Whispers of Raven - The Choices I Make

“I think your daughter is calling for you,” Narcissa mumbled sleepily.

Harry chuckled before kissing her on the cheek and sliding out of bed, the sound of the crying baby easily heard from the adjoining room. For one so small, she had quite the pair of lungs on her.

“It’s okay, Dobby, I’ll go to her,” he assured the elf as he passed him on the landing.

Dobby nodded and returned to wherever he slept leaving Harry to perform his nightly duties. For as doting as his wife and elf were with little Helena, he seldom got time alone with the girl, but the early hours of the morning when she woke to be fed was his opportunity, and despite how tired he was, he wouldn’t miss it.

“Alright, little one, Daddy’s here,” here he yawned as he carefully scooped her out of her basket.

At three months old, her resemblance to Narcissa was undeniable, though the emerald eyes she possessed were his, and as he met them, the baby smiled, reminding him of just why he dragged himself from the warmth of his bed to see her.

Some may call him biased, but she was adorable, a stubborn girl already when she did not want to be dressed or fed, but Harry would have her no other way. She was perfect and he had fallen in love all over again during the past weeks.

“Shall we get you fed?” he asked as he carried her towards where her bottles were kept under preservation charms, “and changed,” he added, wrinkling his nose.

The girl merely stared at him, her eyes wide as though he was the most fascinating thing in the world. Harry often found himself wondering just what went through her mind when she looked at him but then she would smile again, and he found it no longer mattered.

His daughter was happy, and he couldn’t ask for anything more.

Dealing with the soiled nappy the way Narcissa had taught him, he took care to dry and powder the girl who somehow looked rather proud of herself.

“Yeah, you find it amusing now,” he muttered as he picked her up from the changing table, “but one day, daddy might need you to do the same for him when he’s an old man and can’t look after himself.”

The girl’s expression remained as it was, and the man shook his head amusedly.

“Ah, you won’t look so smug when you’re old enough to understand,” he sighed as he took a seat in the nursing chair Narcissa had procured and placed the teat of the bottle between the little girl’s lips who began suckling hungrily.

“You’ll make yourself sick again,” Harry warned, though his words fell on deaf ears.

The baby was feeding, and she no longer paid attention to him, but he hummed a lullaby of sorts to her as he pondered just how odd it was how life could change seemingly overnight.

Helena, though she arrived early, had been expected and something he and Narcissa had planned for. They had made the necessary adjustments and she nestled in nicely with the life they had cultivated for themselves.

The postponement of the Quidditch season, however, was not something that had been anticipated.

Harry had wondered what had happened to the rogue Dementors since the Hogsmeade attack. Without news of further incidents, he had assumed the Ministry had managed to place them back under their control, for what that was worth. It turns out they had simply been roaming the British Isles and had been drawn to the match between the Magpies and Tornados, the atmosphere proving too much for the creatures to ignore.

Eleven people had received the Dementor’s kiss, and many others had to be treated for exposure, but in all, it was a lucky escape for a stadium filled to capacity.

The aurors had arrived and repelled the former Azkaban guards, but the search for them was still ongoing after they had fled.

It had crossed Harry’s mind that Voldemort had been behind the attack, but he had dismissed such thoughts.

Tom would not risk such an asset with nothing to gain. If they were to be used to attack any Quidditch match, it would have been one he was playing in.

Regardless, it was something the people of Magical Britain would not forget, and many believed the Dark Lord to be behind it. Why wouldn’t they when the Dementors had allied themselves with the man already?

Tom’s involvement with the occurrence notwithstanding, he had taken advantage of the fear that had been instilled and the Death Eater attacks had once again been increased.

It was something that frustrated Harry to no end, not just because the attacks had resumed as frequently as they had been before, but because the cowards continued to flee when anyone willing to put a stop to them arrived.

That was undoubtedly Tom’s work. As little as he cared for those loyal to him, he thrived on having a numbers advantage and would not risk losing that.

As such, Harry, the Order or the aurors would arrive at the scene to find only empty streets, burning buildings and bodies of victims that had been left behind.

Britain was truly gripped by fear and there was little that could be done about it.

Moody had been right when he said it was a time no one knew who could be trusted, and although Harry had a list of people he knew to be Death Eaters, there were many, many more unaccounted for. Even those he knew of had seemingly gone to ground and had even sent proxies in their stead during Wizengamot meeting citing fear of attack.

Already, the disappearances the grizzled auror had spoken of had begun happening. Lord McKinnon had vanished without trace, as had Lady Dagworth, the latter leaving behind no heirs.

People clung to foolish hope that they would be found, but Harry already knew they were dead, and yet, he knew not what else he could do. He was at a loss, and there was only so much time he could spend looking for the elusive robed and masked men and women.

During only a few months, much more than Harry could have imagined had changed, and most, not for the better.

“How is she?” Narcissa’s whispered voice broke into his thoughts.

“Sleeping,” Harry responded, “as you should be.”

Narcissa smiled and shook her head.

“I only have a few days before I go back. I have to get used to not sleeping much.”

“You don’t have to go back, Cissy,” Harry sighed.

“I know, but they need me, Harry. With how things are, we need all the healers we can get.”

“I know,” he replied, “and you’re sure your mother is okay looking after her?”

Narcissa rolled her eyes at him.

“She’s looking forward to it,” she snorted. “Say what you will about the Blacks, they do love their children.”

Harry could not deny her words, though he did not count Walburga amongst the other doting Black women. Dorea, Druella and Melania were often here to see Helena, each of them as caring and nurturing as the next.

“I know,” he agreed.

“And besides, you will be able to pick her up after training,” Narcissa reminded him.

Harry nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. He certainly would not object to spending more time with his daughter, but he still felt it was too soon for Narcissa to be returning to work.

She was a stubborn woman and would hear no differently on the matter.

“Then let us enjoy these final few days before I barely see you,” he suggested.

“It won’t be like this forever,” Narcissa soothed as she took their daughter and placed her back in her basket, “so stop sulking, and come back to bed with me.”

Harry snorted as he followed his wife.

Who was he to deny her such a request?

(Break)

Having Peverell return to host another Quidditch workshop was supposed to be exciting and something that would give the students something to look forward after the exams for the year had been completed. Although it was something anticipated by many, the mood within the castle had marred what was going to be the highlight of the year.

It wasn’t the fault of the students, for the most part at least. They had all been here and were being fed small amounts of news as it trickled in from the outside world, but to them, and to James, none of it felt real.

Not until the revelation of Marlene’s father’s disappearance came to light.

The girl was devestated and had not considered her family were in danger. Why would they be? They were purebloods who did not involve themselves with many others, but he was gone, nonetheless.

If the Lord McKinnon was not safe in his home, then who was?

Marlene had been inconsolable, and though the rest of the school who cared had tried, there was no helping her.

Lady McKinnon had written to advise her to stay at school as it was the safest place for her whilst the family dealt with the fallout of what happened, and that only seemed to help less. On several occasions, James, Sirius, and Remus had to intercept her as she attempted to escape, the trio taking turns to monitor the map to keep an eye on the emotional girl.

Thus far, they had managed it, and though the Marlene had grown suspicious as to how they knew where she was, she yet remained.

For how long, James knew not, but he would do all he could to keep her safe. He wouldn’t pretend to understand all of what was happening outside the walls of Hogwarts, but he knew he was safer here, for the most part.

There were those that supported the Dark Lord, not so openly, but it was not a secret well-kept. It didn’t surprise the teen that most spent their days clad in green and silver, but there were those from other houses also. It promoted nothing but distrust amongst the students and only added to the already tense atmosphere.

“Alright, gather round,” Peverell instructed looking more tired than James was used to seeing him.

It was understandable. The man had recently become a father and juggled that responsibility with his Quidditch duties. Still, it was strange to think of him as such and not the man that had spent the previous year teaching them Defence Against the Dark Arts.

He was famous now, the undefeated Seeker that had come from nowhere to dominate the league, but to James, he was a distant relative and someone he had grown to admire and respect since he had gotten to know him.

“I want some warmup laps from all of you to begin with and then you will split off into groups and attempt the various obstacle courses dotted around. I will be looking for crisp technique with your flying and offer pointers where needed. Off you go,” Peverell instructed.

The students complied without question. They had learnt that the mysterious lord was not one to get on the wrong side of. Even those that despised him for what he had done to the Dark Lord and were vocal with their support of the man would not wish to provoke the Professor turned Quidditch player.

“Is there a reason you’re not flying with the others, Potter?” the voice of the man broke into James’s thoughts.

“Sorry, I’m just worried about Marlene, we all are,” he replied. “Could you speak to her. You know what it’s like to, erm, well…you know.”

“Lose my parents to a madman?” Harry asked.

James grimaced at the wording but nodded.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Harry held up a hand to placate the boy.

“I will have a word with her,” he assured the Potter heir. “Is she here?”

James nodded.

“She’s in the stands with Lily,” James replied, pointing in the vague direction he knew they would be.

Harry nodded and headed towards the indicated stand.

He felt for the young woman. As someone who had grown knowing Voldemort had murdered his parents, he had struggled with the knowledge and had no way to escape from. It was not the same as what Marlene was experiencing, but he understood the pain she would be feeling, the frustration and helplessness.

“Oh, hello, Professor,” Lily greeted him as he reached the duo.

Harry snorted and shook his head.

“I’m not your Professor anymore, Lily,” he reminded the redhead, who flushed slightly. “You can just call me Harry.”

“Shouldn’t I call you Lord Peverell?” the girl asked.

“Only if it was formal and I hadn’t given you leave to use my name,” he answered as he took a seat next to a pale and almost catatonic Marlene. “But I have given you leave to do so.”

Lily nodded her understanding and took the hint as to why he had joined them.

“I’ll come back in a minute,” she said to Marlene who merely nodded her response.

With an almost pleading look to Harry, Lily took her leave and began walking around the outside of the Quidditch pitch.

“It’s hard,” Harry sighed, not ever having frankly spoken of what he had gone through growing up without his parents, the questions he’d wanted answers to. The fact that James and Lily lived here counted for little other than Harry knowing he could prevent the same fate from taking place. “Your friends think they can understand what you’re going through and they really try, but they don’t know. Without experiencing it for themselves, they can’t understand.”

Marlene nodded, though her eyes remained firmly staring ahead.

“What we have experienced is different, but I have lived with what happened to my parents since I was old enough to understand that they were dead.”

“I don’t know that my father is dead,” Marlene whispered, “and that’s the worst thing about it. If I knew he was dead, I wouldn’t be thinking about what could be happening to him.”

Harry released a deep breath, the tone of her voice speaking more of the torment she was enduring than the words she spoke.

“Other than running your family, what did your father do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Marlene answered. “We are not especially wealthy, and we don’t have anything anyone could want from us.”

“Other than influence,” Harry corrected. “Your father is a popular man on the Wizengamot and there are those that would follow him if he supported the Dark Lord. That’s what he would have banked on at least.”

Oddly, the girl gave him a sad smile.

“You think he is dead, don’t you?”

Harry did not know how to answer that question other than being honest with the girl.

“The Dark Lord is not one to take prisoners. If your father proved to be the man I believe him to be, he would not have given in to him and would have fought bravely.”

“He would have,” Marlene agreed. “My father would never support him,” she added, her eyes filling with tears.

“Then yes, I believe that he is dead.”

Marlene nodded, and her silent tears became wracking sobs.

As had been the case when Ron had died, Harry did not know what to do when faced with a girl in such a state, but he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tried to comfort her as best he could.

“What do I do?” she choked when she had calmed some minutes later.

“What would your father suggest?” Harry returned.

Marlene frowned at the question and deflated.

“He would tell me to stay out of it and help my mother with my brothers when I get home.”

“Then that is what you should do,” Harry suggested. “Grieve for him and remember the good times. The war will continue as it is until the Dark Lord is stopped.”

“By you?” Marlene asked.

Harry nodded solemnly.

“I will put him in the ground for me, for you, and anyone else that has gone through what we have because of him,” he vowed.

“I hope so,” Marlene replied. “The bastard deserves to suffer for what he has done.”

Harry snorted as he stood.

“Lean on your friends if you need to, they are worried about you and just want to help, but don’t be afraid to tell them to piss off if you need time alone. Just don’t do anything stupid,” he sighed.

“I won’t,” Marlene assured him, “and thank you. I know they’re trying but they don’t get it like you do.”

“Let us hope they never do,” Harry replied, eliciting a nod of agreement from the girl. “Write to your mother, Marlene. Let her know that you’re okay. I’m sure she would appreciate the support. I think you both will.”

“I will,” Marlene promised before sighing. “Does it get any easier?”

Her tone was almost hopeful, and Harry shook his head.

“No,” he answered candidly, “we just become accustomed to carrying that pain with us, but if there is anything I have learnt, it is to not let it define who I am. For a long time, an orphan boy was all I was, and I never thought my life would be any different. Despite that, I married a beautiful woman and have a daughter. I would die for them both, to keep them safe and happy. I would bet your father thought the same thing of you, your mother, and your brothers.”

With his parting words given, he allowed the girl some space to think their conversation over.

Harry would never be good at comforting people nor offering platitudes, but something within him felt that he had helped the girl towards coming to terms with what had happened. It was a difficult thing to accept, a pain that would never leave her, but he knew that honesty was what she needed.

Accepting that her father was gone was the first step, the very same one he himself had taken many years prior when he understood that the dead did not simply return.

Even with magic, such a thing was not possible, not without delving into branches that should be left well alone.

(Break)

For months, he had been planning his next moves meticulously, readying himself for his inevitable triumphant return. Already his Death Eaters had begun his work, carrying out tasks on his behalf whilst he regained his strength and worked towards putting his own efforts into motion.

Soon enough, the Wizarding world would remember why he was to be feared and not merely through those that acted on his orders. They would see for themselves the power he wielded, the lengths he was willing to go to destroy his enemies, and they would either flock to him or fall to his wand as many others already had.

It was not often the Dark Lord felt so excited, but the prospect of what was to happen filled him with the unfamiliar emotion, the anticipation alone enough to warm him.

“In only a matter of days, they will know,” he said quietly, garnering the attention of those gathered before him. “They will learn that their efforts to deny our will are folly, fruitless, and that even the strongest among them cannot hope to stand against us.”

He paused to allow the murmuring of his followers to cease, and he eyed them critically before speaking once more.

“There are those among you that doubt me. Do not deny it,” he warned. “Many of you witnessed what befell me in Hogsmeade, some of you even believed that I perished. A lesser man would have, but not me. If anything, it serves as a reminder that I rose when all other would have fallen, that I faced adversity and overcame it, and that I stand before you now stronger and more determined than I have ever been to see our vision become reality.”

His followers cheered and the Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at them.

He would show them the error of their ways.

“Peverell was but a minor setback, a man that I merely underestimated. Make no mistake, he is a powerful wizard who wields magic that few will ever understand, but my own is stronger. It overcame his, purged his best offering from my body and in doing so, it made me more than what I ever was. I will show you,” Voldemort promised. “I will show that I am not only mightier with my wand, but also possess the same cunning as my forefathers. I will destroy Harry Peverell. I will break his mind, body and spirit in ways that he cannot even imagine. I make this vow to you, those that are loyal to our cause, that we will emerge victorious, and the world will be as it should.”

“We believe you, my lord,” one of his men called and Voldemort’s nostrils flared.

“You will,” he replied. “When Peverell lies broken beneath my feet, your doubts will be put to rest, but first, he will suffer for what he has done. Now, ready yourselves, for in only a few short days, the world will bear witness to my return.”

The Dark Lord left the room to a cacophony of cheers and applause, neither of which meant nothing to the man. He did not want plaudits nor their empty gestures. He wanted their loyalty and adulation, both of which he would have once more when his work was complete.

(Break)

“I’m looking forward to spending more time with her,” Druella cooed enthusiastically, bouncing a giggling Helena on her knee.

Narcissa smiled at her mother.

A part of her knew that she was trying so hard with her daughter because of how much she had missed out on with Nymphadora, but she wasn’t going to complain nor take exception to the fact. Her mother was trying to make amends with Andromeda, and even Ted to an extent.

Druella carried a lot of guilt and Narcissa was not going to question the way she dealt with it. As far as she was concerned, her mother was doing all she could to make things right and paying each of her granddaughters more than enough attention.

“She loves you,” she replied, “and even father for a strange reason.”

Druella snorted.

“The man is going soft,” she sighed. “He has decided that yours and Andi’s old rooms will be given to Helena and Nymphadora for if they ever want to stay.”

Narcissa shook her head amusedly.

For as caustic and bitter her father could be, the two girls had him wrapped around their fingers.

“I think that little one there has that affect on people. I caught Harry singing to her the other night. She just stared at him as though he is the most special person in the world.”

“Maybe that’s the way she sees him,” Druella replied.

Narcissa nodded.

“She idolises him. She is already becoming a daddy’s girl and all I can think of is how sweet it is. She loves him so much.”

“As do you,” Druella pointed out.

Narcissa smiled.

“How can I not? It’s strange,” she continued with a frown. “He is this dangerous man, but when we are alone or when I see him with her, there’s none of that. He’s kind and gentle and you would never know there was that side to him.”

“He’s a good man, Cissy, and he would do anything for either of you. There’s nothing more I could want for you.”

“He is,” Narcissa agreed, “and there’s nothing more I could want other than more children.”

“Have you discussed it with him?”

“Not yet, not with everything that is going on,” Narcissa sighed. “He would probably agree just to keep me away from the hospital a little longer, but I explained my reasons.”

Druella nodded her understanding.

“You’re a healer Narcissa, and there are people that will need you. It’s just who you are and what you have been since Dorea took you on one of her shifts.”

“It is, and I know he understands. He’s just worried I’m rushing back when I shouldn’t.”

“He cares for you,” Druella said with a shrug. “He just wants you to be ready.”

“I am ready,” Narcissa assured her mother. “The longer I stay away, the harder it will be to return.”

“Then Harry will support you.”

“I know,” Narcissa replied with a smile.

(Break)

“As always, I would like to thank you all for taking the time to join me,” Dumbledore began, offering a bow to the gathered members of the Order of the Phoenix.

The months gone by had been tough on them all, they too having suffered disappointment and frustration with how the Death Eaters had fled from each scene of attack, showing no willingness to engage those able to fight back against their actions.

“I understand that progress has been slow, that at each turn, our efforts seem to be in vain, but I implore you all to not lose hope. What we do is vital to keeping those safe that cannot do so themselves,” the aged headmaster continued.”

“You need not worry about us, Albus,” Benjy replied, receiving nods of agreement. “We will keep doing what we are. We will get them one day.”

Dumbledore offered the man a grateful smile.

Remaining positive in the face of such difficulty was admirable, and not for the first time, he was proud of those that had assembled to counter the moves of the Dark Lord.

“I wished to meet to hear of any suggestions you may have moving forward,” he explained. “Has anyone heard or seen anything we should be aware of? Mundungus?” he pressed seeing the squat man raise a tentative hand.

He was the newest addition to the Order. Fletcher was an uncouth man, but one that was proving his usefulness.

“It might be nuffin’ but Knockturn ‘as bin busy the past week, busier than normal. The shops ‘ave seen a lot of strange people. Werewolves I fink and some of them Lordy types. An odd mix if you ask me.”

“Any idea what they’re up to, Dung?” one of the Prewetts asked.

Fletcher shook his head.

“Nah, but it ain’t good, is it? All them lot we fink are in on it, all in one place. They ain’t buying though. S’all I know,” he finished with a shrug.

“That is rather concerning,” Dumbledore sighed, “though I cannot fathom what they are doing.”

“I dunno,” Mundungus muttered as he lit his pipe, filling the room with a foul-smelling smoke, “but they must ‘ave a reason. Something is goin’ on, I can feel it in my bones.”

Dumbledore nodded his agreement.

“Then we must be vigilant,” he mused aloud.

“Bloody hell!” one of the Prewetts gasped, “it’s obvious.”

“If it’s so obvious, perhaps you could share with the rest of us?” Dorcas Meadowes grumbled.

The redhead nodded, frowning as he did so.

“Well, what do every shop in the alley have in common?” he asked.

When no answer was forthcoming, he sighed irritably.

“They all have fireplaces!”

“The floo network,” Dumbledore confirmed worriedly.

The redhead nodded.

“I was teaching it to the fourth years last week,” he explained. “Werewolves can’t apparate when they are transformed, and Portkey travel has been banned in and out of the shopping areas. The buggers are using the floo network to transport the werewolves there ahead of whatever they’re up to.”

“That is a lot of effort when they have proven to be ineffectual already,” Benjy countered. “Why would the lunatic want them involved?”

“Now that is the pertinent question,” Dumbledore replied, “unless it will not only be the werewolves that will need to be contended with,” he added thoughtfully.

“So, it is looking like a full-scale attack,” Edgar Bones stated. “Using the werewolves may work in our favour. We only need to work out when the next full moon is and be ready.”

“That is tonight!” Minerva declared worriedly. “Mr Lu-, Someone I know is a werewolf and is in isolation already.”

The mood within the room shifted suddenly to one of deep concern and those seated around the table looked towards Dumbledore whose visage was now grim.

“I think it would be prudent if we were to go to…”

He was cut off as an ethereal shire horse appeared in front of Lord Peverell and spoke in the voice of Amelia Bones.

“Diagon Alley is under attack! Werewolves and his followers. Peverell, he is here too!”

The young lord nodded grimly as he stood, his eyes shifting to the eerie white as he mumbled.

“DEATH!” the raven shrieked as it emerged from within the man and the two vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Come,” Dumbledore instructed. “Just as we did at Lord Bones’ wedding. We stick together and help any way we can.”

(Break)

It was to a scene of chaos that Harry arrived in, the streets littered with debris and filled with the sounds of the ensuing fighting and screams of agony. Even the snarling of the frenzied werewolves could be heard above the din. This one truly irked him, and he flicked his wand into his hand as Olin took to the sky.

“DEATH!” the bird shrieked, announcing their arrival.

For but a few seconds, silence reigned, broken by a guttural roar.

“IT’S PEVERELL!”

The unnecessary warning spurred the violence once more and as Harry rounded the corner, he found himself between the two battling factions, the aurors on the left and holding firm, and the werewolves and Death Eaters on the right attempting to breakthrough the tightly clustered groups of men and women clad in red.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure bearing down him, and with a sudden jab of his wand, the enormous werewolf was frozen only a few feet away before it was lifted into the air.

The fighting ceased as the yelping of the beast reverberated off surrounding buildings and a series of loud snaps could be heard. With a little more effort, the creature’s chest was ripped open, and Harry fired another spell at the exposed cavity where the rapidly beating heart of the wolf could be seen.

It whined pathetically but fell limp as the heart exploded, and Harry banished his kill towards the surprised followers of the Dark Lord where the body skidded morbidly across the floor, coming to a stop before them.

They looked on in either fear or fascination before one shook them from their apparent stupor.

“KILL HIM!”

Countless wands were pointed in his direction and a variety of spells sent his way. No incantation had been discernible, but the mix of colours were dangerous and certainly not something he wished to be on the receiving end of.

Doing all he could in that moment, he vanished once more and watched as the pavement he stood on was annihilated by the efforts of his foes.

“WHERE DID HE GO?” one of the Death Eaters shouted.

“HE’S DEAD, NO ONE COULD HAVE SURVIVED THAT!” another replied.

Harry shook his head and set to work from his vantage point atop Flourish and Blott’s.

With a wave of his wand, a rush of heat overwhelmed those within the valley before coalescing into a large vortex of fire between the aurors and those loyal to the Dark Lord.

Harry was just pondering where the man had gotten to, when his creation was dispelled from within and Voldemort emerged, unscathed, his crimson eyes narrowed as he took in the scene before him.

“Let us not stand on ceremony, Peverell,” he called. “You must have known your day of reckoning was to come, and here it is. Face me. I wish to look you in the eyes when you learn of what has befallen you.”

Harry felt himself filled with dread. Tom was too proud of himself for his word to be ignored. He may be many things, but the Dark Lord did not boast of things idly and without truth, and he certainly wished to boast now.

“Ah, there you are,” he acknowledged as Harry appeared a dozen feet away from the man who looked no worse for wear from their previous encounter. “You are an impressive man,” Voldemort acknowledged, “one that admittedly bested me, but my ignorance was my undoing, not you. I fear you have grown too bold, to0 cocky from your single victory, but that will not remain so.”

Harry had no desire to exchange words with the man who tutted when he readied himself.

“Tonight, is not the night for us to meet in such a way, Peverell,” Voldemort chided as though he was speaking to a child. “That day is yet to come. You must first be punished for your transgression against me and my own.”

Harry eyed the Dark Lord questioningly, the glint of amusement he saw only unsettling him further.

“You see, you have a choice to make,” Voldemort continued, “and I would not think on either long.”

Harry merely glared at the man who was much too gleeful for his liking.

(Break)

Druella watched as her husband spoke nonsense to Helena, his eyes alight with glee as he doted on the girl. Any who met Cygnus would never believe that such a side to him existed, but he had been the same with their own daughters when they had been babies.

It had been quite the shock to see the man that was so severe being reduced to babbling like a baby and pretending to steal its’ nose, all for the amusement of their daughters and now their granddaughters. Cygnus would even conjure bubbles in the shape of different creatures, much to the delight of the girls.

Narcissa had loved them, as had Andromeda, and Helena appeared to be following in the footsteps of her mother and aunt, her giggles filling the room.

“It’s a shame we never had more,” Cygnus sighed almost longingly as he popped a large Thestral he had created causing the baby below to kick her legs enthusiastically.

“It is,” Druella agreed.

More children had just never happened for the pair. It was not a decision they had made consciously, nor even discussed, but it was evidently not to be. As the years passed by and Narcissa went to Hogwarts, any notion of having another seemingly passed.

“Who the hell is that?” Cygnus asked as the sound of the front door closing was heard.

“It won’t be Cissy,” Druella replied as Cygnus passed the baby to her. “She’s not due to finish for another two hours. Evan? What are you doing here?” she asked as her older brother entered the room.

It was not like him to arrive unannounced, and his demeanour certainly did not suggest a social call.

“I’m here for her,” he answered simply, nodding towards Helena.

“Excuse me?” Druella returned, holding the baby tightly to her chest.

“The house is surrounded, Druella, and I do not wish to harm you, but the Dark Lord wants her, so you either hand her over or I will take her from you.”

“How dare you, you bastard,” Cygnus seethed as he drew his wand in light of his wife’s shock.

“We both know you are no match for me, Black,” Evan sighed as he followed suit.

“You will take her over my dead body.”

“So be it,” Evan declared.

(Break)

As far as shifts at St Mungo’s went, this one had not been so bad as a welcome back after several months of being away. The most pressing thing Narcissa had to deal with was a visit from Mrs Whittaker who had somehow gotten a teapot handle wedged inside her ear.

She had long given up trying to understand the woman’s fascination and experiments with teapots. Instead of questioning her, Narcissa had simply removed the handle and sent the old woman on her way, already wondering just where the handle would be next time.

“How’s it going, Healer Peverell?” Camden asked as Narcissa was finishing off her paperwork pertaining to the incident with the teapot handle.

“Another visit from Mrs Whittaker.”

Camden sighed.

“She’s been in three times since you were away,” she explained. “I don’t understand it. She’s fine other than her silly moments with teapots.”

Narcissa nodded her agreement.

Mrs Whittaker was an odd woman, but not suffering with anything that would cause concern. She had been checked several times already.

“Anyway, I best get this…”

Camden was cut off by a shrill alarm that sounded throughout the building, one that Narcissa had only ever heard during her training.

It meant that someone was firing spells in the reception area.

“What foolishness is this?” Camden muttered as the two of them headed to assist with whatever situation had unfolded.

The sight that they came upon was something neither expected.

The reception was full of cloaked figures wearing white masks, and Narcissa felt her heart sink.

The five aurors stationed at the hospital were already overwhelmed by the numbers of the attackers, but they were holding firm, doing all they could to repel the Death Eaters.

“THERE SHE IS!” a voice yelled and Narcissa noticed one of them pointing at her.

“Run Peverell!” Camden urged as she fired a spell at the man who had levelled his own wand at Narcissa.

The attacker fell to the floor with a scream, followed by Camden who had been struck with a sickly green jet of light.

Narcissa’s eyed widened as she stared at the now lifeless form of her colleague, in shock by what she had witnessed.

Her attention, however, was caught by another spell sent her way and she threw herself to the ground to avoid it, retaliating with a Tongue-Shredding Curse that Bella had taught her when they were teenagers, though she was forced to roll away as the door she entered through was destroyed, the surrounding wall collapsing and blocking her exit.

She was trapped and she could only freeze behind her cover as her thoughts drifted to Harry and Helena.

She couldn’t die here, not when she had them both to live for, not when she had found her happiness.

(Break)

“You see, Peverell, you have a choice,” Voldemort continued smugly. “On the one hand, there is your daughter, and on the other, your beautiful wife. Which one will you choose to sacrifice?”

Harry felt himself filled with a rage like nothing he had ever felt.

“As I said, I would not linger, or they will both be dead before you can get to them. You know where they are. Choose wisely, Peverell.”

The Dark Lord was not bluffing, his words oozing the truth with which he spoke.

Harry took but a second, knowing already what he had to do.

“DUMBLEDORE!” he called.

“I’ll go to St Mungo’s,” Edgar replied before vanishing with another Order member.

“I’ll be seeing you Riddle,” Harry promised as he too disappeared, his heart pounding in his ears as the panic of the situation he faced set in.

“HE’S HERE!” a voiced announced as he arrived in his in-law’s garden.

Harry was in no mood for games and as the half-dozen spells careened towards him, he unleashed a rebuttal, his own offering dissipating those of his attackers, sending them sprawling and shaking the house behind him down to its foundations.

Only one recovered quickly enough to impede his entry to the house, but they fell screaming as a Scalping Curse collided with them, and with another wave of his wand, the rest were occupied by a conjured gathering of ravens, each imbued with spells that would cause great suffering.

He entered the home to the sound of his victims wailing, pleading for their pain to be put to an end.

They would all be dead in a matter of moments.

The fighting, however, seemed to be ongoing within the house and as he entered the parlour room where the action appeared to be happening, it was to the climax of a fight going on between Cygnus and the unmasked Evan Rosier.

The former was sent crashing into a bookcase, but before the Death Eater could intervene, Harry was between the two men with his hand wrapped around the surprised Lord’s throat.

“You were a fool for siding with him!”

Rosier’s mouth fell agape at his use of parseltongue, but Harry had no time to relish in the shock. Instead, he tapped the man on the head with his wand and Rosier fell immediately limp, his mind now being plagued by Olin, who would show no mercy in torturing him.

Harry would have his due from the man soon enough, but until then, the raven would keep him suitably occupied.

“DOBBY!” he called, racing towards Druella who was cowered in the corner, shielding the crying Helena with her body.

The elf appeared immediately, his eyes bulging at the scene he appeared in.

“Take them to the Potters, and Rosier to the basement,” Harry instructed firmly, taking Helena from a catatonic Druella and placing a kiss on her head before handing her to the elf. “Protect her. I will be there soon.”

With his command given, he reluctantly left his daughter in the care of the elf, his in-laws, and soon, the family that knew not who he was as he disappeared once more to save his wife.

(Break)

St Mungo’s was faring no better than Diagon Alley when Edgar and Benjy arrived. The front of the building had been blown outwards but the fighting seemed to be contained within the reception area where four aurors were trying to fend off at least ten Death Eaters.

Edgar did not hesitate to throw himself into the mix, though he was held back by the older man.

“We are outnumbered,” Benjy pointed out.

Edgar nodded.

It did not matter to him. Narcissa was in there and he could only think of how helpless Harry must feel in this moment and how he himself would were he to find himself in such a position.

His own wife was due to give birth any day, and he knew that Harry would do whatever was necessary to help them if their roles were ever reversed.

“I know, but it’s his wife,” he replied simply, felling a Death Eater with a Bone-breaker that smashed into the man’s ribs.

Benjy was only a step behind him as he too threw himself into the fray.

“We must find Narcissa,” Edgar called over the sound of shouted incantations, spell fire and the destruction being wreaked around them.

Benjy nodded, his rhythm not breaking as he squared off with an opponent that was throwing around some dangerous magic.

“Get to the aurors. They may have seen her,” he instructed.

Edgar dodged and weaved his way through the spells until he reached the cover the aurors had created for themselves from fallen brickwork and a section of the front desk that had been destroyed.

“Are you the back-up?” one of them asked.

Edgar shook his head.

“There won’t be any,” he explained. “Diagon Alley is under attack too.”

“Fuck!” the auror spat as he avoided a pink jet of light sent his way. “These lot are good and there’s too many.”

“We have to hold them off. Harry will be here soon,” Edgar informed them.

“Peverell? His wife was here somewhere. I think she got covered when that wall exploded,” the auror returned, pointing to a large pile of rubble on the other side of the room. “It’s her they’re here for.”

Edgar already knew this and focused his efforts on trying to find a way through the mess that had once been the welcoming area of St Mungo’s. The aurors continued working in tandem, shielding and casting offensive spells when the opportunity arose, as seldom as that was.

Ultimately, they were all but pinned down and the redhead could only contribute as much as the Death Eaters would allow.

It was frustrating to say the least.

“We need to do something,” one of the aurors panted, the battle of attrition taking its toll on the team.

Edgar couldn’t be certain how long they had been fighting, but the fatigue was setting in and they would be overwhelmed soon.

“I have an idea,” he declared, and though he was not certain if it would work, but it was better than the alternative, the situation only becoming more desperate as Benjy collapsed to the ground, a purple spell having felled the man as it collided with his chest. “BENJY!”

The man did not respond, his limp form only adding to the others scattered around the room, and the only thing worse than that was that they now had to contend with a man that had bested one of the best fighters the Order had to offer.

Edgar cringed as the man’s laugh filled the room and the cover they were crouching behind was reduced to splinters and rubble, leaving him and the aurors exposed.

Those garbed in red did not hesitate to rebuild another shelter from the debris around them, but it would not last. Soon enough, they would have to fight against the odds. It was inevitable.

“I hope whatever plan you have is a good one,” a dark-skinned auror muttered.

Edgar nodded as he surveyed his surroundings, looking for anything he could put to use. That was when his eyes widened as he spotted the terrified visage of Narcissa peering at him from the other side of the room where she was trying to hide from the Death Eaters that were searching for her.

It would not be long before she was found, and Edgar tried to offer her a look of reassurance and a shake of his head as she showed him that she had her wand.

She would never make it across the room, not with so many people between her and him and spells flying.

Any notion he had of trying to get to her also vanished as the cover he and the aurors had taken refuge behind was demolished, the explosion sending him sprawling, his ears ringing painfully, though he did not remain idle.

He managed to roll away from another spell before he heard a scream and the dreaded words as the room became noticeably colder, so much so that he could see his staggered breath forming clouds in front of him.

He noted how odd it was to have such inane thoughts when disaster was looming and how everything slowed painfully. In a last-ditch attempt to save his friend’s wife, he dived, though he already knew it was in vain.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The voice was a feminine one he noted as he hit the ground, a body falling in front of him with a dull thud.

His heart sunk at the sight of the blue, lifeless eyes and he did not even care that the wand of Narcissa’s killer was now trained on him, his own gaze was drawn to a figure standing in the destroyed entranceway of the hospital.

Edgar did not know what was worse, the empty expression of Narcissa or the one of utter devastation that adorned Harry’s features as he took in what had happened.

The Death Eaters had frozen, though they sprang into action as an animalistic roar sounded.

Narcissa’s murderer vanished, barely avoiding a spell that collided with another of the robed figures who screamed as the effects of the Cruciatus Curse ripped through their body.

More screams sounded, but they stopped soon when only two of the Dark Lord’s followers remained, one twitching in agony and the other putting up a surprising fight.

Edgar recognised the same purple spell that had left Benjy unable to continue fighting, though Harry did not fall to it. He batted it aside as though it was nothing before a Blasting curse destroyed the wand hand of his opponent, who seemingly took the defeat in his stride.

“Kill me then,” he ground out, clutching the stump of his arm.

Harry was in no such state of mind to grant such an end, and the man was hoisted into the air.

“Who did it?”

The man laughed but wheezed as Harry buried his fist in the man’s sternum.

“WHO THE FUCK WAS IT?”

“Why tell you when I will die anyway?” the man choked, smirking.

“Because I know that your family yet lives, Dolohov,” Harry spat, taken the man aback. “Your mother, your father, and even you sister with her children.”

“NO!” the man known as Dolohov protested.

“It was Bellatrix,” Edgar coughed, certain of who killed Narcissa.

Harry’s head fell as he nodded, a choke wracking his body before he looked up at Dolohov.

“They will suffer worse than she did,” he mumbled, nodding towards Narcissa.

He unleashed a bellow of sheer agony as he waved his wand. A series of snapping sounds was heard before Dolohov’s head was pulled away from his body, his spine dangling from it morbidly.

When it was cast aside, Harry stumbled towards the body of his wife, and Edgar felt a stabbing of guilt and sorrow as he collapsed to his knees, and gently scooped her into his arms.

Holding her to his chest, he sobbed, and to Edgar, such pain was the worst thing he had seen this evening and likely would ever witness in his life.

Harry was inconsolable, his heart broken, and there was nothing Edgar could say or do to help his friend.

“Harry?” he tried, his own tears spilling down his cheeks.

The Lord Peverell merely wiped the tears from his face as he shook his head and vanished in a puff of smoke with his wife’s body.

Already the man had lost so much, and it appeared that he was to only suffer more.

(Break)

Arriving in the bedroom they had shared together Harry did not know what to do. How was he supposed to explain to his three-month-old daughter that mummy was gone and wouldn’t be here anymore?

He couldn’t, and for now, as he laid Narcissa down on her side of the bed, he just needed to be alone with her for a while, to wallow in his grief before he faced the outside world.

He was crying again, but he cared not to stop himself as he took his wife’s cold hand in his own.

A sudden moment of inspiration struck, however, and he closed his eyes and focused on what he wanted but felt nothing. There was no trace of his wife within the stone which meant she could not be brought back, not even to say goodbye to Helena.

Throughout everything he had endured, this was undoubtedly the cruellest life had been to him.

He was a broken man, and there was little that broken men cared for, other than little girls that resembled a mother they didn’t even know they no longer had or would never get to say goodbye to.

(Break)

The Dark Lord returned to the home of his muggle relatives, satisfied with the night’s work. Once again, he reminded wizarding Britain why they should fear him and exacted a measure of revenge against Peverell, though the success of that venture was yet to be determined.

In truth, he felt relieved that he had taken such steps against the man as the Dark Lord learned that he was not as recovered as he believed. He subsequent duel with the headmaster this evening had proved that. Though the headmaster did not best him, Voldemort had not emerged as victorious as expected and he knew he would need to continue with his rest.

His Death Eaters would suffice to fill the void in his absence. Also, Britain would live in constant fear of him, wondering just when and where he would strike next.

All in all, despite the revelation, he was pleased and there was little that would sour his mood.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix greeted him tiredly as she entered the room and prostrated herself before him. “It is done. My sister is dead.”

A smiled graced Voldemort’s lips at the news.

“So, the plan was a success?”

Bellatrix shook her head.

“Dolohov and the others are dead, my lord. One of the fools is likely in custody.”

Voldemort frowned.

Dolohov was his most skilled fighter other than the woman before him. If he was dead, that must mean…

“Peverell chose his wife over his daughter?”

Again, Bellatrix shook his head.

“The other’s that went to my parents are dead also, my lord,” she explained. “Evan is missing, and the house has been locked down by the aurors.”

Voldemort felt himself filled with a burning rage.

“I lost two of my best for only the death of a healer?” he seethed. “What of the girl?”

“I don’t know, my lord. I believe Peverell rescued her.”

The Dark Lord nodded.

“But your sister is dead?”

Bellatrix nodded.

“I killed her myself.”

“Then all is not lost,” Voldemort declared thoughtfully. “Peverell will want his vengeance, and in the pursuit of that, he will make foolish decisions. We will meet again when the time is right.”

Bellatrix looked at him, her eyes devoid of the excitement he expected to see.

“You have your doubts,” he stated.

“No, my lord,” she denied, “I mourn for my sister.”

Voldemort fought the urge to grimace at such sentimentality but waved her off.

“Then take some time,” he urged. “We will need to restructure things, but the future is not so bleak for us as it is for our enemy.”

Bellatrix nodded uncertainly as she left the room, and the Dark Lord shook his head.

She was upset by what had been required of her, but she would come around. Bellatrix, more than any, understood his vision and knew that sacrifices would need to be made.

Narcissa was a blood-traitor, not an enemy as such but her death served a purpose.

Peverell would be blinded with rage, and those that allowed emotion to cloud their judgement made mistakes.

He would too and then the Dark Lord would see to the end of the man also, and then his daughter, wherever she may be.

(Break)

Harry must have fallen asleep as he clung to his wife because when he opened his eyes, he found himself before the veil without her, and with her was he only place he wished to be.

“YOU!” he accused as the figure emerged, though Harry found himself wandless and unable to do anything.

“I warned you, Peverell,” the figure spoke calmly. “Things would irrevocably change with you being here, and they have.”

“And my wife is the cost of that?”

“Fate would see it so,” the figure replied, “she is a cruel mistress.”

Harry deflated at the words.

“I, however, am not Fate,” it continued. “I have no interest in who lives and who dies. I merely greet those that have reached their end.”

“Cissy…”

“Was here,” the figure confirmed.

“Can I see her?”

“No.”

Another stab to an already broken heart.

“Not because I wish for you to suffer, Peverell, but because you cannot as she is no longer here.”

Harry frowned confusedly and got the sense whatever stood before him was enjoying itself.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

 “Call me sentimental, or whatever you wish, but I did not claim her soul. I sent it to the one place it could survive, a place only you can retrieve it from, but there is a price.”

“There’s always a price!” Harry snapped, “and what the hell do you mean only a place I can retrieve it?”

“I sent it somewhere your wife yet lives, the place you left behind so many moons ago. Her soul will assimilate itself with her other half. It will take some time, and whilst you are waiting, I want something from you.”

“She’s alive?”

“Yes, and no,” the figure replied. “I merely sent her soul. Whatever happens will happen, but there is a chance you can rescue her.”

Harry swallowed deeply.

“What’s the price?”

“I want what remains of Tom Riddle’s soul from the world you were born into. It is now, out of my reach and only few still oppose him, none of whom can be successful.”

“And then Narcissa can live?”

“If you bring her to me, she can live, but time is of the essence, Peverell. Even as we speak, the souls are coming together, and as they are of one, it will happen quicker than yours. I do not know how long, but I would not ponder it for long. You want your wife and I want Riddle’s soul. Perhaps we can both get what we want.”

Harry nodded.

“I need to fetch my daughter and…”

“No,” the figure cut him off. “She cannot go with you. She is not of your time and her magic would not protect her from this place. You must venture alone. Bring your wife’s body to me, I will preserve it here whilst you are gone.”

As much as he wished to accept, Harry found the offer hard to believe.

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you help me?”

“Because sometimes Fate asks too much of one and nothing of others. I would see you live through this, Peverell and have a prosperous life. Without her, you have no reason to fight. You would take your daughter and flee. That is not what Fate has in store for you, as you well know.”

“What about Narcissa? Will she even remember me?”

The figure nodded.

“The more the souls accept one another, the more she will remember.”

“So, I have to go back?”

“No,” the figure denied. “You can return to your daughter and continue as you are, but you will not do that, Peverell. Your love for your wife is what helps keep you strong, and your love for your daughter has already made up your mind.”

Harry could not refute what had been said, and as the room around him began to fade, the voice sounded once more.

“Bring her to me, Peverell.”

Harry woke to find himself on his knees next to his bed, the eye of his wife staring blankly towards the ceiling and Olin perched on the headboard, staring mournfully at the woman.

“Death,” he croaked.

Harry shook his head.

“Not today, old friend,” he whispered as he ran into the adjoining room where Narcissa brewed her potions and scribbled a hurried note. “Take this to Druella, and then come straight back,” he instructed to the raven who vanished after clutching the missive in his beak.

In Olin’s absence, Harry hurried to a cupboard and retrieved a trunk he did not think he would ever have need of again and popped open the lid. Within was the tent he had once called home and what remained of his supplies from being on the run. It wasn’t much, but he would not need for gold. That he now had plenty of.

Slamming the lid shut and shrinking it, he found the eyes of his raven watching him speculatively and he nodded, readying himself for what lay ahead.

“Take us to him,” he said simply as he picked Narcissa up from the bed and cradled her in his arms.

In a puff of smoke, they were gone.

(Break)

Druella had not released her hold on the now sleeping baby since they had arrived at the Potters to be greeted by a shocked Charlus and Dorea. Cygnus was hurt, but he would recover. Currently, he was sitting on the opposite sofa in silence, waiting for Charlus and Arcturus to return.

The Head of the Blacks had been summoned, and he along with the Lord Potter had left some time ago to discover what had happened.

Druella could not believe that her own brother would do such a thing, not to family. Evan had always been kind to her, had looked out for her during their years at Hogwarts and ensured she was happy with whom she was marrying before he even considered the proposal Cygnus had put forward.

Somewhere throughout his life, Evan had changed, and she did not recognise the man that had tried to murder her granddaughter.

That thought alone had her clinging to Helena as Charlus and Arcturus entered the room, both appearing grimmer than she had ever seen either.

“St Mungo’s is a mess,” the former announced. “We spoke to Lord Bones about what happened, and Narcissa…”

He choked on his words and tried to compose himself, though Druella already knew what was to be said.

“Harry did all he could, but he was too late…”

“Bellatrix killed her!” Arcturus spat.

Druella felt numb, the thought of one of her children killing the other filling her wish such sadness and disgust. Cygnus leaned his head in his hands but could find no words.

Before Druella could speak, however, she was cut off by the arrival of Olin, who circled the room silently before dropping a piece of parchment on her lap and vanishing.

“What does it say?” Arcturus questioned impatiently.

Druella swallowed as she unfurled the note, choking as she read the words of her son-in-law.

Forget anything you may have heard. We will return.

For now, watch over Helena for us, keep her safe as I know you will, and we will be with you soon enough.

Death is not the end for a Peverell.

Harry

“What does that even mean?” Cygnus sighed once the letter had been passed around.

“I don’t know,” Charlus huffed, “but if I have learned anything about Harry, it’s that he always comes through when he is needed.”

(Break)

July 8th, 2003

Narcissa Malfoy woke with a gasp. It had been many years since she had dreamed of her time at St Mungo’s, a career that had been cut short with her marriage to Lucius.

This dream had been a particularly odd one.

Though so vivid, she did not remember it. She had never treated a man that had been found faced down in the Thames, but a part of her knew it had been real. She remembered his green eyes, him waking up and her chiding him for not getting his leg treated.

It had happened, or had it?

Perhaps it was her sleep-addled brain, but she could not be certain.

With a frown, she slid out of bed and retrieved the trunk where she kept the mementos of her time at the hospital. Opening it, she smiled at the sight of her robes and that badge that had adorned them.

“Trainee-Healer Black,” she murmured.

She had often wondered what life would have been like if she had been able to continue with her training, but it was not to be. No, she had been married to Lucius Malfoy who she had given an heir to and seemingly cast aside immediately afterward, left to stagnate within the walls of his manor.

Life could have been much worse for her, but it did not stop her longing for more, or thinking of the dreams that had passed her by.

She shook her head of those foolish notions.

She had not retrieved the trunk to relive her past or what she may have been had things been different. She merely wished to consult her notebook for the man she had dreamed of.

Narcissa had written everything down during her training, and if it had happened, mentions of him would be found within the pages, but as she rifled through them, there was nothing and she felt a strange sense of disappointment wash over.

She had been certain he was real, the man with the green eyes, and with the raven.

“Death,” she muttered fondly, remembering the only word the bird spoke.

If he wasn’t real, then why did she remember him so well? And why was she dreaming of him after so many years?

She frowned.

What even was his name?

She shook her head once more.

No, he couldn’t have been real. If he was, he would be in her book, but if that was so, why did she remember him? Why did she feel as though she knew him?

Why did the name ‘Peverell’ seemingly mean so much to her?