words petered off as he read the letter, a deep frown marring his features.

“Did you know that Edgar was in St Mungo’s?” he questioned, taken the blonde by surprise.

“Edgar?”

“Lord Bones.”

Narcissa shook her head.

“No, if a Lord is brought in, it is usually kept quiet. Why, what’s happened?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

Narcissa shook herself from her thoughts as Olin vanished into Harry’s skin and he summoned a coat.

“I’m coming with you,” she insisted. “They might not let you in. He’ll be on the secure ward.”

Harry nodded gratefully and she followed him from the tent where they both apparated to the alley across the street from the entrance to the hospital.

“Let me do the talking,” Narcissa instructed as they walked towards the building. “You’re not the subtlest of people.”

He shot her a look of indignation and she dared to him to disagree.

After a moment, he conceded the point with a sigh and gestured for her to lead the way.

Passing through the busy reception area, it took only a tap on a door to solve the first problem of getting in the building without being hindered by the receptionist and they made it to the secure ward without delay, the auror on duty frowning as they approached.

“I’m here to see Lord Bones,” Harry declared without preamble.

“I have no idea what you mean,” the auror said dismissively.

“Well, considering his sister wrote to me telling me he was here…” Harry replied, waving a piece of parchment under the man’s nose.

“You would be Lord Peverell then,” the auror huffed. “And who is this?”

“Narcissa Black, I work here.”

“Of course, I have seen you around,” the man commented as he stepped aside. “He’s in room four.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied before entering the ward and locating the room that Lord Bones was in. He pushed open the door without knocking. “Bloody hell, you look like shit.”

Bones laughed, his amusement devolving into a coughing fit and he helped himself to some water from the jug on his bedside table.

“Well, I’ve certainly been better,” Edgar returned. “Who’s this?”

“Ah, this would be Narcissa Black, my personal physician,” Harry introduced her.

She shot him a pointed look and he smirked.

“She’s helping me with my potions studies. She’s been very helpful,” he corrected and Narcissa gave him an approving smile.

“I remember, you were at his trial,” Edgar replied. “Are you two…?”

“No,” Harry denied quickly and the Lord Bones smirked, seemingly not believing him. “What happened?”

Edgar shook his head, his countenance shifting from one of joviality to being serious.

“I met him,” he said simply, confusing Narcissa. “The one with the red eyes.”

Harry’s jaw noticeably tightened and he nodded stiffly.

“He did this?”

“Yes,” Edgar confirmed. “Peverell, you need to be careful with him. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even…”

He stopped talking as his eyes drifted to Narcissa.

“I know,” Harry said, seemingly having understood what Lord Bones was going to say. “I know.”

“Do you think you can beat him? Because if he can’t, I don’t know if anyone can.”

Harry nodded.

“I will die trying if necessary,” Harry replied.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Edgar returned sincerely. “I just needed to tell you. I had my doubts but he is real. I’ve seen what he can do.”

Harry shook his head.

“If you’re still breathing as you are, you’ve not seen anything, Edgar,” Harry refuted, “but thanks for telling me. I’ll come back tomorrow and even bring you some flowers,” he added with a mocking grin.

“If they aren’t roses, don’t bother. I quite like roses,” Edgar chuckled, coughing once more.

“Roses it is.”

Narcissa followed him from the room, confused as to what the two had been discussing but Harry’s countenance was unmistakable. He was both angry and relieved, two warring emotions where neither were prominent.

“What was that about,” she asked. “What did he mean by the wizard with red…”

“Shh, not here,” Harry interrupted her harshly as he took her by the arm and pulled her into an empty room across the hall.

When they were inside, he cast a series of spells she did not recognise before locking and placing several privacy charms on the door.

“You shouldn’t have heard that,” he sighed. “I didn’t know what had happened and I didn’t expect that.”

“What did happen? I’m confused.”

“And it is best that it stays that way,” Harry retorted.

“How can I ignore it when you’re involving yourself in something that is blatantly dangerous?”

Harry released a deep breath and shook his head.

“Whatever Edgar is doing, I’m not involved in it,” he said honestly, “but there is a connection.”

“The wizard with the red eyes?”

Harry nodded.

“You should forget that you ever heard him being mentioned,” he urged. “He is a very dangerous man…”

“That you’re going to fight,” she pointed out.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“Narcissa…”

“Why?” she pressed. “If he is so dangerous, why are you going to fight him?”

“Because he is the one that murdered my parents.”

Narcissa was lost for words. Only an hour ago they had been discussing Harry’s mother and father. She knew their deaths haunted him, had seen how he had carried the burden of it with him throughout his life, and yet, she could only think of how worried she was.

Harry was looking for this man, searching for the one that had taken them from him and it seemed that he was getting closer.

“Are you sure it is the same man?”

He nodded.

“It’s him.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“There is nothing to say, please, just forget what you heard. It will only end badly for you.”

Of all the things she had ever expected from Harry, an almost pleading tone was not one of them and it felt that there was more that he could tell her, but wouldn’t.

“I won’t mention it to anyone,” she promised.

“Thank you,” he sighed, relieved but still saddened.

Whatever he was thinking, it was not good and only added to the already extensive list of things he carried.

“Come on, I’ll make sure you get home, I have someone I need to see,” Harry said ominously before casually casting a patronus charm, taking her by surprise.

“How is it you can do that but not potions?” she asked disbelievingly. “What did you even do?”

“Oh, erm, I sent a message to someone,” he replied sheepishly, looking as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“You can do that with a patronus charm?”

Harry nodded.

“You can, it’s just another use for the spell.”

Narcissa could only shake her head as he undid his privacy charms and unlocked the door.

Harry Peverell still proved to be quite the mystery, and the more time she spent with him, the deeper it became. His magical ability was unlike any other she had seen, his wand-work exemplary and other things just not adding up.

He had been taught, that much was clear, but where and by whom?

“Are you still okay for Sunday?” he asked as they reached the alleyway once more.

“Of course,” Narcissa replied, pushing aside the many questions she wanted to ask him. “Same time?”

“I will see you then,” he answered and offered her an indiscernible smile before he vanished with a gentle crack.

She simply stared at where he had been standing for a moment or so, contemplating the puzzle that was Harry Peverell. She knew not what to make of him, what had happened to him nor what he planned to do.

Wanting justice for his parents was natural and she hoped he found it, just not at the expense of his own life. She couldn’t imagine his mother or father would want that.

She certainly didn’t.

(Break)

The fatigue from his duel with Tom had yet to abate. Even after two days, his body ached and he was tired but, without doubt, the most difficult thing he faced was coming to terms with how powerful his former student had become.

Albus had fought Gellert whilst his childhood friend had possessed the elder wand and had managed to emerge victorious. Against this Dark Lord, however, he had his doubts that he could win, especially without the wand to assist him.

His own worked well enough, but it was not the same and he truly felt his age. He had slowed considerably over the decades spent in the castle, the prime of his life having passed him by, and he knew that his experience only counted for so much. Perhaps he could continue to fight Tom to a standstill, but that was likely the best he could hope for. If it hadn’t been for Edgar Bones’ timely intervention, Albus was almost certain he would have been killed.

What became evident was that he could not do it alone and that the order needed more allies. The attacks totalled eleven the night he had met Tom and there was no conceivable way that the order could keep up with that number. Even with the aurors, they were outnumbered.

But who else could he call upon?

His mind drifted to the conversation he’d shared with the Lord Bones so many weeks prior and he shook his head.

Lord Peverell could handle himself, had proven it with how he had dispatched of Thomas Avery and allegedly defeated Bellatrix Black in a duel.

Albus still had his reservations. He did not know the man and did not agree with his methods.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the arrival of a patronus and his heart sunk into his stomach. He was not ready for another confrontation with Tom.

He frowned as the raven appeared before him. It was not one he recognised and certainly did not belong to anyone in the Order. When the voice spoke, he did not know whether to feel relieved or concerned.

“I think it is time we had a conversation.”

How did Peverell learn of this spell? Had Edgar Bones shown him?

The headmaster shook his head.

Edgar was not one to share such things as proven when Albus had asked about Peverell. He was a loyal man, perhaps misguided in some ways but loyal nonetheless.

The thing he needed to ponder, was whether or not he would meet with Peverell. He was certainly curious about the man and he could sate that at the very least.

With a sigh, he sent of his response and took a seat behind his desk.

“Be ready to transport him out of here if needed, Fawkes.”

The phoenix trilled his understanding, and Dumbledore waited until a knock sounded on the door some fifteen minutes later.

“Come in,” he called, his wand ready inside his sleeve to defend himself if necessary.

He observed the man as he entered, his face still holding a familiarity, one he had recognised during his trial but had given little thought to. In truth, he had been more preoccupied with the appearance of a Lord Peverell than what he looked like.

Seeing him in the light of his office, he was reminded of two others he had met, one who roamed these very halls as a current student.

That Peverell resembled both Charlus and James Potter should not have relaxed the headmaster, but it did. They were good people and Albus had considered Charlus as a member of the Order.

Did they know they were related to the man before him?

“Thank you for seeing me,” the young man offered, taking the seat on the opposite side of the desk.

“You were rather insistent,” Albus pointed out. “I can only assume that you have visited Edgar Bones.”

“I have,” Peverell confirmed. “He didn’t say much, but mentioned a shared interest I believe we have.”

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head.

“What is your interest in him, Lord Peverell? What do you hope to gain in your venture?”

“His life,” Harry answered simply, taking Dumbledore aback.

“Why?”

“My reasons are my own. I will not share them but I can assure you that no one wants him gone more than I do.”

Albus nodded, the words spoken done so truthfully and with vehemence. Had he perhaps been mistaken about the Peverell lord? He fought the urge to probe the man’s surface thoughts, unsure on what skills he possessed.

“He has caused you personal suffering,” Dumbledore commented.

Harry nodded.

“He has and I will do the same to him.”

Dumbledore released a deep breath and shook his head.

“I am not sure you understand the type of wizard he is. He is very dangerous, Lord Peverell.”

“I know that better than anyone,” Harry spat. “Do not mistake me for a naïve child who knows nothing, Dumbledore. I have spent my life with his presence hanging over me.”

Dumbledore frowned.

“What is it you know?”

The smirk he received in reply was callous, unnerving to say the least and Albus began regretting his decision to meet with the man. They were of different morals, and in another life, had Tom not caused him harm, this Peverell may well have been one of his followers.

“I know many things,” Harry replied. “I know that you have a wand that belongs to my family. It has quite the history to it and has ended up in your possession. I can only assume that you like many others have spent time searching for the mythical trinkets of my line.”

“How did you… What do you know of them?”

“More than I will share with you, but I would like my wand back and maybe then I will consider helping you. I can feel it, Dumbledore. The wand is no longer yours and it calls to me. Regardless of your decision, Tom will die by my hands and it would be best for us both, and wizarding Britain if we were to work together to achieve that.”

Albus was dumbfounded by the knowledge that Peverell had. How did he know such things? Where had he learnt of them?

“You know who he is?”

“I make it my business to know those who could be my enemies,” Harry replied. “I will put aside my misgivings to ensure that Riddle is dealt with. Are you willing to do the same?”

Dumbledore met the gaze of the man opposite him, his mind drifting back to the duel he’d had only two nights ago.

“Can you do it? Can you defeat him?”

Harry nodded.

“Think of everything you have learned of my line and ask yourself just how much of it you believe,” he urged. “Are the hallows real? Were they gifted to my ancestors by Death? There is always a grain of truth in tales, Dumbledore, and there is no escape from death. He will always have his prize.”

Dumbledore swallowed deeply as Peverell’s eyes flashed white and a screeching echoed around the room.

“DEATH!” the raven spoke as it emerged from Peverell’s skin, his own eyes white and scrutinising as he settled on his companion’s shoulder and stared speculatively at Albus.

Peverell was undoubtedly an unnerving man but one he no longer doubted wanted to put an end to Tom.

Tentatively, Albus extended his hand and Peverell shook it, his grip tight and assertive.

“I would like my wand now.”

Albus was reluctant to do so and questioned whether or not he should surrender it. Ultimately, he knew he had no choice if he wanted this man to help him and as Peverell grasped it, his eyes flashed white once more as the wand accepted him.

“Despite what you think of me, I am not your enemy nor am I a monster, Dumbledore,” Harry said almost sadly as he stood and headed towards the door.

“How did you learn the patronus spell?” Albus blurted, curious as to how Peverell knew of it.

“An old friend taught it to me before he died.”

“Then he must have been a very gifted wizard to figure it out.”

“He was,” Harry agreed. “He was a manipulative old git, but he helped me more than I could ever thank him for.”

With his parting words given, Peverell was gone and the room suddenly felt warmer for it.

He was a strange man, his family history even stranger and Albus could not help but ponder just how much truth there was to the stories he had come across during his youth.

Whatever that may be, he felt torn by accepting the man’s help but hopeful also. If there was even a modicum of authenticity to the tales, he had perhaps just made his most useful ally to date.

A terrifying and questionable one, but a powerful one indeed, and truly, what choice had the headmaster had?

It was unlikely that he could defeat Tom, but perhaps with Peverell’s assistance, they just might.

“What do you think, Fawkes? Can he be trusted?”

The phoenix trilled contently, has eyes on the door that Peverell had left through, and that was good enough for Albus until the man proved otherwise.