Written in the Stars - Fear and Retribution

Fear and Retribution

She had no more tears to shed.

In the week or so that had passed since they had come upon Gellert’s still-warm corpse, it seemed that all Cassie had done was cry mournfully for the man she had simply adored for over five decades.

Everything since had been but a blur, and it was though she finally felt a semblance of peace and clarity as she watched Gellert’s coffin being lowered into the ground at Godric’s Hollow.

Harry had been her rock.

He had made all the necessary arrangements, had stayed awake with her through the sleepless nights as they spoke of their fondest memories of the man, and had even held her tightly in her moments of weakness.

A death had never hit her so hard, and were it not for Harry, Cassiopeia did not know how she would have coped.

She swallowed a lump that formed in her throat at one of the conversations the two had shared.

‘You don’t have to do this. You have more important things to focus on.’

‘There is nothing more important in my life than you,’ Harry had replied simply. ‘You used to comfort me when I had my bad dreams, now it’s my turn to be here for you.’

‘You remember that?’

‘It’s the first time I remember ever feeling wanted.’

Cassie’s gaze shifted towards the stoic young man she had raised since he had been a babe.

He had grown to be strong, and she could feel no more pride in him than she already did.

Harry had certainly not hung around before striking back at Voldemort for what he had done.

Only the day after Gellert had been murdered, the bodies of Tonks and John Dawlish had been dumped in the middle of Diagon Alley, a warning from the Dark Lord to the magical population of Britain.

Both had suffered much in the final moments of their lives, and the rest of the Auror department had taken what had happened to their colleagues as a personal affront.

More and more of Voldemort’s followers were being rounded up by the day, and Amelia Bones had stepped out from behind her desk to lead her forces.

Harry had taken more severe measures, though his actions had not been officially recognised.

Lord Crabbe’s ancestral home had been torched to the ground and the man found hanging in Knockturn Alley. He had suffered similarly to both Tonks and Dawlish and the only unmarred flesh that could be seen was on his left forearm where his Dark Mark had been exposed for all to see.

The next morning, both Jugson and Mulciber had been found in the same state, but nothing else since from either side.

Not that Cassiopeia did not know Harry well enough to know that he had something planned.

He had remained tight-lipped about it, but he was undoubtedly mulling something over.

Even now, she could see his brain working as the muggle clergyman nodded for the soil to be placed over the coffin.

The burial was being carried out under the cover of darkness with only Harry, Cassie, and Dumbledore in attendance.

Gellert would be resting beneath an elder tree only a few plots over from James and Lily Potter.

It was a testament to how much Harry thought of the man that he would have them so close together.

“May he rest in peace in the embrace of our lord,” the clergyman murmured before he wandered back towards the church.

Cassie stayed where she was with Dumbledore and Harry, none speaking as they simply stared at Gellert’s monument.

She couldn’t be certain how much time had gone by when she felt Harry’s arm wrap around her shoulder, but she was pulled from her thoughts.

It had grown chillier, and Cassie shuddered, smiling gratefully as a warming charm was cast over her.

“Come on, you’ll catch your death if you stay here,” he urged as he led her away. “He wouldn’t want you wasting away here.”

He wouldn’t.

Gellert would be quite irritated by the thought of any mourning over his grave. He would sooner see those around him live, and though doing so without him was not a prospect Cassie had ever considered, it was her reality now.

“You’re a good boy, Harry,” she sighed. “Thank you, for everything.”

“You have nothing to thank me for,” he said dismissively. “We are family.”

Cassiopeia nodded.

Harry was her family.

She had not met another Black that had not disappointed her throughout her life, even Arcturus, who, despite doing his best for what terrible offspring he had produced, had sat back and watched the Blacks implode from within.

Turning to look at Harry, Cassie placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t you have things you need to be getting on with?” she asked pointedly. “What happened to Gellert should be more than enough of a reminder that there is no promise of tomorrow. Seize a little happiness for yourself, Harry.”

He shook his head.

“It’s not the right time.”

“When will be the right time?” Cassie returned.

Harry shrugged and she huffed irritably.

“Harry,” she pressed.

He offered her a weak smile.

“Are you sure?”

Cassie returned the gesture as she nodded.

“I have never been more certain of anything else. Go on. I’m sure Dumbledore won’t mind ensuring I get home safely.”

“It will be my pleasure,” the man replied.

Cassie snorted amusedly.

She expected there was little less than Albus Dumbledore ever wanted than to spend time in her company.

The only thing they’d ever had in common was Gellert, and he was no longer here.

“Fine,” Harry agreed with a chuckle. “Wish me luck. I might well need it.”

“You will be fine,” Cassie assured him. “Off you go, you’ve waited long enough.”

Harry offered her a grateful smile before apparating away from Godric’s Hollow, and Cassie and Dumbledore followed only a moment later, both looking back towards the elder tree in the distance.

It truly was a fitting place for Gellert, after all.

(Break)

The time he’d spent with Cassiopeia Black had been oddly cordial. The two of them had even shared a drink together in Gellert’s memory, though neither spoke of the years gone by.

The woman very much blamed Albus for Gellert’s downfall, and Albus could not forget the part she had played during his rise on the continent.

No, they would never be friends, but they had managed to remain in the company of one another without trading barbs.

Still, Albus had not stopped long at Grimmauld Place.

He had escorted Cassiopeia home, shared a drink, and had departed back to Hogwarts and the office he had spent much of the past week in as he mourned.

In truth, he had very much neglected his duties through grief, but now, it was time to get back to them.

Minerva, as ever, had taken the reins despite being given no explanation to Albus’s demeanour.

She deserved better, and at the very least, warning of what was on the horizon.

Gellert’s death had left Albus with one regret. Other than not being there to intervene during Tom’s cowardly excursion to Nurmengard, he had not been given the opportunity to say his goodbyes.

His own fate was indeed sealed, but he and Gellert had yet to discuss the finer details.

Albus felt terrible, and he would not leave Minerva feeling the same way when his time came in only a matter of weeks or months.

The latter, if fate was to be kind enough.

Having summoned his deputy, he waited for her arrival, pouring himself and the Scot a measure of Firewhiskey.

She would need it, after all.

“Come in,” Albus called only a moment later when a familiar knock sounded at his door.

Minerva entered, raising an eyebrow at the sight of him cupping a goblet of liquor.

He had never truly been one to drink away his sorrows as he already had this evening. The one he clutched now was for the needed courage for the conversation ahead.

“I expect this shall not only be an exchange of pleasantries,” Minerva sighed as she took the seat on the opposite of the desk.

Albus chuckled humourlessly.

“No, I expect this shall be rather unpleasant for us both.”

“That sounds rather ominous, Albus.”

“As is life,” Albus replied, pouring himself another drink and grimacing at the burn in his throat.

He did not understand how Minerva enjoyed the brew.

“Well, what is it you wish to discuss?”

“The future,” Albus answered.

“The future?”

The headmaster nodded gravely.

“Things will change, Minerva, sooner than you can imagine. I wish to discuss my final requests with you.”

Minerva tutted.

“Is this some sort of crisis you are experiencing, Albus? You are as healthy now as you were when we first met.”

Albus chuckled again, this time in amusement.

“I am old, Minerva,” he pointed out, “and far from the picture of health. There is no easy way to tell you this, but I expect you will be taking over my duties before the end of the school year. I will do my best to see it out, of course, but that may not be within my power.”

Minerva was taken aback by the statement, and she took a sip of her own drink before replying.

“What is it you are saying, Albus?” she asked.

“That my time is short,” Albus sighed as he removed the white glove that hid the damage of the curse.

Minerva gasped, her eyes widening as she looked upon his blackened appendage.

“What have you done?” she whispered.

“It was a fool’s errand,” Albus sighed. “This is quite irreversible.”

Minerva nodded dumbly as she continue to stare at his hand.

“How long?”

“A few months.”

Minerva swallowed deeply.

“How long have you known?”

Albus released a sigh.

“Longer than you would be pleased with.”

Minerva nodded and turned her attention back to her goblet, draining the contents and gesturing for a refill.

“You are a stupid man,” she murmured. “I knew that you would one day see me replace you, but not so soon. What are we going to do? I do not wish to give up teaching yet, and we will need to appoint a replacement for me in both jobs.”

“I would suggest Filius for the role as deputy,” Albus replied. “As for your teaching, there is no reason that you should give it up entirely. You can hire someone to take on some of the workload.”

“Who?” Minerva questioned irritably.

“That is your decision, Minerva,” Albus replied, offering the woman a sorrowful smile.

She was not appeased by it, and the headmaster expected that once the shock of the news had set in, she would be quite furious with him.

“I do not know what to say,” Minerva said sadly after she had drained her goblet once more. “I do not believe I am ready.”

“Nor did I,” Albus chuckled. “Even now, I find being the Headmaster here quite daunting.”

“I did not mean that,” the woman huffed. “I meant for you to not be here anymore.”

“Ah, I see,” Albus murmured. “Well, it is out of my hands, Minerva. I am sorry I did not tell you sooner, but death happens to the best of us. My affairs are in order, and I have accepted my fate. Severus has assured me he will make my passing as painless and as simple as falling asleep. It is the best any man can hope for.”

Minerva nodded her agreement, though her expression remained one of devastation.

“You really are an old fool,” she muttered. “What on earth were you doing interfering with such magic?”

“My part in ending this war,” Albus answered solemnly. “It will be young Harry who strikes the final blow, and I have every faith in his success.”

“Was it worth it?” Minerva pressed.

Albus nodded without hesitation.

“I regret being cursed, Minerva, but yes, it has been and will be worth every moment of discomfort I experience. I have no intention to live forever. Perhaps a few years of retirement would have been nice, but I suppose it is fitting that I pass here. I have called Hogwarts my home for more years than I care to count. I have made my peace with what is coming.”

Minerva merely nodded in response as she slumped in her chair.

It was better that she was prepared.

Albus did not expect her to like it, but at the very least, she had time to accept his impending passing.

She would mourn for him as he did for Gellert, but she would have the opportunity to say her goodbyes, and for that, she would eventually be grateful.

(Break)

The Dark Lord shuddered as an other wave of cold washed over him. The house had been this way since shortly after he had killed Grindelwald, and no matter what he did, he could not prevent it.

It was almost as though he was being haunted by a particularly vengeful spirit; one that did not have the means to truly harm him, but one that could make its presence known at will.

The voices did not help banish the notion.

He would hear them sporadically, and though they spoke no words of clarity, their whispers reverberated around the house, chilling him more than the cold itself.

It was frustrating, and yet, there seemed to be no cause for them either.

Voldemort had searched every inch of the house and grounds for an answer, and yet, there was nothing.

Still, the cold swept in and the voices continued to mock him.

His excursion to Nurmengard had not been as fruitful as he’d hoped.

The scene of Pettigrew’s remains strewn around his cell painted a horrifying story.

It appeared as though the squat man had been torn apart by wild animals, attested to further by the expression of sheer agony he had died etched onto his face.

Of course, the head had been ripped away from the neck and shoulders savagely, though not before each of his limbs, back, and torso had been clawed and bitten beyond recognition.

In truth, what did remain is what the Dark Lord imagined a butcher’s workstation would resemble at the end of a busy day.

Wormtail had not died well.

Voldemort growled as the coldness made itself known once more.

Had killing Grindelwald caused this?

By all accounts, the man had been a powerful wizard in his day, and the more he pondered it, the more the Dark Lord considered the possibility that such a curse could be created.

Regardless, magic was still magic, and he was determined to find a way to bring the inconvenient torment to an end.

“Why is it so cold in here?” Bellatrix asked curiously as she entered the room, her gaze shifting towards the roaring fire Voldemort was seated beside.

It made no difference. The cold prevailed over any heat it provided.

“A minor irritation,” the Dark Lord replied dismissively. “You have news?”

Bellatrix nodded, and Voldemort braced himself for yet another unwelcome revelation.

The past week had seen Crabbe being slaughtered and his home burned to the ground, Jugson and Mulciber had been killed by Potter, and dozens more of his followers had been captured by the aurors.

The reprisals for what he had done to Dawlish and Tonks had been harsher than he could have anticipated.

“Rabastan is missing.”

“Missing?”

Bellatrix nodded.

“He went to Knockturn Alley and hasn’t returned. Crouch has gone looking for him under Polyjuice Potion.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Five hours, but he said he would be no longer than a few.”

The Dark Lord stood and paced back and forth in front of the fire, his nostrils flaring as he heard a giggle sound from the corner of the room.

“Fool,” he muttered irritably. “He was told to remain within the grounds. Find him, Bella. We cannot afford to keep losing members of the inner circle. What was he thinking?”

“He thought that as it was nearing sunrise that he would be safe, my lord.”

Voldemort shook his head.

“I do not believe any of you are safe. Potter and the Ministry are determined to thin our numbers.”

Bellatrix cackled amusedly.

“We outnumber them several times over,” she pointed out.

“Not for long if none of you can do as you are told,” Voldemort bit back.

Bellatrix frowned.

“Are you okay, my lord?”

“I’m fine,” Voldemort returned evenly.

He had told no one of his trip to the continent, nor of what seemed to be plaguing him here.

Bellatrix did not seem to be convinced, but she knew better than to press the matter.

“Has your sister had any luck in finding it?”

“Not yet, my lord. She has found another room, but since she is not a Malfoy, she is struggling to enter it. She will, my lord. I will help her myself.”

Voldemort hummed.

He needed the diary.

Without Wormtail to enter Hogwarts, he did not feel comfortable confronting Potter or Dumbledore without his assurance in place.

Eventually, he would have to infiltrate the castle, but would only do so when the diary or another of his Horcruxes had been returned to him.

A Power the Dark Lord knows not…

Grindelwald had spoken the words of the prophecy to him, and though he was loath to admit it, Voldemort was more unnerved by them and the rather blasé amusement the man had displayed.

“See that she does, Bella. Now, find Rabastan, by any means necessary.”

Bellatrix grinned in response before taking her leave of the room, and the Dark Lord shook his head.

Perhaps he should have urged caution.

Bellatrix took the term ‘by any means necessary’ quite literally, and she had such little grasp on her self-control that it was likely several would be dead in her pursuit to locate her brother-in-law.

Voldemort shuddered again and shot a glare towards where the cold had come from.

He could do without the torment, though he knew there was little chance that it would let up any time soon.

(Break)

It had merely been a stroke of luck that Harry had come across Rabastan Lestrange in Knockturn Alley. He had been returning from a meeting of a more personal nature when he’d decided to stop there on the off chance that he may find a Death Eater or two on his travels.

Evidently, Rabastan had not been concerned by what had happened to Crabbe, Jugson, and Mulciber or he arrogantly believed he was untouchable.

It had taken little effort to sneak up on the man beneath the cloak to stun him and bring him to his own ancestral home.

Lestrange Manor had already been seized by the Ministry, and it was unlikely any would look for Rabastan here from the risk of being caught doing so.

Harry eyed the unconscious Lestrange from the seat he occupied only a few feet away deciding what he would do with him.

“Ennervate,” he murmured a moment later.

Rabastan’s eyes fluttered open and he frowned when he realised where he was before shifting his attention towards Harry.

“Potter,” he growled.

“Me,” Harry replied with a smirk.

“The Dark Lord is going to kill you!” Rabastan hissed, struggling against the bonds that held him.

Harry chuckled.

“Crabbe made the same threat,” he revealed. “You all do. It’s getting rather boring.”

“Untie me and I will kill you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Do you really fancy your chances?”

Rabastan bared his yellowing teeth challengingly.

“You’re not half as terrifying as Greyback,” Harry commented. “Would you untie me if our roles were reversed? No because just like the rest of you who run around in masks, you’re a coward. Now, what do I do with you?” Harry asked as he stood banishing his chair so it smashed against the opposing wall.

For the first time since he had awoken, Rabastan showed signs of his nervousness.

“Ah, you understand your position,” Harry acknowledged. “Well, I’m afraid that I won’t be offering you a quick and painless death,” he sighed. “Your master seems to think that he is the only one capable of cruelty, but he is wrong. You have no idea what lengths I am willing to go to, but you will. Crucio!”

Harry held the man under the curse for several moments before relenting and kneeling down next to the heavily breathing Rabastan.

“You know the curse well, don’t you?” he asked coldly. “You held Frank and Alice Longbottom under it for so long that they lost their minds. Maybe I should do the same to you?”

Rabastan shook his head, but before he could open his mouth to protest, Harry placed him under the curse once more, eliciting a bloodcurdling scream from the man.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, Lestrange?” Harry questioned.

Rabastan’s lips were bleeding from where he had bitten through them and he looked at Harry in a mixture of hatred and fear.

“Now you understand what the Longbottoms felt when you did this to them. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Rabastan frowned in confusion and gasped in shock as Harry removed his wand hand with a severing curse.

“No, we can’t have you bleeding out,” Harry sighed before searing the wound closed, provoking a girlish scream from what remained of the Lestrange family. “What shall we go for next?”

Rabastan whimpered, trembling as he shook his head pleadingly.

“Did the Longbottoms beg for you to stop?” Harry asked. “I imagine they did, even if it was only for the sake of their son.”

Rabastan groaned as Harry drove the heel of his boot into the man’s groin.

“Answer me, Rabastan!” he demanded. “Did they beg for you to stop?”

Lestrange nodded and proceeded to vomit as Harry kicked him again for good measure.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he questioned, frowning as he felt the presence of another approaching. “It seems as though we have company,” he murmured, stunning Lestrange before disappearing into the folds of his cloak.

It wasn’t Voldemort that had come.

Harry knew the feeling of the man’s magic more intimately than he would like, though whomever it was that approached was familiar to him.

Karkaroff?

Harry clenched his jaw as a figure entered the room beneath an invisibility cloak of their own, and that was when the realisation hit him.

It wasn’t Karkaroff, but Barty Crouch Junior whom Harry had a personal score to settle with.

He watched as Rabastan’s body was lightly disturbed as Crouch checked him over.

“Still alive,” the man whispered thoughtfully, becoming still as he realised that it was likely someone was still here.

Evidently, he believed he was quite safe under his cloak, but Harry could feel Crouch’s magic. It was almost like seeing the man with his own eyes as he tracked his target when carefully made his way to one of the corners of the room.

 Harry suspected Crouch would attempt to ambush him.

With a grin and a flick of his wand, the door that Crouch had entered through swung open with a crash.

“Who’s there?” Harry’s voice sounded from the doorway and he could feel Crouch readying himself to attack.

Voldemort would be furious that he had not immediately been sent for upon Rabastan being discovered, but Crouch was undoubtedly rather unhinged and believed he had an advantage here.

He did not, and when Harry made it seem as though his footsteps were approaching the room, Barty sprang into action, realising his mistake as the sickly, yellow curse he’d sent towards the sound merely dissipated against the opposing wall.

“What the…”

With a dull thud, Crouch crumbled to the ground with his skull almost cleaved in two from the splitting curse Harry had used.

Again, the man had opted to use Polyjuice potion in an attempt to hide his identity, but having experienced Crouch’s tactic once before, almost at the cost of Karkaroff’s life, Harry would not fall for it again.

Instead, he would wait for Crouch to regain consciousness, and before long, the Dark Lord would have two gifts delivered to him instead of one.

(Break)

Harry had not returned home last night.

He had left with a still downtrodden Cassiopeia shortly after dinner, and the woman had returned a few hours later, heading for her bedroom immediately.

Both had been acting odd over the past week, but neither had mentioned why they were feeling particularly mournful.

Harry seemed to have become more determined than ever to eliminate Voldemort’s followers and had been doing so rather proficiently. He had not explained why nor taken credit for the bodies discovered in Knockturn Alley, but Lucinda did not need him to.

There was no other in Britain who would do what had been done to the men.

Lucinda looked towards the clock in the kitchen.

It was almost 10am, and once more, Cassiopeia had opted to work from home for the day, leaving her to wait for Harry to return.

Was he okay?

He often kept odd hours, but he’d always been home before sunrise.

Before she could become too worried, however, he entered the kitchen and Lucinda’s nose twitched at the various scents wafting from him.

Blood was the most prominent, but there was something else more familiar to her lingering beneath it.

“Hello,” Harry greeted her with a tired smile.

He seemed to be somewhat nervous and Lucinda frowned at him.

“Has something happened?” she asked.

Harry shook his head.

“I don’t think so.”

The vampire narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’ve not been yourself recently, nor has Cassie,” she pointed out.

Harry deflated as he took the seat next to her.

“Something did happen, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” he replied apologetically.

Lucinda nodded her understanding and took his hand.

“And what about last night?” she probed with a smirk. “Did you find yourself a nice witch to spend some time with?”

Harry scoffed at the teasing tone.

“Or another vampire?” Lucinda added.

That was what she could smell on him along with the blood. He had spent time in the company of her kind.

Harry’s eyes lit with amusement.

“Jealous?”

Lucinda quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

“Oh, Potter, if I thought for one second you had been sampling others, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” she replied airily. “I would have already sunk my fangs into your neck…”

“Until I was dry and desiccated,” Harry finished.

“Exactly,” Lucinda confirmed, flashing the aforementioned fangs and eliciting a chuckle from him. “It’s not funny. I already have to fight the urge to bite you during our more intimate moments.”

“Really?”

Lucinda nodded demurely as she leaned in and ran her tongue along the length of his ear.

“It would only be too easy to,” she whispered before withdrawing.

“You know, you’ve made the threat so many times now. Why don’t you just do it,” Harry urged, exposing his neck to her.

Lucinda shuddered at the sight of the exposed flesh, and she licked her lips hungrily.

He knew better than to tease her in such a way, and yet, not a week went by when he did not tempt her.

Thus far, Lucinda had managed to refrain, and though she knew she would never cave to her instinct to do so, it was exceedingly difficult to ignore.

“Put it away,” she growled, conceding defeat of the back and forth between them.

It was the only way Harry could get the better of her, unless it came to a battle with their wands.

Lucinda took pride in how adept with her magic she was, but Harry was simply better.

He’d dedicated more time than any understanding the intricacies of it, and though his had changed remarkably since they had first met, he seemed to adapt to it once more with little difficulty.

“You were right,” Harry sighed. “I was with vampires. I saw your mother…”

“You had better choose your next words carefully,” Lucinda interjected, her eyes narrowing.

Harry laughed heartily as he held up a hand.

“I was with your mother and father,” he finished.

Lucinda frowned in confusion.

“Why were you with my parents?”

He became nervous once more and took a deep breath before speaking.

“Well, it’s tradition to seek permission from someone’s parents if you want to marry them.”

Lucinda merely blinked in response, unsure if she had heard Harry correctly.

“M-marry?” she choked in disbelief.

Harry nodded.

“I went to speak with them about it,” he explained gently as he took her hand.

“I don’t understand,” Lucinda muttered thoughtfully. “I’m a vampire. This won’t look good for you, will it?”

Harry shrugged.

“People can either like it or bugger off,” he replied.

“What about Cassie?”

Harry smirked amusedly as he shook his head.

“It was kind of her idea. Well, she helped me realise what it is I already knew.”

“How?” Lucinda asked confusedly.

She liked to think she had built a meaningful rapport with the woman she spent so much time with, but Lucinda still could not make sense of any of this.

It wasn’t that she was opposed to the idea, but she needed to understand how this had come about.

“Come with me and I can show you, if you like?”

With a frown, and her head swimming as though she was in a dream, Lucinda followed Harry to his study where he placed the tip of his wand to his temple and pulled a long, white thread free.

Depositing it into a pensieve on his desk, he gestured for her to enter.

Lucinda did so and found herself in the very same room she had seemingly just left, the only difference being that there was a Harry already seated behind the desk.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” the memory Harry instructed.

It was Cassiopeia that entered.

She said nothing as she approached and laid a stack of envelopes on the desk.

Harry frowned at them.

“What have you done about them?” Cassiopeia asked.

“I have replied to them,” Harry sighed.

“Expressing your interest.”

“No. Now is not the right time to consider marriage, as I explained to each of them.”

Cassiopeia hummed.

“Is that the truth or is there another reason you are not at least considering them?”

Harry turned his frown towards the woman.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Cassiopeia offered him a sad smile as she took a seat opposite him.

“Lucinda.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the woman that had raised him before he deflated.

“Maybe,” he murmured.

“Is it just the physical side of things with her?”

Harry grimaced.

“I’m not discussing that with you,” he choked.

Cassiopeia tutted.

“I’m old, but not blind or foolish,” she returned evenly. “You have made no secret about the time you spend together.”

“Which is no concern of anyone else,” Harry pointed out.

“True,” Cassiopeia acknowledged, “but is it because of her that you are not considering other options. Some of these are from the most prominent families in Britain.”

“I know,” Harry huffed irritably.

“You love her.”

“What?”

“Lucinda. You are in love with her and you are torn between doing what you want to and what is expected of you.”

Lucinda froze as she waited for Harry to respond, her stomach fluttering with butterflies.

It felt as though an eternity passed her by before Harry released a deep breath and nodded. In this moment, he was more vulnerable than Lucinda had ever seen him.

“I am,” he confirmed unashamedly.

Much to Lucinda’s surprise, Cassiopeia smiled before standing and rounding the desk.

“Then why haven’t you done anything about it?” she asked. “Charlus and Dorea married for love, as did Arcturus and Melania. As much as your grandfather and I did not get along, I will not deny that he and Dorea were the happiest people I knew because they had each other.”

“My parents too,” Harry murmured. “I didn’t think you would approve.”

Cassiopeia cupped Harry’s cheek as she offered him a rare, warm smile.

“I can’t ignore what Healer Galanis told us,” she explained. “You marrying someone would mean that you would outlive them by centuries. I don’t want you to be alone, Harry, but more than anything, I want you to be happy. You’ve given enough to the people of Britain. You should do this for yourself, if that is what you want. I’ve gotten to know the girl, and I do approve of her. I think she is good for you.”

“Good for me?” Harry chuckled.

Cassiopeia nodded.

“You seem to bring out a carefree side in each other. You’ve spent your entire life with Voldemort hanging over you and dedicated everything to putting an end to him. You’ve been a bloody pain with your jokes and mischief, but the freest I’ve seen you is when you are with her. Everyone in this house can see what you mean to each other, so for once, think of yourself.”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” Harry snorted. “She might not want to marry me. A thousand years is a long time, even for a vampire.”

“Have you discussed it?”

Harry shook his head.

“No,” he answered.

“Well, you can take it from me; she will make the perfect Lady Black and Potter. If I have learned anything about Lucinda, it is that she cares for you as much as you do her. I would bet my last galleon that she has thought about marrying you, even if she does not believe it to be possible.”

“Really?”

Cassiopeia nodded.

“She loves you, Harry, and not for your wealth and titles. That is rare in itself in the political field you have to navigate. Lucinda would feel the same about you if you were a pauper without two Knuts to rub together.”

Lucinda nodded as she swallowed deeply.

It was true.

Being raised in a vampire community, politics nor fame meant nothing to her. She understood the concept of wealth, but again, she had forever to accumulate it if she so desired.

No, Harry could indeed be a beggar on the street and it would not matter.

“Do you have any idea how to approach this?” Harry asked curiously. “Do I send a proposal contract to her parents?”

“I would visit them in person to discuss it,” Cassiopeia urged. “You wouldn’t want to come across as presumptuous, especially as they may not give their approval. I expect that one of their kind marrying a human isn’t common, so I cannot even hazard a guess at what stipulations they may wish to have in place.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“I’ll pay them a visit,” he agreed. “Should I speak to Lucinda first?”

Cassiopeia shook her head.

“Not until you’ve spoken to them first,” she advised. “Best not get her hopes up lest something does not go to plan.”

“Get her hopes up,” Harry chuckled. “She’s the one who is going to have to deal with the crap that being a lady entails. I’ll be bloody lucky if she agrees to it.”

Lucinda laughed as she felt herself being pulled from the pensieve and found herself greeted by the nervous Harry who had shared the memory with her.

“You’re crying,” he pointed out.

Lucinda didn’t realise that the tears had spilled down her cheeks and she wiped them away as she cursed in her mother tongue.

“Is the idea that bad?” Harry asked as he took her hands in his own.

Lucinda shook her head as she smiled brightly.

“Only if it is what you want.”

“And you,” Harry replied.

Lucinda nodded tentatively, not from hesitation, but disbelief.

“What did my parents say?” she asked.

“Well, I went to see them.”

“To speak about a contract?”

Harry snorted derisively.

“No, not a contract exactly, even if your father did want to be difficult about it.”

Lucinda’s stomach sunk.

“My father? What did he say?”

“He wants to see you, well, us together,” Harry explained. “Both of them promised they would give their approval if it is what you want, and if Draikon agrees to it.”

Lucinda nodded her understanding.

“So, we are really going to get married? This isn’t some dream or horrible joke?”

It certainly felt like the former, and she did not know what she would do if it was the latter.

No, Harry liked to joke, but he would not be so cruel.

“Only if you say yes,” Harry replied.

Lucinda hummed thoughtfully as she looked at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to get down on one knee and ask?” she queried. “That is what humans do, isn’t it?”

“Is that what you want?”

“You could always do it the vampire way.”

“What is the vampire way?” Harry asked curiously.

Lucinda grinned.

“You’d have to prove your strength by beating me in combat. If I approve, I will submit and you will then sink your fangs into my neck, marking me as yours.”

“Well, I can’t overpower you and I don’t have fangs,” Harry chuckled.

“Then you will have to do it the human way,” Lucinda decided, “but not until we have gotten permission from my parents,” she added airily as she walked towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked confusedly.

“To my room, alone,” Lucinda answered with a teasing smile. “Is it not a human thing to be pure until you’re married?”

“It’s a bit late for that,” Harry pointed out.

“That’s true, but I can make you wait until you’ve put a ring on my finger before I let you enjoy the perks of marriage any more than you already have.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

Lucinda raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Try me, Potter,” she replied before taking her leave of the study and heading towards her room, her head still swimming with what had happened and her heart all but aflame in her chest.

In truth, Lucinda was still in a state of disbelief, and she was not certain she wouldn’t wake up and it had indeed all been a dream.

(Break)

The smell of burning wood and scorched stone filled his nose as he approached the still smouldering remains of what had been Lestrange Manor where he could see Bellatrix standing only a short distance away from her former home.

The Dark Lord felt himself filled with a burning fury as he neared the woman and he spotted the two corpses at her feet.

Both Barty and Rabastan had been mutilated horrifically, and Potter’s magic lingered in the air around them.

Two prominent houses had been ended in a single night, the two men the last of their lines.

“He left this,” Bellatrix whispered as she handed a piece of bloodied parchment to the Dark Lord.

This doesn’t end until you are one of them, Tom Riddle. Your reckoning approaches and I will take more than my pound of flesh from you. Mind, Body, and SOUL, I will conquer and destroy you.

HP

Potter knew.

Somehow, his secret had indeed been uncovered, and though the Dark Lord did not know how, he was left in no doubt that Potter had learned of his Horcruxes.

Burning the piece of parchment with a flick of his wand, he turned away from Lestrange Manor and stalked back towards the gates, unable to shift the feeling of discomfort that had settled within him.

It had been prominent for some time, but now, it only weighed heavier.

Potter should be no threat to him, and yet, it was unmistakeable.

The boy had defied the odds as a babe, and now, he had all but evened them.