Written in the Stars - Rebirth

Rebirth

Albus looked upon those in attendance welcomingly, though he could not help but lament on the days that the Order was much larger in scale, and with a talent pool as deep as magical Britain had to offer.

Nonetheless, he was pleased by the turnout.

Before him were seated those that had survived the previous war who had answered the call as though no time had passed at all, and even a few new faces the headmaster knew he could trust.

It may not be as it was before, but this was merely the beginning, and Albus had no doubt they would only grow in strength and numbers as he looked to once more build a force to combat the impending darkness.

“I thank you all for joining me.”

Many simply nodded in response, not needing an explanation as to why they were here, but others did not seem so sure and offered Albus questioning glances.

Seeing no benefit to pomp and circumstance, he addressed them without preamble.

“I believe it would be pertinent to begin by explaining just why we are here,” he said gravely. “Those of you that know me well enough will know that I am not prone to exaggeration nor causing alarm when it is not due, but I fear our gathering is once more a necessity. Dark days are indeed approaching, and we must be ready to face them.”

“Dark days?” Sturgis Podmore enquired.

Albus nodded gravely.

“I have long suspected they would, but with each moment that passes, they draw ever nearer. It appears that a resurgence is on the horizon, and Britain will once more find itself plunged into war.”

The gathered Order members began whispering amongst themselves, and Albus allowed them to do so for a few moments before holding up a hand to silence them.

“War, Albus?” Emmeline Vance pressed.

“Indeed,” Albus confirmed. “I have had my suspicions since the supposed demise of the Dark Lord that he was not truly gone, but the past few years in particular have done nothing but confirm my thoughts. He is not dead, but merely indisposed.”

“Not dead?” Minerva asked worriedly.

“He yet lives in some capacity, and I believe it is only a matter of time before he returns.”

“How is that possible?” Remus broke in.

“I do not know,” Albus murmured.

He did, but he did not feel it safe to share information regarding Horcruxes and such magic. It was something he would be focusing on, and he had others to turn to, if necessary.

“Then how can you be so sure?” Remus questioned.

Albus released a deep breath, preparing himself for the inevitable reaction.

“Because I have personally encountered him twice in the past four years.”

As expected, those gathered were shocked and many fearful at the revelation.

“Perhaps I should explain the circumstances so that you may understand,” he suggested.

When no one objected, Albus stood and began pacing, choosing his words carefully before he spoke again.

“The first incident involved a former Professor,” he began. “Quirinus found himself playing host to what remained of the Dark Lord and was doing his bidding. Fortunately, I was able to stop him before irreparable harm could be done, but the Dark Lord escaped.”

“He was possessing him?” Alastor asked.

Albus nodded.

“Quirinus was a willing vessel. His involvement with Voldemort cost him his life.”

“Bloody hell,” Mundungus Fletcher gasped. “Is this real?”

“I’m afraid so,” Albus confirmed. “The second incident, Molly, Arthur, and Bill can substantiate as they witnessed the fallout.”

The three Weasleys nodded, each of them sporting a grim expression.

“Our Ginny fell into his trap,” Arthur explained. “He took hold of her mind and forced her to do unspeakable things to others. Thankfully, Albus managed to intervene, but she has not been the same since. Even now, she refuses to return to school, so Molly is teaching her at home.”

“It was awful,” Bill broke in. “As a Cursebreaker, I have seen terrible things, but seeing Ginny like that still haunts me. It was him that did it to her. Albus speaks the truth.”

If any doubt had remained amongst the old and new faces, it was all but gone after the testimony of Bill and Arthur.

Albus offered the duo a nod of gratitude for stepping in to explain.

“Most recently, a most concerning incident has taken place, one that you will not be aware of as it is being covered up,” the headmaster informed the group. “Barty Crouch was recently admitted to St Mungo’s into the Janice Thickey Ward. He claimed that he had been placed under the Imperius Curse of his dead son. He said that he had switched Barty Jr with his wife in Azkaban where she died.”

“So, Barty has lost his mind?” Alastor questioned.

Albus shook his head.

“I believe he was being truthful,” he sighed. “Why else would someone go to the trouble of poisoning him to ensure he could not speak of it?”

Alastor cursed under his breath whilst the others appeared to be unsettled.

“The Minister is hiding this from the public?” Molly asked.

Albus nodded.

“When his absence is noted, the official explanation will be that he died after a short illness,” he explained. “I have it on the utmost authority that is not the case.”

The Order members whispered amongst themselves for several moments, discussing the most unwelcome development.

“So, what do we do?” Remus questioned.

“Much the same as we did last time,” Albus explained. “We will need to recruit more members, so if anyone believes they know people who are trustworthy, do put their names forward and I will look into the possibility of bringing them on board.”

“What about…?” Remus asked pointedly.

“I was just going to address that very thing,” Albus replied with a smile, not needing the werewolf to elaborate. “Along with the incidents that I have already spoken of, there are other things to support what I have told you, and that you should be aware of. Severus, if you would be so kind.”

The Potions Master scowled as he stood and reluctantly rolled up the left sleeve of his robe, displaying the mark he had been branded with so many years prior.

“It has been growing darker and more prominent,” he explained. “After what happened to him when he attacked the Potters, it faded almost to nothing. The other Death Eaters will also be aware of this, most waiting to answer the call the same way that you have. When he returns, he will have support.”

“Then he must be dealt with quickly,” Molly urged.

“Indeed,” Albus agreed, “but I do not believe he will do anything to draw attention to himself until he feels he is ready to pick up where he left off. I expect he will already be recruiting amongst his former supporters and making other preparations to see him in a position of strength. I do not need to remind those that remember the previous war just how terrible things became. With how unprepared the Ministry is, I fear it will be the same, or worse.”

“Should you not discuss this with the Minister?” Sturgis replied.

“It would only serve to tip our hand,” Albus sighed. “Cornelius is too influenced by Lucius Malfoy, and he will do all he can to deny the truth. The auror force is not adequate, and any suggestion to expand would be fruitless. If Lucius is preparing for Voldemort’s return, he will do all he can to ensure the Ministry is weak.”

“So, it will be just us?” Alastor snorted. “Just like the old days.”

“Just like the old days,” Albus agreed unhappily. “There is, however, another who will be joining us, but I felt it best to discuss it with you all before he attends.”

“Who?” Bill asked curiously.

“Sirius Black.”

Silence followed the declaration until Alastor, the first to recover, scoffed in disbelief.

“Black?”

Albus nodded.

“Sirius is innocent,” Remus said firmly. “It was Pettigrew that betrayed James and Lily. Hagrid and I saw him with our own eyes a little over a year ago. He admitted to what he’d done.”

Hagrid nodded his agreement.

“Why didn’t you report it?” Moody questioned.

“Fudge was there,” Remus explained, “as were Malfoy and Macnair. They let him go instead of bringing him in when I transformed. Nothing has been mentioned about it since.”

“Is this true, Albus?” Molly asked.

“It is,” the headmaster confirmed. “Peter Pettigrew is very much alive and responsible for what happened to James and Lily. Sirius made some poor choices that night, but he did not betray them, nor did he kill those muggles.”

He chose not to mention that Pettigrew had been posing as the Weasley family pet for more than a decade.

Molly and Arthur had enough to deal with without being privy to that knowledge.

It would serve no purpose now, not with the current state of affairs.

“So, Fudge is allowing the world to believe that Black is still wanted?” Moody growled.

“Idiot,” Bill Weasley muttered.

“I’m afraid Cornelius will be of little use to us,” Albus sighed. “Even when the truth is staring him in the face, he will not wish to acknowledge it. He will simply bury his head in the sand until it is too late.”

“Then why don’t we look to replace him?” Sturgis suggested.

“Because he has too much support,” Albus answered. “At present, Lucius has too much influence over too many members of the Wizengamot for us to make that change.”

“So, our backs are already against the wall,” Arthur stated.

“Aren’t they always?” Moody snorted. “I am wondering how we can hope to win, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to fight to the bitter end, if necessary. What are you thinking, Albus?”

The headmaster’s mind wandered to the one boy the world would look to when Tom announced his return, and though he could not foresee the Dark Lord waiting until Harry was ready, it would eventually come down to the two of them to settle the conflict.

Just the thought made Albus pleased that Cassiopeia Black had taken custody of Harry.

He was being suitably prepared to shoulder the burden of what was to come, and having met him on many occasions now, Albus took comfort in the knowledge that Harry was as capable as he was willing to do so.

“I am thinking that I cannot see how we will not be successful,” he answered confidently. “Dark days are indeed ahead, but there is always a light to look towards on the horizon.”

His words served only to confuse the members of the Order, and Albus took advantage of the silence to bring the meeting to an end.

“I suggest that we meet once a fortnight to discuss any developments,” he urged. “I ask that you all listen carefully for anything that could be useful to us. As inane or innocuous as it may seem at the time, it could prove to be valuable. I will be in touch.”

Accepting the dismissal, the group began taking turns to disperse via the floor, and those that were to remain in the school left through door until Albus was alone with Alastor, who was yet to leave his seat.

“I have someone I believe we should bring in,” the ex-auror announced. “She’s young, but I trained her myself, and I would trust her more than most.”

“Who?” Albus asked curiously.

“Tonks.”

Albus nodded thoughtfully.

She had been rather mischievous during her time here, but her talent would certainly prove to be a credit to the Order.

“Can you speak with her discreetly?”

“I can,” Moody confirmed. “I will have a word and bring her to you when it is suitable to do so.”

“Thank you,” Albus offered gratefully.

Alastor nodded before making his way towards the door, pausing before he crossed the threshold.

“Potter?” he questioned curiously.

“I believe it will be Harry who ends this war,” Albus explained.

Moody nodded.

“Aye, I’ve seen what the lad can do already, but can we hold Voldemort off for long enough?”

“I don’t know, Alastor,” Albus answered honestly, “but we have to do all we can.”

Moody said nothing else as he took his leave from the office, and the headmaster turned towards Fawkes.

“What do you think, old friend, will it truly be him?”

The phoenix unleashed a long, harmonious trill and Albus felt himself fill with warmth and confidence.

“You believe it so strongly?”

Fawkes nodded, his black, beady eyes seemingly knowing more than Albus could ever hope to.

“Then we must only have faith in him,” Albus mused aloud as he stroked the red plumage of his companion. “A little faith is all we need.”

(Break)

“I’m sure Sidorova is determined to kill us with extra work this year,” Jonas huffed irritably. “A whole sheet of parchment on the Caterwauling Charm? It’s not that interesting.”

“Oh, I do wish you would shut up,” Lucinda grumbled as she took a sip from her goblet, deflating in bliss at the taste of the blood within.

“And you didn’t help, Potter,” Jonas accused, pointing a spoon at Harry. “Why did you have to volunteer me to demonstrate it?”

“Because you should have been able to do it,” Harry replied with a smirk. “It’s not my fault you didn’t practice.”

Jonas narrowed his eyes at Harry as he cursed under his breath.

“She’s looking at you again,” Hugo commented.

It wasn’t often the boy spent much the group, but he always made an effort to join them for lunch a few times a week.

“Who is looking at who?” Eleanor questioned.

“Zabini is watching Potter,” Hugo pointed out. “Is something going on between the two of you?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, it isn’t.”

It was the truth.

Ever since they had been interrupted by Olaffson, they had not found themselves alone together again, and it wasn’t as though Harry had mentioned it to anyone else.

“She’s not staring,” Ana whispered.

“She’s too smart to stare,” Hugo chuckled, “but she looks when she thinks no one is paying attention.”

Ana and the others continued with their vigil until the half-elf grinned.

“She’s definitely watching you,” she confirmed to Harry. “How did you notice it?” she added to Hugo.

The boy shrugged.

“I notice a lot of things.”

“Have you noticed anything else of interest?”

“I’ve noticed that Zabini isn’t the only one watching.”

“Who else?”

“Potter’s biggest fan.”

Ana’s eyes trailed along the tables of purebloods, pausing briefly before looking back towards Hugo.

“Barkus is always watching,” she sighed.

“He is, but it is different now,” Hugo replied. “He seems somehow more arrogant.”

“He’d be stupid to try anything,” Ana pointed out.

Hugo chuckled humourlessly.

“When has Barkus been anything but stupid?”

It was a good question, one that caused a frown to crease Harry’s brow.

They had been back at school for just shy of two months, and Barkus had given him and the rest of the half-bloods and half-breeds as he referred to them, a wide berth.

Either he had given up trying to be a nuisance to them, or he was planning something.

“Still feeling unwell?” Eleanor asked Cain.

The werewolf nodded and pushed his plate of food away.

The full moon had arrived a few days prior, and Cain was still recovering from the ordeal.

“I think I will get some rest,” he announced as he stood.

“I’ll let Novak know,” Harry assured the boy.

Cain nodded gratefully and took his leave from the hall to get some much-needed rest.

The others continued with their meal, preparing themselves for their next lessons.

Harry, Lucinda, and Jonas would be going to a lesson in the Dark Arts, and Eleanor, Ana, and Hugo had Herbology, a subject that Harry did not miss.

“She’s looking again,” Hugo snorted. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you?”

“There is nothing going on between me and Zabini,” Harry muttered, not missing the looks sent his way by the three females.

They had been somewhat standoffish with him when they’d first arrived back at Durmstrang, and Cain had informed him of the reaction they’d had to finding out about him dating Daphne.

Harry would certainly not profess to be an expert on girls, far from it, but they seemed to get over what was bothering them, eventually. That was until he received a letter from Daphne.

Something the girls did not seem happy with.

Not that it was any of their business.

Viktor had seemingly been right with his assessment.

The girls did not appear to like any attention that Harry received from others.

For reasons unknown to him, they were either protective, jealous, or a combination of the two.

“Come on, we’d best head out,” Jonas suggested. “Novak will probably nail our hands to the wall if we’re late. See you later,” he added to the three they would be leaving behind.

Harry and Lucinda followed the part-hag, the latter seemingly lost in thought.

“Come along,” Novak hurried them as they arrived. “We have much to cover today.”

The man stood before a large blackboard and waved his wand, revealing a large passage of writing complete with supporting diagrams he had drawn himself.

“Can anyone identify what this is?”

Harry looked at the board intently, trying to decipher the formulation of letters, symbols, and numbers and attempted to correlate them with the sketches.

“No?” Novak pressed, his red eyes alight with amusement. “It is something of a trick question. I would be surprised if…”

“It is an incomplete set of instructions to create inferi,” Harry called, taken aback by his own knowledge.

It was not something he had studied beyond understanding what they were, and certainly not how one would animate a corpse.

Novak too seemed caught off guard and eyed Harry questioningly.

“You can see that it is incomplete?”

Harry nodded, aware that everyone in the room was staring at him.

“There a three enchantments missing, and four of twelve required catalysts are not there.”

“And with good reason,” Novak replied sternly. “To create an inferi is illegal in all magical communities and has been for the last two centuries. If I was to show you the complete set of instructions, I would find myself in more trouble than you could imagine.”

He continued to gaze at Harry curiously for a brief moment before shifting his focus to the rest of the class.

“Your aim today is to identify the characteristics of an inferi, and the strengths and weaknesses of them. You will work with those on your tables. If there are no questions, you may proceed.”

The class busied themselves with the task at hand, and Harry pondered just how he had been able to piece together the conundrum that remained on the board.

Many of the odd symbols and languages used for the incantations were not things that had been covered yet, nor likely would they, even during a Durmstrang education.

“How did you know what that is?” Jonas asked, nodding towards the blackboard.

“I recognise some of the symbols,” Harry answered truthfully. “The rest, I took a guess at.”

He didn’t believe the explanation himself, but the other boy did not press him further, though Lucinda seemingly did not accept it.

However, she did not question him and instead opened her textbook to the page that discussed inferi.

“How would you fight one of them?” Jonas questioned, grimacing at the description the book gave.

“Fire,” Harry replied. “It is their only true weakness. They are impervious to most other magics. Curses won’t work, and neither will other physical trauma. They are resilient and immolating them is the only way to destroy the magic that has animated them.”

“Seems logical,” Jonas murmured as he noted down what Harry had said. “What about characteristics?”

“They do not breathe, and unless the corpse used to create it was fresh, it will bear the marks of degradation,” Harry reeled off. “They are strong, almost as strong as a werewolf or vampire, and they do not bleed. Neither do they tire. If one of them are sent after you and you do not know how to destroy it, you will exhaust yourself trying to escape and it will catch you.”

“Well, I don’t plan on pissing someone off enough for them to send one after me,” Jonas chuckled. “Then again, a fire spell will deal with it.”

“It has to be powerful enough to break the magic,” Harry reminded him. “Regular fire would likely not be enough.”

Jonas shook his head as he looked towards Lucinda who shrugged.

“You’d better learn some better fire spells,” she urged amusedly.

Jonas nodded his agreement and continued reading until Novak cleared his throat to garner the classes’ attention.

“That will be all for today,” the man announced. “Bring your work to me and I will mark for next lesson. Potter, remain behind for a moment.”

Novak waited until the rest of the class had left before beckoning Harry towards the desk he was seated behind, and once more, he simply stared at him for a moment.

“If tasked to, could you fill in the blanks in the instructions?” he asked.

Harry looked towards the board before nodding.

“I think I could.”

Novak chuckled darkly.

“From the first day you walked in here, you have surprised me, Potter. Do you remember our first lesson together?”

“I do.”

Novak offered him a rare smile.

“Ever since, I have had high expectations of you, and each and every time, you have exceeded them. It is not only your seemingly unending knowledge that impresses me, Harry, but your practical application. In all my years of teaching, so few have managed to impress me the way you have.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Now, that does leave me in quite quandary,” Novak continued. “It is seldom that I would offer any additional tuition, but from what I have seen of you thus far, I would like to do just that. I believe you could go far in the field.”

“I’d like that,” Harry readily agreed.

“Good. Give me a little time to consider what I would like us to delve into, and then we shall begin in due course. Until then, I will see you for your next class.”

Harry nodded and retrieved his bag, pausing before he slung it over his shoulder.

“Professor, do you have much knowledge of ritualistic magic?” he asked curiously.

He had been pondering what had happened to him during the chamber, and with no other expert available to him, he thought perhaps Professor Novak could shed some light on what had happened.

The man narrowed his eyes at Harry suspiciously.

“Why do you ask?”

“It is nothing but curiosity,” Harry assured him. “I have no desire or intention to pursue it beyond knowledge.”

Novak nodded and beckoned Harry forward once more.

“Ritualistic magics are among the most dangerous to delve into,” the man said gravely. “I myself fell afoul of them in my youth. As you can see,” he added, gesturing towards his eyes. “I was fortunate that what I attempted was not fatal, but my practices still went too far.”

“What happened?” Harry probed.

“I got it wrong,” Novak said simply. “Even the most advanced practitioners of the art have barely scratched the surface of what can be achieved through rituals, and those that have pushed their luck have either wound up dead or have mutilated themselves irreparably.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“What are the side effects?”

“It depends on what you are trying to achieve,” Novak replied thoughtfully, “and what runes and catalysts you use for the ritual. Now, physically speaking, it could simply kill you, or worse. You may end up with effects that you had not taken into account. Rituals are unpredictable at best.”

“So, even if something seems as though it could be a good thing, it could prove to be bad?”

Novak nodded.

“Perhaps,” he answered carefully, “but those who are fortunate merely reap the benefits, though these are indeed rare cases.”

“Oh,” Harry murmured worriedly. “Is there any firm indication of something going awry?”

“Well, death is the obvious answer,” Novak snorted, “but it is understood that ritualistic magic is sacrificial in nature. The greater the sacrifice, the less likelihood there is of suffering ill-effects. Most underestimate this and believe that a material sacrifice will be sufficient. Rituals require much more than simple frivolities.”

“What if someone died, but somehow came back to life?”

Novak frowned at the question.

“I suppose it would be dependent on the nature of the death and apparent reason for the coming back, so to speak. If you have a specific example, I may be able to shed some light on the matter.”

Harry swallowed deeply.

He had hoped the conversation would assuage his worries, but it had in fact had the opposite effect.

“Would you prefer if I was frank?” he asked.

Novak nodded.

“Frankness is always best when it comes to this type of magic. Every aspect, no matter how small, is equally relevant.”

“It must stay between us,” Harry insisted. “I am under the care of a healer, but he is not so knowledgeable on this.”

“Unless I believe it is dangerous to yourself or any other student, it need not go further than this room.”

Harry eyed the man, wondering if he could trust him, but it was not as though he had much choice.

The only other person he knew of who may be as familiar with the topic was Voldemort, and he could not imagine sitting down and discussing it with him.

Though the thought was somewhat amusing, it was sobering.

There would be no diplomacy between them.

When the time came, each would attempt to kill the other with everything they had at their disposal.

“Something similar happened to me during my trip to Hogwarts,” Harry revealed. “It was unintentional, but it happened.”

Novak appeared to be alarmed but equally curious, and he gestured for Harry to continue.

“I was bitten by an old basilisk,” Harry explained. “Its fang punctured my heart, and the venom was injected into my body.”

“Yet here you sit,” Novak whispered in awe. “How is that possible?”

Harry shrugged.

“I died,” he informed the man, “but the tears of a phoenix healed my wound, even if it was not enough to bring me back. A thunderbird did that by shocking me.”

“Astounding,” Novak murmured, reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill.

He began scribbling away for several moments, scratching out some of the things he wrote before nodding to himself.

“How old was the basilisk?”

“Around a thousand years old,” Harry answered.

Novak cursed under his breath.

“How big was it?”

“Maybe sixty feet.”

Novak shook his head as he began writing again.

“You have an affinity for lightning, as discovered during your Elemental lessons,” he mused aloud, “but I cannot fathom how you survived. Even with the phoenix tears and the assistance of the thunderbird, it should not be mathematically possible to bring you back.”

“Does it matter that I am a parselmouth?”

Novak paused, his gaze shifting to meet Harry’s.

“I believe it makes all the difference,” he muttered before falling silent once more and continuing with his work.

Harry watched as the man carried out a dozen or so calculations before he was satisfied.

“What did the healer tell you?”

“That my body seems to have experienced a rebirth of sorts,” Harry explained. “My organs are much more resilient, and my magic now contains the magic of all three creatures to some extent.”

Novak chuckled humourlessly.

“You have no idea how fortunate you are to be alive, Potter,” he whispered as he read through his notes. “It is a series of coincidences, luck, and resilience on your part that you are here.”

“I know.”

“Had you experienced this without being a parselmouth, you would be dead. Were it not for your affinity for lightning, you would be dead. And were it not for the phoenix gifting you its tears, you would be dead. However, all three catalysts played their part perfectly, even if the entire incident was unintentional. The biggest part of all of this is that you paid the ultimate price. You died and magic itself deemed you worthy of bringing back. I am truly flabbergasted.”

“You’re not the only one,” Harry snorted.

Novak merely shook his head.

“From what I can gather, the sacrifice you unwittingly made is more than enough that you should not experience any negative effects,” he explained. “You undoubtedly endured sheer agony as your life was slowly drained by the wound and the venom. I can think of few greater sacrifices that can be made.”

“So, you think I will be fine?”

“I would say better than fine, Potter,” Novak replied soberly. “During this unwitting ritual you underwent, you created an unbreakable bond with three extraordinarily powerful creatures, each of whom a part of resides within you. The basilisk is dead?”

Harry nodded.

“And the phoenix. Do you know of its origins?”

Harry shook his head.

“He is the companion of the Hogwarts Headmaster.”

“Ah, so the bird’s magic simply bonded with your own,” Novak mused aloud. “Phoenixes are beholden to no human, and no human to them, but a bond of sorts will forever exist between you. What of the thunderbird?”

Harry shrugged.

“I have never seen it before that night.”

Novak hummed.

“It too has created a bond with you. A rare occurrence indeed,” he murmured. “Perhaps you will never see it again, or perhaps it will come to you, the two of you drawn together by your common affinity for its own element and the bond you share. That will depend solely on the creature.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“Thank you,” he offered sincerely, relieved by the professor’s assurances.

Novak waved him off.

“It is what I am here for, Potter,” he replied. “I may be what any would consider an expert in the Dark Arts, but my first priority is the welfare of all who step through my door to learn. You’re a very lucky young man. I do hope you do not plan to replicate such a feat again.”

“I meant what I said,” Harry chuckled as he stood. “I have no intention of delving into ritualistic magic. I have seen what it can do to those that do.”

“Good,” Novak declared. “However, I believe it will be quite interesting to explore the effects of what happened to you. It is something we can experiment with during our additional lessons together. Now, off you go. You’ve already missed most of your next lesson.”

“Olaffson is going to give me a detention, isn’t he?”

Novak merely smirked in response, and Harry groaned as he left the room, relieved by the conversation, but irritated that he would have to now endure the wrath of the enormous Icelander.

(Break)

“Is it ready yet?” the Dark Lord demanded impatiently.

Lucius continued to mutter under his breath as he added ingredients to the large cauldron, the fire beneath illuminating the diamonds in the darkness of the woods they were in.

“Almost, My Lord,” Lucius replied.

Voldemort’s nostrils flared.

He had been patient enough, and what had remained was all but gone.

Halloween was the perfect evening for him to complete his rebirth.

It was where it had all come to an end, but now, it would be where it all began once more.

For fourteen years he had drifted between this world and the next, anchored only by the several pieces of his soul that were scattered around.

It had been as painful as it was frustrating, but tonight, he would once more have a capable vessel of his own. Tonight, a new chapter would commence.

“I believe we are ready, My Lord,” Lucius declared after another few moments.

The potion bubbling away in the cauldron had been brewed to perfection, and the required ingredients were laid neatly nearby.

The time had come for the Dark Lord to rise, more powerful than ever before.

Soon enough, wizarding Britain would be firmly beneath his heel.

However, tonight was about his resurgence, a new birth for a new era of darkness to fall upon the world.

“Then proceed,” Voldemort instructed.

Lucius did so, and with one final experience of indignity of having to be hoisted around like a baby, the Dark Lord felt himself submerged under the potion where he held a final breath in the pitiful lungs he currently possessed.

It felt like several minutes passed before he felt anything, but when the magic of the ritual waned, the familiar burn of a dozen others he had carried out during his lifetime lanced through him like hot knives.

Still, it was nothing compared to what he’d endured when he’d attempted to kill Harry Potter.

Potter.

The boy had gotten lucky, but such luck was not destined to last.

When the time was right, the Dark Lord would right the wrongs of years gone by, and Potter would finally perish at his hands.

It was destiny, after all.

Pain once more.

The burning intensified as Voldemort felt his limbs begin to lengthen, his organs expand, and his magic grow as strong as it had once been.

It was exhilarating to feel it pumping through him as though no time had passed at all, and finally expelling the air from his lungs, he stood as tall and proudly as he’d ever been.

“Robes,” he instructed simply, the cold chill of the air uncomfortable on his newly created skin.

Lucius acquiesced with the order; the already pale man having grown paler as he looked upon his master with a grimace.

“Am I so unbearable to look upon, Lucius?” Voldemort questioned.

The blond shook his head.

“No, My Lord,” he denied.

He was lying.

Lord Voldemort could always detect dishonesty, and even easier now that his magic was at full capacity.

“Wand.”

The warmth that rushed through him as he grasped it was impossible to describe, and the Dark Lord simply relished in the feeling of being whole again before conjuring a small mirror with but a flick of his wand.

Such a thing would have exhausted him moments prior, but now, he felt as though there was nothing that could tire him.

Nonetheless, he frowned as he took in his appearance.

Where his nose should have been were but two slits for him to breathe, and his head remained hairless.

His eyes too were unrecognisable, almost serpent-like in nature, though Voldemort did not care for frivolous aesthetics.

If anything, his unique look would serve to instil fear within those that dared defy him.

He nodded satisfactorily to himself.

“Now, we may begin,” he murmured. “Your arm, Lucius.”

Malfoy reluctantly presented his prominent Dark Mark to him, and Lord Voldemort pressed a finger to it, ignoring the whimpering of the pathetic Wormtail.

The man deserved every ounce of pain that now plagued him.

“Let us see how deeply loyalty runs through them,” the Dark Lord whispered, watching and waiting for the arrival of his Death Eaters, a smirk cresting his lips as they began to arrive only a moment later.

(Break)

Harry woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath as he stood and steadied himself on his trembling legs.

The dream had felt so real, as though it was him that had been plunged into the boiling cauldron.

Had what he seen truly happened?

As much as he tried to deny it, he could not ignore the instincts that screamed of the veracity of what he had seen.

Voldemort had returned.

Harry swallowed deeply at the thought, shuddering as another wave of powerful magic washed over him.

Despite the horror of what had happened, he felt invigorated, almost as though his magic had woken from a long rest.

It was overwhelming to say the least, but there it was, tingling just beneath the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed.

Still, Harry felt rather unwell from the sudden influx, both hot and cold to the extreme.

Releasing a deep breath, he made his way to the bathroom to fetch some water and drank greedily when he had poured himself some.

Had what he had witnessed truly happened?

He hoped that his thoughts on the matter would change with clarity, but another burst of magic only reiterated the truth he already believed.

Yes, Voldemort has somehow returned and Harry could only shake his head.

He was not ready to face him, not yet.

There was much more for him to learn and experience before their fated meeting was to take place.

He was only fifteen, and though he knew the man who had murdered his parents would not remain dormant forever, he’d been hopeful that he would finish his schooling at the very least before the inevitable happened.

“Shit,” Harry cursed, wondering what it was he could do.

There was nothing to be done.

He simply was not ready to face his foes.

Voldemort may merely be one man, albeit and exceedingly powerful one, but Harry’s enemies did not simply amount to a single Dark Lord.

Voldemort had dozens upon dozens of followers; witches, wizards, and all manner of creatures he had managed to bring on side.

As things were, Harry had Cassie, and perhaps Sirius and Remus.

Dumbledore would have been a useful ally, and maybe he would still prove to be, but the man did not have what it took to do what was necessary in times of war.

At best, Dumbledore would serve as little more than a distraction before Harry was ready to take the fight to the Death Eaters.

Would Voldemort immediately set to work, or would he remain in the shadows longer?

Harry sincerely hoped for the latter.

He grimaced as another pulse of magic jolted him from his thoughts and frowned as he heard groaning coming from the dorm he shared with the other boys in his year.

“What was that?” he muttered as he re-entered the dorm, pausing as he caught sight of Cain standing in the middle of it.

The boy had spent the rest of the day in bed still feeling unwell, but as Harry looked upon him now, he seemed to be fighting something, doing his utmost to resist.

Harry’s eyes widened as his friend’s face began to elongate, his amber eyes glowing in the darkness as an almighty howl was unleashed.

He had never seen Cain as a werewolf, and though he was still only a teenager, he towered over Harry, his lean figure belying the strength he possessed.

Harry was confused.

The full moon had come and gone for the month, and yet, here Cain was, fully transformed and bearing down on him.

Harry’s eyes shifted towards the bedside table where he placed his wands before sleeping; a mistake he would not make again.

“What’s that?” Hugo asked sleepily.

“Do not move,” Harry said firmly, doing his best to remain calm despite the feral beast before him.

“Fucking hell!” Jonas gasped as he caught sight of the werewolf.

Cain snarled before unleashing another howl, seemingly torn on which of the three other boys he should attack.

Harry took advantage of the confusion to launch himself towards his wands, only to have the wind knocked out of him as something collided with his shoulder.

He could only wheeze on the ground where he landed further away from his bed from where Cain had swatted him out of the air, the smell of his own oozing blood filling his nose.

He hadn’t simply been pawed away, but Cain’s claws had torn through his shoulder.

It was a scream of desperation that pulled Harry from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Jonas trying to scramble under his bed before Cain seized it, an threw it across the room with seemingly no effort on his part.

Hugo had recovered from his own shock and took aim with his wand, the curse hitting the werewolf only serving to anger it further.

Harry’s bed was the next to be flung, and Hugo rolled to avoid it, only to fall at Cain’s feet.

“GET OFF OF HIM!” Jonas shouted, jumping on the werewolf’s back, only to be thrown against the wall with a sickening crunch.

All he could do was whimper in pain as Cain stalked towards him, and with no idea where his wands had ended up, Harry did the only thing he could think of doing in the moment.

He cleared the length of the room in a single bound, unleashing the wolf within.

Harry felt himself filled with a palpable rage as he foamed at the mouth, his jaw clamping down on the back of the attacker’s neck.

Cain had been taken by surprise and screamed in a mixture of shock, anger, and agony as he was pulled to the ground where Harry shook him relentlessly, pulling him from one side of the room to the other, back and forth until he felt the creature growing weak.

The werewolf attempted to put up a fight, but the fatigue eventually set in and he howled pleadingly as Harry’s jaw shifted and took him by the throat.

Every instinct of Harry was telling him to kill the werewolf, to tear out its windpipe for what it had done, but Harry managed to stifle the urge as he laid his entire weight upon the creature, panting heavily from the effort to subdue it.

He had not escaped the scuffle unscathed, and yet more wounds on his side and muzzle were leaking blood, and the room from the walls to the ceiling and floor were spattered with it.

Harry unleashed a rumbling growl as the werewolf whimpered once more.

It may have submitted to him, but it was still a danger.

“What on Earth happened here?” the shocked voice of Professor Sidorova gasped as the door opened and the room was flooded with light.

It resembled nothing short of a murder scene.

Broken furniture was strewn about the room, and Hugo and Jonas were huddled together amongst the debris, their eyes widened fearfully.

“Potter?” Sidorova choked.

Harry growled once more, his gaze shifting to the students standing behind the woman, each of them with their wand drawn.

“You, fetch the healers,” the Charms professor instructed one of them, flicking her wand in the direction of the exit. “Just hold still, Potter, help is coming.”

The werewolf wriggled, and Harry snarled, tightening his grip, eliciting another squeal of agony from Cain.

The students witnessing the scene before them were visibly shaken, many upset, and most surprised by what they were seeing.

“Is that really you, Harry?” Eleanor whispered.

“It’s him,” Hugo confirmed. “He turned in to a wolf and took him down. He saved our lives.”

“I can see that,” Sidorova commented worriedly, her gaze sweeping over the destruction of the room. “Can the two of you move?”

“I can,” Hugo answered, “but Jonas is in a bad way.”

The boy was barely coherent. A trail of blood ran down the side of his head, and his arm was set at an unnatural angle.

Hugo seemed to be suffering only from shock, but Harry knew it could have been so much worse, even if he had needed to resort to revealing a secret he would rather have kept to himself.

“What is going on here?” the voice of the headmaster broke in.

He pushed his way into the room with his wand drawn, garbed in a pair of red, fleece pyjamas.

Taking in what had happened, his eyes widened before he cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on Harry and the werewolf he still held in his jaws.

“Everyone return to your rooms,” he instructed firmly. “Dimitry, I will need your assistance.”

The Magical Creatures professor stepped forward and assessed the situation.

“We will need to bind his legs and his muzzle,” he explained knowledgably. “He seems to have lost a lot of blood so we will need to treat him. We cannot wait until he reverts. How did this happen?”

“I do not know,” Karkaroff murmured, “but I will find out. Come on, let’s get these boys to the medical bay. When you’re ready, Dimitry.”

Harry only unleashed his hold on the werewolf when he was certain that Cain had been sufficiently subdued and transformed back into his own human form.

He was exhausted from the events of the evening.

The dream of Voldemort had been one thing, but the unnatural transformation of his friend was what concerned him most in the moment, and as the rest of his friends attempted to assist him to the medical bay to have his own wounds seen to, there was only one question he wished to be answered.

How had Cain been transformed when the full moon had already been and gone?

Harry knew not, but there was nothing that would stop him from discovering the truth.