Whispers of a Raven - With Eyes of White

“Come, Cygnus, I’m glad you could join me,” Abraxus declared, gesturing for him to take a seat.

Cygnus nodded and did so as he had on the numerous occasions he had been invited to Malfoy Manor.

As a member of a prominent house, he was afforded the luxury to dine in the parlour room reserved for only the most valued of guests. It was smaller than the others and less formal, the table only large to sit half a dozen people but was intimate and somehow more lavish.

“As always, your hospitality is most welcome,” he offered, “but I was not expecting to be invited so soon.”

Abraxus offered him an easy smile.

“We are friends, are we not? Why should we stand on ceremony and wait? If I thought I was causing offense, I would have done so,” the blonde lord assured him.

Cygnus waved him off dismissively.

“Think nothing of it, it is always a pleasure to dine with you.”

Abraxus nodded appreciatively as he signalled for their meal to be brought to them.

“How goes the wedding preparations for Bellatrix and Rudolphus?” he asked politely.

Cygnus shook his head in response.

“I wouldn’t know. Druella is managing that and thank Merlin. I have no patience for such tedious affairs.”

Abraxus chuckled and took a sip of his wine.

“No, I quite agree. Weddings have changed since me and Ilse married,” he lamented. “It used to be that we were only expected to arrive for the ceremony. Now it is all dresses, food sampling and other dull undertakings.”

Cygnus nodded.

“If only it was that simple,” he sighed wistfully.

“Still, she has a good match and you can take comfort in that. I suppose your father made the arrangements?”

Cygnus snorted derisively.

“My father had nothing to do with it,” he denied. “Corvus approached me and I gave the union my blessing. He didn’t even ask for a dowry.”

Abraxus hummed thoughtfully as he swirled the contents of his glass.

“I would have thought that Arcturus would insist on approving the match,” he mused aloud.

Cygnus shrugged.

“No, he has left that up to me,” he explained. “He believes the girls should have a say on who they marry. I can only hazard a guess that is why he has not objected. Bellatrix has not voiced her disapproval, so he has opted to allow it to go ahead.”

“Could he object if he chose to? Could he prevent it?”

Cygnus frowned for a moment before nodding.

“If he was inclined to, he could kick up a fuss, but that would depend on why he did not agree to it in the first place. If he felt that Bella did not want to marry the boy, he would raise hell to ensure it didn’t happen.”

“Yes, you father is quite the force.”

Cygnus nodded and eyed him speculatively.

“You are taking quite the interest in this, Abraxus,” he pointed out, “now, why don’t we get to the real reason you asked me here so soon after we dined together last.”

The Malfoy lord deflated.

“You’re as sharp as ever,” he sighed.

“I was raised by Arcturus Black,” Cygnus returned, “I can smell a ploy a mile away.”

Abraxus was stricken by his words and he shook his head frantically.

“I can assure you, my friend, there is no ploy, but I did invite you here for a reason,” he admitted, “but not for my benefit. I did so on behalf of my son.”

“Lucius?” Cygnus questioned with a frown.

Abraxus nodded and released a deep sigh.

“It appears that he has become rather taken with your daughter, Narcissa.”

Cygnus’s frown deepened but Abraxus continued before he could speak.

“He wishes for me to seek your permission to approach her, and if she is amiable, to potentially arrange a contract between them. If they both find the other to be suitable, of course.”

Cygnus leaned back in his chair as he pondered the words.

“What are you getting out of this, Abraxus? I know you and he is your only son. You would not marry him to a second daughter that has no hope of future inheritance.”

Abraxus nodded his agreement.

“Under normal circumstances, I would not, but he is very determined, and I would not find myself at odds with my heir. Besides, a second daughter she may be, but she is still a Black and is a worthy match to one day be the Lady Malfoy.”

“She is training to become a healer,” Cygnus said dumbly.

“A youthful ambition that will fizzle out with time,” Abraxus returned dismissively. “Do you think she will wish to continue with her venture when the prospect of being a Lady of a great house is presented to her?”

Once more, Cygnus paused to ponder his words before nodding slowly.

“The idea does have merit,” he conceded. “Fine, I will give my permission, but you will ensure your boy remains respectful. I hold you in high esteem, Abraxus but that does not extend to Lucius, not until he proves his worth. If I get even a whiff of anything funny, I will bring the entirety of House Black down on yours.”

“And there is the side of the Blacks I respect most,” Abraxus muttered, slightly unnerved by the threat.

It would not do well to provoke them. They may be on the decline, but they were still dangerous and needed to be treated with caution.

“As much as I disagree with her choices, she is still my daughter and she will be treated as such.”

Abraxus fought the snort that threatened to make itself known. If Cygnus was truly so sentimental, would that not have extended to the daughter he no longer acknowledged.

“I can assure you that Lucius will be nothing but the perfect gentleman, you have my word,” Abraxus offered. “Now, no more talk of such trivial things. I did also invite you here to merely enjoy your company.”

“Of course,” Cygnus agreed before tucking into his meal.

Abraxus too began eating, pleased that his plan was coming to fruition. If fortune favoured him, Corvus Lestrange would remain below him and the future generations of his own line would benefit from the demise of the Blacks.

Admittedly, the likelihood of such appeared to be bleak but with the right circumstances and machinations where needed, it was not impossible to imagine.

No, with how the world was changing around them, anything could happen, even the most unlikely of outcomes.

(Break)

“How has he been today?” Narcissa asked as she arrived for another night shift.

“I think he is getting restless,” Camden answered with a light frown marring her features. “He’s eating better and definitely gaining his strength. I think I will have him putting some weight on the leg tomorrow and see how he does.”

Narcissa nodded.

She noted that he looked better today as she watched him through the observation window. Even in the few days since he’d had his surgery, he seemed to be gaining weight, though he hadn’t spoken much, only accepting or declining food and little else.

She thought she’d had a breakthrough with him, but, if anything, he had become even more guarded if anything since she had given him the dreamless sleep. Perhaps he had a lot on his mind, or something was worrying him?

“Has he spoken much to you?” she enquired.

“No more or less than usual,” Camden replied, “but he doesn’t strike me as a talker. He’s the quiet observant type, you know, strong and silent. He must be with what he does.”

“With what he does?” Narcissa pressed.

Camden nodded.

“With how quiet he is, how alert and with all those scars, he must be a soldier of sorts. You just need to look into his eyes to see the trauma. He can’t be any older than you and he’s a wreck. I already spoke to him about speaking to a mind healer, but he hasn’t asked for one.”

“I didn’t consider that,” Narcissa returned thoughtfully.

“It will come to you with time,” Camden assured her. “When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you start recognising the signs. I’ve treated many like him, here and back home. I would bet anything that he has seen action somewhere. Usually, they’re older. I’ve not seen someone as young as him with such little life in his eyes.”

Narcissa shook her head.

It was not often she disagreed with Camden, but she could not think of where or how he would have been at war. If he was only around her age and had spent significant time abroad, his accent would not be so British. There was no other dialect in his voice when he spoke the little he did.

Then what had happened for him to be this way?

Once more, she found her curiosity piqued by him and was determined to find out more. How could one so young be so seemingly broken?

She chided herself for not noticing the signs herself; the lack of sleeping, the nightmares and the sudden waking with his wand in hand, ready to defend himself. It did not make sense.

“Anyway, I will leave you to it,” Camden announced. “If all goes well, we might be able to let him out of here in a week and then we will likely never see him again.”

“What do you mean?”

Camden shrugged before pulling on her jacket.

“People like him just, vanish,” she answered with a frown. “Out of all the ones I have treated like him, I’ve never seen any of them once they left. They tend to go back to whatever they were doing before landing themselves here. See you tomorrow, Black.”

With her parting words given, she was gone and Narcissa readied herself for another long night of sitting at her post, though she did not understand why there was need to remain here. He was awake, had been operated on and was in recovery.

The only time they should keep watch on him was if they thought that he was possibly a danger to himself or others. Did the Senior Healers believe that?

He had given no impression that he would hurt anyone thus far, had cooperated with them and shown no proclivity towards violence, unless she had missed something?

 She thumbed through the notes that Camden, the surgeon and any other healer that had observed him had taken and frowned at them. She had not read them so far as Camden always briefed her on any developments when she arrived.

Patient is around 21 years old…Patient suffers with nightmares… Patient wakes with wand drawn, when asked why, he is dismissive… Patient is heavily scarred by offensive spells and what appears to be wounds from magical creatures… Patient blood test contains traces of unidentifiable venom and what appears to be phoenix tears… Possible wound is around 8 years old… Traces of dragon bone in wound on right arm… Patient has not been questioned about these. Wounds have healed well but venom should have been fatal… Phoenix tears explains survival.

She shook her head in disbelief.

Just what had happened to him throughout his life?

The need to know became difficult to ignore and her gaze wandered to his sleeping form.

As usual, he was restless, his limbs twitching and mouth moving soundlessly, uttering words she was not privy to.

She watched as his movements became more frantic, and after a few moments, he suddenly sat up and flicked his wand into his hand, his breathing heavy.

She gave him a moment to calm himself before placing her wand on the rune that would allow her to be heard.

“Are you okay, Harry?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he croaked as he reached over and attempted to reach the pitcher of water by his bed.

Despite his words, he did not appear to be fine. The nightmares were a nightly thing and were robbing him of his much-needed rest. She couldn’t give him dreamless sleep every night as it was easy to become reliant on it.

In truth, she was at a loss to what she could do for him, especially if he did not want the help.

With a sigh, she took her leave of the room and knocked on his door before entering.

He said nothing as she poured him a glass of water and handed it to him. He drained it and sunk back into his pillows as he swept his long hair away from his eyes.

The words of Camden played over in her mind and she found herself drawn to them.

They were dull, almost lifeless, and somehow cold. She felt the chill they exuded seep into her bones, and she fought the urge to shudder.

Unnerved, she tore her gaze away from him under the guise of making him more comfortable by fluffing his pillows and adjusting his blankets.

“My colleague said that she advised you to speak to a mind healer. Don’t you think you should? Even if it is only to get help for your nightmares?”

He shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly, “A mind healer will have nothing to say that I don’t already know.”

“So, you’re an expert in the mind arts?”

He smirked slightly.

“I know enough,” he answered cryptically, “and what about you? I imagine learning Occlumency is something your Lord would insist on.”

“I know enough,” she returned, eliciting a snort of amusement from him. “Were you taught by your father?”

He flinched at the question and his jaw tightened under the beard he wore as he shook his head.

“No.”

She was taken aback by his reaction and remembered that his parents were dead. Thoughts of them could not be pleasant.

“I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s fine,” he said dismissively, “but no, I wasn’t taught by him. I didn’t know my parents. They died when I was a baby.”

“Oh.”

He stared at her and shook his head.

“Do you have any other questions?”

She frowned at him confusedly, but he spoke once more before she could.

“I’m not a fool,” he sighed. “You are digging for information. I’ve been around it enough to see it. So, ask what you want to know and then we can be done with this game. I’m already tired of it.”

He was perceptive, she would admit that. She had not even begun trying to extract information from him, and yet, he had read her intentions.

“Fair enough,” she conceded. “For my own reasons, I am curious about you. How old are you?”

He seemed to think about the question for a moment before nodding.

“I will be twenty-one and the end of the month.”

He looked older, though the hair and beard made it difficult to ascertain.

“And you have endured a considerable amount for someone my own age. Your medical checks make for very interesting reading,” she explained. “You have phoenix tears in your blood, shards of dragon bone and a venom of sorts. How did that happen?”

He seemed surprised that she knew this. Clearly, he did not understand how thorough St Mungo’s medical checks were.

“No comment,” he answered, “bloody hell, you should be an auror instead of a healer. Anything else?”

“Will you answer me?”

“That depends on the question,” he replied with a shrug.

She nodded thoughtfully.

“When I mentioned your name to my grandfather, he took an interest in you…”

“He is either concerned about me or wishes to use me,” Harry corrected. “He would not take an interest in me for any other reason.”

He was more astute than she had given him credit for.

“Does he have a reason to be concerned about you? He seems to think that your family could be a danger to us.”

Harry shook his head.

“No. I have no intention of causing any problems for your grandfather if he doesn’t cause any for me. When I am discharged from here, I will leave.”

She didn’t believe his final declaration but did not wish to press the matter, for now.

“What will you do when you leave?”

He shrugged uncertainly.

“What do you do when everything you once knew is gone?”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I don’t know what I will do.”

She watched as his demeanour changed. He was not as defensive as he had been but was still guarded.

“You really have no idea how influential you could be, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head in disbelief at his ignorance. Where had he been to not know of his family? Maybe he was raised by someone who told him nothing? He did mention his parents died when he was a baby.

“Your family is an old one, older than mine,” she explained. “You have a seat on the Wizengamot and probably gold in a vault in Gringotts.”

He snorted.

“I hate politicians, bunch of sneaky old gits,” he grumbled.

She grinned at his summary.

“My grandfather would agree with you. He doesn’t have time for diplomacy and prefers a blunter approach. He’s upset many other Lords over the years with his ways.”

A look of amusement crossed his features briefly.

“Honestly, I don’t know what I will do.”

She nodded as she stood and headed towards the door.

“For what it is worth, if everything is different, maybe you should treat it as a fresh start for yourself. Find something you want to do and go from there. You never know where it will lead you,” she urged.

“Is that what you did?” he asked as she gripped the handle. “I can’t imagine anyone forcing you to work here. Your family is wealthy enough.”

She nodded,

“That’s exactly what I did,” she confirmed. “I found something I wanted to do and went for it. You have time to think about it whilst you’re here.”

He nodded as she took her leave and returned to the other room.

She felt for him. He seemed to be so lost and had apparently experienced considerable upheaval leading up to him being brought here.

She watched him as he lost himself in thought, though she felt more relaxed about his presence, as would her grandfather.

She may not have believed him when he said he would be leaving but his words rung true when he had said that he was not a threat to her family. Despite her grandfather’s concerns, she did not see anything evil within him.

She had seen evil; her sister had demonstrated it enough over the years and he certainly was not like Bella. He was observant but also obtuse in his own way. He may be trained in the mind arts, but he did a poor job at hiding what he felt.

Whatever he decided to do, she hoped it brought him a modicum of happiness. Evidently, his life had not been pleasant, and though he had not said as much, he had suffered.

It did not take an expert in any medical field to see that.

(Break)

“Our Lord wishes for me to tell you that he is impressed with your current efforts,” the man spoke. “If you continue as you are then you will soon have the honour of being bestowed with his mark. Only those who prove themselves worthy will receive it. I have not doubt that all of you sitting here today will do so.”

Bellatrix could almost feel the smile he undoubtedly wore beneath his white mask as he appraised them.

They too were hidden beneath a similar ensemble, their identities supposedly hidden from one another at this stage. She had already figured out most of them. The fools hadn’t even attempted to disguise their voices as they spouted their support for the Lord they had yet to meet.

Her fiancé was amongst them as was his brother. Rudolphus evidently thought that whatever excuse he made to leave would be enough to fool her. He had been the first she recognised, though he had seemingly failed to do the same for her.

Still, he made his excuses when a meeting was called, and she had no intention of confronting him. If he was so ignorant that he did not even recognise his own fiancé, then she would not make herself known.

She had begun making a game of it where she would see how ridiculous and flimsy his reasons for leaving her at odd times could get and he had not disappointed her with them.

The best so far was that he needed to buy some polish immediately as the filth on his wand was bothering him.

She sneered at thought beneath her hood.

Lucius was here too as was Evan Rosier, Crabbe, Goyle and most of her year group and above that had once been in Slytherin House. There were even some that had been in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw that she was surprised by.

How she came to be here had been a rather odd occurrence.

She had received a letter addressed to her in a hand she knew not; the message short and simple:

If you wish to see the purebloods flourish, grasp this note at 7pm tonight and you will find yourself amongst those that share your views… LV

She had been curious, and against her better judgement, had followed the instructions. She had appeared in a cubicle of sorts with the dark robes and white mask she wore now waiting for her. Another note had been left.

Your discretion and anonymity are appreciated.

She had donned the robes and joined the other twenty or so people that had also been invited, each of them garbed in the black and white also.

There, her life changed.

The very same man that addressed them now had told them of the plight the purebloods faced from the influx of muggleborns and half-bloods that were arriving in their world.

As a girl, she had been taught that these people were below her and she had not deigned them with her time. Bellatrix, however, had not been aware of the danger they posed.

“Already they outnumber us more than fifty to one. What do you think they will do when they become aware of it? They will demand our gold, our houses and our positions. They would take the food from your tables to feed their unworthy children!”

The man had struck a nerve with her and she had been enthralled and enraged by his words. How dare those lesser beings do such a thing? She would not stand for it and neither would any other that cared for the pureblood values that had withstood for centuries.

He had those gathered riled up in a frenzy and lusting for the blood of those that would besmirch their traditions. Bellatrix too had been caught up in the moment, but it was not until she saw her Lord in action that she had not looked back. She had been simply intoxicated by his mere presence and incredible skill with a wand.

Having suitably provoked the ire of those that had attended, the man had invited them to take their first steps in ensuring the mudbloods and half-bloods knew their place.

Only three had declined the offer and had left; the rest had taken a portkey and appeared at the edge of a small muggle city where they were greeted by another cloaked and masked man.

This one said nothing but gestured for them to follow. What happened next could be described as nothing less than a slaughter.

The man that did not speak wreaked havoc on the houses, destroying them with little more than a flick of his wand and cutting down muggles as they attempted to flee.

Bellatrix could feel the power radiating off him in waves as he cast spell after spell, many of which she had never seen the likes of.

Empowered or inspired by his example, the others had joined in and all that remained when they were through was piles of wood, rubble and bodies,

The whole thing had passed in a blur, but when all was said and done, she was exhausted, breathing heavily and covered in blood that was not her own. It had been exhilarating even if the man only offered them a nod of approval before vanishing in thick, dark cloud.

“That was our lord,” their initial, masked contact had explained. “If you impress him enough, he has promised to train you himself in magic that you could never hope to learn without him. You have witnessed his power, now you must decide if you wish to stand with him or against him. You must all choose a side eventually.”

That had all but made her mind up and she had been attending the regular meetings since. They didn’t all end in them sending a message through violence, but often, they did.

She had grown to love the nervousness before and the thrill during more so. Even when the aurors arrived to try to put a stop to them, it only excited her.

She had witnessed the power of the Lord and knew there was none that could hope to match him. She had grown up a Black, had seen her grandfather practice the family magic, and found it lacking compared to what she had seen the masked man do. She had been around what she had believed to be powerful wizards, and yet, this man was beyond them all.

Perhaps it was the thrill of what she could do whilst hidden by her mask and robes or even a slight fear from what she had witnessed. It mattered not.

She had chosen her side and would urge her family to do the same when the time was right.

She could see nothing to gain from opposing this man and his support only grew. In only a few years, his numbers would be greater than any that would stand against him.

His victory was inevitable, and she was determined to be on the winning side.

She frowned as another figure entered the room and whispered to the first who nodded, having listened to what they had to say.

“Then have her dealt with. She must not be allowed to speak but be cautious.”

“Of course,” the other answered before hurrying towards the door.

“You have my apologies for the interruption, an urgent matter requires our attention,” the man explained as the other took his leave. “We will end the meeting, for now, and reconvene in three-days-time. You will receive your invites the usual way.”

He left abruptly, following in the wake of the person that had interrupted them.

Bellatrix didn’t know who they were speaking of, but the outlook for that person was bleak. If their Lord’s associate wanted someone dead, they were not long for this world.

As she usually did, she left as the meeting was concluded. She didn’t have anything to say to the other robed and masked figures and didn’t want to listen to the drivel of her newly found comrades.

They all had their own reasons for being there; some believed in the pureblood movement and felt it was their duty, some were young and wanted to prove themselves and others simply enjoyed the violence and chaos they caused.

Bellatrix would admit she fell into the latter category, but she also wanted to get something out of it. She wanted to learn from the man that led them and keep her family safe. When her grandfather learnt of the power the Dark Lord wielded, he would see sense. Until then, her presence would suffice.

A part of her already knew that this truly had little to do with pureblood traditions, but she didn’t care. She was not as foolish as some of those she stood amongst. She had heard what happened to the Bones family and saw all of this for what it was.

It may start under the guise of maintaining their positions in the world but it would escalate.

Not all pureblood families would agree with them and some would even stand with the muggleborns and mudbloods. A power struggle would eventually ensue and only one would emerge victorious.

From what she had seen and what she felt, that would be the Dark Lord and she intended to be on the winning side.

(Break)

“Unbelievable,” Healer Camden whispered as she inspected the thin scar that remained.

The surgeon that had accompanied her nodded his agreement.

“I have never seen someone heal so quickly from an operation like that,” he muttered. “Have you always healed so quickly?”

Harry frowned thoughtfully.

“I don’t know what you would consider fast healing,” he replied with a shrug.

“Well, the leg should still be sore, and you certainly shouldn’t be able to stand on it. Is there any pain?”

“No, but it’s really stiff,” Harry answered honestly.

Although it was no longer throbbing, his leg was almost immovable and had seized considerably.

The surgeon nodded as he too inspected the limb.

“It needs to be loosened up,” he declared. “You will need to stretch and exercise it as much as you can, but don’t overdo it. I would recommend walking to begin and I will give you a list of stretches that the healers will assist you with for a few days at least. I will check on your progress, but I must say that I am in agreement, your recovery has been much quicker than expected.”

“Does that mean I can leave soon?” Harry asked.

“Within the week if your recovery continues at this rate,” the surgeon confirmed as he scratched away with his quill. “Hmm, I wonder,” he added, mumbling to himself as he eyed Harry speculatively.

“What is it?” the healer questioned.

“I am wondering if the phoenix tears in his system are still active. Not much research has been done on them and it would explain his faster recovery.”

The healer shrugged and the surgeon shook his head of the thought.

“It doesn’t matter I suppose. It’s not as though we can confirm it unless your raven is not what he seems.”

“Death!” Olin shrieked in reply as he glared at the surgeon.

“No,” Harry chuckled as he held out his arm for the bird to land on, “he is just a raven.”

The surgeon nodded as he took a step back, unnerved by the scrutiny he was under.

“Very well, I will see you in a few days, and, with a bit of luck, you can be out of here.”

“Hopefully,” Harry murmured as the man left the room.

“Well, that is good news,” Healer Camden declared after a moment. “Would you like to try to walk on it?”

Harry did so and though it wasn’t painful, his muscles were tight and the leg barely cooperated. He certainly wouldn’t be running anytime soon.

“Definitely stiff,” Camden commented as she took a few notes. “Take a seat, Harry, and we will try to stretch it out a little.”

He did so and grimaced as she went about her work, her manipulations causing the muscles to pull uncomfortably. It was not as bad as his leg had been before he had come here but it was still unpleasant.

“You will need to stretch it as regularly as you can,” the healer urged. “Now, try and stand on it again.”

His leg felt almost jelly-like as he put weight on it this time, but it felt looser, and when he took a few experimental steps he could move it a little more.

“Good,” Camden praised, “now sit down and rest it for a while. As the surgeon said, you don’t want to overdo it.”

He sat on the edge of the bed gratefully and picked up one of the books Dumbledore had left him. Despite having lived on the run for the past few years, he hadn’t managed to work his way through them all. Whilst he was here, it would be productive to do so. The old man left them to him for a reason.

The one he was perusing now was a very old book, likely having been written before the founders had built Hogwarts. There was no name or date to explain the origins, but it didn’t take long for him to understand that it was a book on archaic magic that Dumbledore had helpfully translated.

The original language was not one he understood but the note in the headmaster’s hand had piqued his interest in the work:

Sometimes to move forward, a step back is all we need. You will find much of this magic very useful, as have I throughout the decades. It was gifted to me by Nicholas upon the completion of my apprenticeship with him and I would not be the wizard I am without it.

“What is that language?” the healer asked, peering at the indiscernible words scribbled on the page.

“A very old one,” Harry answered. “There are very few in the world that could hope to read it.”

Although Dumbledore had translated it into English for his benefit, he had charmed it so that only he could see the translation. Even the book itself would appear to be much newer than it was to avoid drawing attention to it.

“How very strange,” Camden mused aloud as she left the room.

Somehow, he felt better than he had since he first woke up here. He couldn’t be certain if his spirits had merely been lifted because his leg would finally be well or if he felt he had space to breathe for the first time in years. Whatever it was, he was grateful, and it gave him the opportunity to think a little more clearly.

Of course, he still had Voldemort to deal with, but he didn’t believe that would happen any time soon. Although he had been in isolated in this room, he had heard no whispers of a Dark Lord and he himself didn’t know where to begin tackling that problem. He would prepare himself accordingly, but his priority would be becoming familiar with where he found himself. In only the confines of this room, he had already been surprised by the differences he’d observed and had no doubt that many more would follow.

Other than that, he could not be certain what he would do when he was not preparing for what was to come.

He opened his trunk to return the book, frowning as he caught sight of his sixth-year potions text.

Despite everything he had learned and the skills he had picked up on the way, he had never taken his NEWTs and his OWL results had not exactly proven to be something he was proud of. Perhaps he could retake them? How would he even go about such a thing?

He closed the lid of his trunk and settled back into his pillows, his leg starting to ache from his efforts to walk.

He would like to take them, even just so he could say that he did finish his schooling, but it was not something he would do unless it became a necessity. His focus would have to remain on where he found himself and what he had been sent here to do.

(Break)

She had finally adjusted to her change in sleep pattern and woke feeling refreshed for the first time in days. No matter how often she switched between night and day shifts, she would feel the lethargy and was pleased that this bout had passed. It was an irksome part of her job but one that needed to be tolerated.

No longer feeling so drained, she pushed her blanket off herself and got out of bed, only to frown as a tapping sounded and she spotted an unfamiliar owl waiting to be admitted through her window.

She opened it and relieved it of its’ missive, the creature standing proudly and unmoving as she did so. When she had removed the roll of parchment, it took flight and exited.

The hand was not one she was familiar with, though it was addressed to her formally and she broke seal before reading;

To Miss Black,

You have my apologies if this is out of the blue but having shared a meal with you, I was compelled to write.

I admit that I was surprised by how drawn to you I felt by merely being seated at the same table, but I was.

We may have shared a house and common room at school, but I was foolish for not noticing you then. You have grown to be a beautiful woman and I would be remiss to not seek a correspondence with you in the hope that I may dine with you again in the future.

I eagerly await your reply,

Yours,

Lucius Malfoy

She reread the short letter a few times before placing it on her desk and readying herself for another night at the hospital.

She had noticed the looks that the man had sent her way but had thought little of them. They were not looks of interest she had seen but more born of curiosity, particularly when her career had been mentioned.

Perhaps she had misread them?

She worried her bottom lip at the implications of receiving such a letter and the apparent intentions of it before snatching it up from her desk and heading to the parlour room where she found her mother and father seated.

“Narcissa, is something wrong?” her father questioned, noticing her confused expression.

“I just received this,” she explained as she handed the parchment to him.

He read it and chuckled uncharacteristically.

“He didn’t wait around,” he muttered.

“You knew about this?” Narcissa asked as her mother took the note.

“I did,” Cygnus confirmed. “Abraxus asked permission for his son to write. He is rather smitten with you.”

“It would be a very good match,” Druella offered, “Even better than Bella’s. The Malfoy’s are a very influential family.”

Narcissa nodded. She could not deny that, but it made little sense to her. Lucius as an heir should be married to someone more prominent. She was of a secondary branch to the Black line and many would consider her far below his station.

“What is it?” her mother pressed seeing her thoughtful expression.

“Nothing,” she returned.

Her mother looked at her sceptically for a moment before her father spoke.

“Well, are you not going to write back to him?” Cygnus questioned.

“I will,” she confirmed. “I will do it during my break, I have to go,” she reminded them.

“Make sure you do,” her father called after her as she retrieved her letter and left the room, her thoughts awash with surprise and confusion.

She didn’t know what to make of it. She was a Black and would be a desirable match for any family but the Malfoys? To her, something felt off, but she pushed those thoughts aside.

She was likely being paranoid and pondering it too much. It was not as though he had proposed marriage between them but had merely asked her to dinner. Maybe marriage was not what he was looking for but friendship.

You have grown to be a beautiful woman…

The words only added to her doubts and when she entered the observation room, her frown had deepened, and her thoughts had only gotten messier.

“Are you alright, Black?” Camden asked, pulling her from her reverie.

“I’m fine, how is he doing?”

Her colleague shot her a look of disbelief but gestured for her to look through the window.

When she did, she was taken aback to see him pushing himself up and down from the ground using his arms, his injured leg sat atop the other.

“He is exercising,” Camden huffed. “He’s getting restless, but his leg is much better than we anticipated, and he should be well enough to be gone in a week, or less.”

“Exercising?”

“I asked him the same thing,” Camden snorted. “He said it helps him with lots of different things.”

Narcissa could only shake her head as she watched him.

The only time she had seen people exercise like that had been when she was at school and that was only the serious quidditch players.

“He seems to be doing well,” she commented.

“He is,” Camden agreed, “he had no problems standing but his leg is stiff. He seems to be determined to get out of here.”

Narcissa nodded thoughtfully as he stood and hobbled towards his pitcher of water. He poured himself a glass and emptied it before laying flat on the floor and began sitting halfway up and lowering himself back to the ground.

“Do you still think he is a soldier?” she asked, smirking slightly.

Camden shrugged.

“I’m not sure, but there’s more to him than meets the eye,” she replied. “He was reading a book today and the language was like nothing I have ever seen before. I couldn’t understand a single word of it.”

“Well, he’s not a soldier, he said as much,” Narcissa explained. “I don’t know what he is, but he wouldn’t explain about the venom or anything else. The only thing he did confirm was that his parents died when he was a baby.”

“Then who took care of him?”

Narcissa shrugged.

“He didn’t say, and I suppose we will never know much about him. He’s a lot shrewder than you would think.”

“He’s grown on me,” Camden admitted. “Maybe it’s because I’m old enough to be his mother and that I can see he has not had a good life or it’s just his way with people.”

Narcissa nodded her understanding and the woman handed her the clipboard of notes they had gathered over the weeks, her latest entry explaining his exercise regimen.

“He’s not what you would expect from a lord. It’s as though he hasn’t been raised as one.”

“Well, if his parents were dead and he was sent away, who would have taught him?” Camden asked as she bid her farewell with a wave.

She had not considered it. She had thought that perhaps he was raised by another family member, but that was unlikely. He had specifically said that they were all dead, so it was likely that he did not understand what being a lord meant or how to act as such.

Her grandfather would take comfort in that at least, but Peverell was not so naïve. He knew of politicians and had an idea of the type of people they were. He had deduced that her grandfather was concerned about his presence immediately and had even said that the only reason anyone would show an interest in him would be that or to use him.

No, he was not so clueless.

“Would it be possible for me to shower?” he spoke, interrupting her thoughts.

She could see no reason why he couldn’t. He was seemingly able to stand by himself now and it would probably do him some good. He was sweating from his exertions and the hot water might even soothe his leg.

“I will find a free one for you,” she answered, having pressed her wand against the required rune to speak with him.

(Break)

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had the luxury of a hot shower. He had one in his tent, but he had not felt comfortable using it. The last thing he wanted was to be caught by surprise whilst washing himself. As such, he had resorted to using cleaning charms; a poor substitute in comparison.

He revelled in the heat of the water as he allowed it to cascade over him. It was a simple commodity but not one he would take for granted again.

After what felt like hours of enjoying the sensation and scrubbing himself, he turned off the water and stepped out of the cubicle.

Wiping away the condensation, he balked at his appearance, the reflection staring at him not one he knew. The last time he had looked in a mirror his face had been younger, bereft of the scraggly beard he now sported, and his hair cut much shorter.

Now, he resembled a homeless man he had once seen out when Petunia had taken him shopping. Mrs Figg had been unable to look after him that day as one of her cats had become sick. Regardless, looking as he did would not do. If Hermione or Mrs Weasley were to see him, they would have a fit and he didn’t care for it either. He no longer looked like him.

With a sigh, he slid his wand into his hand and began shearing away the unkempt hair that had grown passed his shoulders until very little of it remained.

With a satisfactory nod, he did the same to his beard, leaving only a short stubble. He hadn’t practiced much with a shaving charm and he did not want to cut himself by attempting to remove it all.

When he had finished, the reflection was much more familiar, though he had lost any boyishness to his face that had been present the last time he’d looked. He was a man now, a young one, but his youth was undoubtedly gone. All that remained were his mother’s eyes and the scar Voldemort had given him. It was not as prominent as it had once been nor had it brought him pain since he’d arrived here, but it was there.

With his observations done, he showered once more to ensure no hair had clung to him and vanished his mess before exiting the bathroom that was a floor above his own room.

The walk back felt easier, and although he was still hobbling, he was able to stand at his full height, his leg allowing him to straighten it fully even if it did pull uncomfortably.

When he reached his room, he lowered himself carefully into his chair and Olin joined him, staring for a moment before seemingly recognising him.

“Death!” he chattered as he rubbed his head against his shoulder.

“Can we teach you some new words?” Harry huffed amusedly.

It was as though the bird scowled at him and Harry laughed once more as the door opened and his nightly caregiver entered, scratching away with her quill.

“Did the shower make you feel better?” she asked, her eyes widening in surprise as she looked up at him.

“It did, I actually feel human,” he replied.

“You look it,” she returned. “Sorry, I didn’t recognise you without all the hair. You now actually look your age.”

Harry shrugged.

“I’ve not paid much attention to it recently,” he explained as he rubbed a hand across his chin. “I can’t walk around looking like that forever,” he added.

“No,” she replied, a light frown marring her features as she took in his appearance. “Anyway, is there anything else you need?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, I’m quite tired so I will get some sleep soon.”

She nodded as she continued to stare at him speculatively for a moment and took her leave.

When she was gone, Harry stretched his leg for a few minutes and climbed into bed. He did feel better and it did not take long for sleep to take him, his efforts of the day having left him exhausted.

As had become the norm, he once again found himself in the room in the Department of Mysteries with the same voices whispering to him.

“Unite them…”

“The book… find it…”

“Become one with us…”

Three screams rent the air and the cloak figure emerged from within the veil. It had happened each time he was here. Sometimes, he would be stared at, and others, the figure would speak.

“Why are you hurting them?” he asked.

“It is their punishment. It is not their place to help you,” the figure replied, “but I can. Perhaps there is more to you than being the balance. Perhaps there are those whose fates you can change.”

Harry frowned.

“That wasn’t what I was brought here for.”

“No, it wasn’t,” the figure agreed, “but fate works in strange ways, Peverell. I may have brought you here, but it was at her behest. What if she wants more?

“What more could she ask of me?”

It felt as though he was being smiled at and he didn’t like it.

“We will see,” the figure muttered as it turned away and walked back towards the veil, pausing before it was swallowed up. “Danger is nearby, Peverell, follow it. Her life is in your hands. Perhaps you can prevent her being delivered to me this night.”

“Death!”

He was suddenly awake, a coldness seeping into his bones and he sat up and drew his wand. Something was amiss, he knew not what it was, but he could feel it drawing him in, urging him towards it.

“It’s okay, Harry, you just had another nightmare,” the voice of the healer sounded from the speaker.

He shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t a dream, something is here, I can feel it,” he replied as he pushed himself off the bed and pulled the door open.

The hospital was as quiet as it had been any other night, but he could sense something around him, something or someone that did not belong. It was similar to a feeling he’d had when the Snatchers or a group of Death Eaters had wandered closely to where he had been hiding within his tent.

“Harry, there is nothing wrong,” Narcissa insisted as she joined him.

He held up a hand for her to be quiet as he closed his eyes. The presence he felt was close but moving away from him. Cursing his leg, he followed it and found himself roaming the corridors and up two flights of steps before he came to a door with a red-robed figure slumped against the wall.

Narcissa gasped and almost unleashed a scream until he covered her mouth with his hand and shook his head firmly.

“Killing curse and a sticking charm,” he murmured as he gave the dead auror a brief examination.

The sticking charm was obvious, and the former was something he had become very familiar with. He would recognise the feeling of the magic anywhere.

“We need to get help,” Narcissa hissed, her skin having paled as she trembled next to him.

“It’s too late for that,” he replied as he pushed the door open and slipped inside quietly.

He found himself in another corridor with only a few doors, one of which was slightly ajar.

Bracing himself, he edged towards it chiding himself for not casting a disillusionment charm over himself. He could not do so now. It may just alert whomever was lurking here, and he did not have time to go back.

The presence was strong and grew so with each passing second.

Tentatively, he peered through the gap and saw a dark figure with his wand pointed towards a woman that was seemingly sleeping, unaware of what was about to happen.

Knowing he did not have a second to lose, he kicked the door open as the first syllable of the dreaded curse was uttered, the caster immediately turning their attention towards him.

“Avada Kedavra.”

This time, Narcissa did scream, seemingly having followed him. Harry, however, had anticipated the move and whipped his wand upwards, intercepting the spell with a section of the floor.

With a growl, he returned fire before the would-be assassin could follow up, his wand a blur and a trio of curses being unleashed.

A shield was erected but was demolished as the third spell collided with it, a high-pitched whistle sounding as it collapsed and a grunt of surprise escaping Harry’s foe as he was pinned to the wall with a scythe embedded through his chest.

He gasped as he fought to remove it, screaming when his hands burned as he gripped the shaft.

After only a few seconds, he slumped forward with a death rattle, falling still as his suffering came to an end.

Harry’s focus was interrupted by the sound of an alarm blaring and he turned towards the door to be greeted by the sight of a dozen healers staring at him in a mixture of shock and awe.

“Well, don’t just stand there, someone get the aurors,” he said irritably.

“They’re already on their way,” a man answered. “Bloody hell, what happened?”

“Whoever that is, tried to kill her,” Harry explained jerking his thumb towards the now awake woman who was sat up in bed, her eyes fixed on the man that had been intent on murdering her.

“Merlin,” the man replied, shaking his head in disbelief. “Someone inform the family of what has happened. They will not take this well.”

“I will do it,” a woman declared as she took a final look at the scene before her and left.

“I think it is best that you return to your room, young man,” the one that had seemingly taken charge advised. “The aurors will want to speak with you.”

Harry merely nodded as he slid his wand back in its holster and took his leave, his thoughts turning to why the cloaked figure wanted him to act. What was so special about this woman and why would he want her saved?

He would have to ask him next time they met, which would likely happen when he fell asleep.

When he entered his room, he became aware that Narcissa had followed and was staring at him, still pale and trembling.

“Your first time seeing someone die?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Working here, you see it a lot,” she explained. “I’ve never seen anyone killed like that. How are you so calm?”

He shrugged in reply.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” he sighed. “I watched as my mother was murdered in front of me. You would think that I wouldn’t remember only being a year old, but even now the memory haunts me. I’ve seen people die many times since.”

She swallowed deeply as she continued to stare at him.

“You’ve done that before,” she stated. “You knew what to do when he fired that curse at you.”

He could only nod in response seeing no use in denying it.

“He was going to kill her and tried to do the same to me.”

“I know,” she whispered, “but, how did you? How did you know he was here?”

“I don’t know,” he answered.

He could tell that she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she leaned back in the chair she had sat in and released a deep breath.

(Break)

She couldn’t believe what she had witnessed. She knew there was more to him, but she had not expected that. He had been calm and calculated as he took the man down with magic she had never seen, though it was not just the spells that had caught her attention. It was the feeling he exuded as he did so.

The cold may have been from the fear she felt but the shift of his eyes was unmistakable. It had only been there for a second, but she did not miss it. When he was in the heat of battle the green of his eyes had become a blaze, so much so that they were visible in the darkness of the room and then completely white.

The words her grandfather had spoken of the Peverells had ran through her mind.

‘Flee the ones with ravens, both man and bird with eyes of white…’

She once more found herself drawn to them. They were green but she knew what she had seen in that room.

“Death!” the raven shrieked as it landed on his shoulder and began preening itself.

The man calmly reached up and stroked the feathers of his companion, his mind occupied with whatever he was pondering. He did not appear to feel any guilt for what he’d done, nor did he seem happy. It was as though he’d had to do something unpleasant and forgotten about it when the deed was done.

“Are you okay?” she asked nervously.

Her words pulled him from his thoughts, and he nodded.

“You?”

She didn’t know how she felt. She was shaken up and everything had happened so quickly.

“Numb,” she answered.

He said nothing and only a few moments later, a loud knock on the door sounded and a pair of aurors entered without being prompted, one with their wand drawn and the other, a heavily scarred man, more so than her patient.

“Are you the one that offed the bloke upstairs?” the latter asked.

Harry nodded.

“Then we’ll be staying with you until the Minister knows about this,” he informed him. “You’ve made quite the mess, lad.”

“He saved that patients life!” Narcissa protested.

“Aye and killed the son of a Lord who will kick up a bloody fuss,” the auror growled, “but between us in here, you have my gratitude. The woman you saved was a friend’s mother, but we have a process to follow. You’re not under arrest, not yet.”

Harry remained as calm as he had been though she did not miss the twitching of his fingers as he considered reaching for his wand.

She internally pleaded him not to do so. She didn’t want to be caught up in another fight.

“I’m Auror Moody,” the scarred man spoke after a moment of silence. “What happened?” he asked, turning to her.

“I don’t know,” Narcissa sighed. “Harry felt something was wrong and we went to investigate. We found the dead auror and that man in the room with the patient. He fired a killing curse and Harry defended himself.”

The auror nodded appreciatively.

“Defending yourself against that is impressive,” he mumbled as he noted down what she said. “Are you an auror, lad? A duellist?”

Harry snorted and shook his head.

“No, but I can handle myself.”

“Aye, we can see that.”

“Sorry, but who was it he killed? He saved that patient’s life and he’s being treated like a criminal,” Narcissa pointed out. “If he hadn’t found him, she would be dead.”

The auror released a breath of frustration.

“The other man was Lord Avery’s son and heir.”

“Thomas?” Narcissa questioned.

He had been a few years above her at school. He was the quiet and studious type who kept himself away from most others.

“Aye,” the auror confirmed as another knock at the door sounded and yet another auror entered.

He whispered to Moody who was not happy by what he heard. The new arrival left shortly afterwards, and the grizzled man turned towards her.

“He’s going to have to come with us,” he sighed. “The Minister wants him held until we can complete our investigation and decide what course of action we are going to take.”

“Course of action? I already told you what happened.”

“And I believe you,” Moody assured her, “but this is much more complicated than that.”

He then turned his attention to Harry.

“There are a dozen aurors outside the door, you’re not going to fight, are you?” he asked as he drew his wand.

Harry shook his head as he stood.

“Death!” Olin shrieked in protest.

The man calmly comforted the bird with a few muttered words.

“Can I let him out? He won’t appreciate being locked in here.”

“Aye,” Moody agreed, “you can.”

He opened the small window of the room and the bird exited with a screech of irritation.

“I will need your wand, lad.”

Harry nodded and handed two over before following the two aurors from the room. Where he was being taken, she didn’t know, but she was worried for him.

He could be charged with murder and if Avery garnered enough support from the Wizengamot, he could be convicted and sent to Azkaban.

She couldn’t allow that to happen. He may have killed the man, but he had done the right thing, even the auror, Moody, knew it.

No, she couldn’t sit idly by and watch him be punished for. She knew enough about the world she lived in to know that he needed help and there was only one person she knew of that could in this situation.