Written in the Stars - Tidings

Tidings

The Dark Lord’s gaze swept over his gathered followers; their numbers having swelled over the past weeks with the recruitment effort that had been made. Soon enough, there would not a gathered force that could hope to withstand them; not the aurors and certainly not Dumbledore’s pathetic group, despite their best attempts over the intervening weeks since he had unleashed his Death Eaters upon Britain.

All around, Voldemort was pleased with the progress he had seen.

Raids had been conducted and were increasing in frequency under Bella’s leadership, and as ever, Lucius was continuing with his own, unseen work, ensuring that the Minister continued to remain ignorant of what was truly happening.

Using Black as a scapegoat had been quite the stroke of genius, and the Dark Lord would continue to do so until it was no longer a viable option.

“You are all dismissed,” Voldemort declared. “Not you, Lucius. Augustus, you will also stay.”

Bellatrix shot the duo a look of envy before departing.

She did not like any other having his attention.

“My Lord?” Lucius questioned curiously when the room had emptied.

“How are you progressing with the other Lords and Ladies?”

“Most seem to understand what is happening,” Lucius answered, “and I have made it quite clear to those that would resist that they should not. Your return is now the worst kept secret in the Wizengamot, but none are brave enough to discuss it publicly.”

Voldemort nodded satisfactorily.

“Good,” he murmured. “Perhaps you should make an example of one or two of them to ensure they remain unvocal.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Lucius complied with a bow. “Do you have any preference?”

The Dark Lord leaned back in his chair and scratched his hairless chin thoughtfully.

“I will leave that to your discretion,” he decided. “I want it to make a statement, but I do not wish to draw too much attention to us yet. We must continue to break them first before we eliminate anyone of true prominence.”

Lucius nodded his understanding.

“I will not let you down, My Lord.”

“See that you don’t, Lucius,” Voldemort warned, “and rein your son in. I am receiving reports of his conduct and he is drawing unwanted attention to himself. He acts as though I have accepted him among us and that I will do his bidding for him if he makes an enemy he cannot measure up to. Fix it, Lucius, or I will.”

Lucius swallowed deeply as he bowed.

“I will, My Lord. At once.”

“Good,” Voldemort declared. “Leave us.”

Without preamble, the blond hurried from the room and the Dark Lord flared his nostrils in irritation.

Severus had raised the issue of Draco.

The boy had become belligerent, and somehow more cocksure of himself than his father.

With a shake of his head, Voldemort turned his attention to the waiting Augustus Rookwood.

The man was amongst his most valued Death Eaters.

Augustus had been gifted enough to be offered employment in the Department of Mysteries upon graduating from Hogwarts.

He truly was an exceptional talent, but it was not his many gifts the Dark Lord wished to put to use or discuss with the man.

“I require information regarding your former place of employment,” Voldemort requested.

“The Department of Mysteries?” Rookwood sighed. “What is it you wish to know, My Lord?”

Voldemort eyed the man curiously.

“Our conversation is to go no further until it is necessary,” he said firmly. “I wish to know about the room that contains prophecies.”

Rookwood could not hide his surprise at the revelation, and the man nodded to himself thoughtfully.

“It is deep within the department,” he explained. “As I am sure you are aware, My Lord, it contains all of the recorded prophecies dating back centuries, both fulfilled and unfulfilled alike.”

“And what are the security measures in place?”

“It may have changed in my absence,” Rookwood pointed out. “It has been fifteen years since I was last there.”

“Is it likely they have changed?”

Rookwood shook his head.

“No, My Lord,” he murmured. “Accessing the room is not difficult, and even when you enter, you can roam quite freely. The security is around the prophecy orbs, each one individually protected so that they cannot be tampered with.”

The Dark Lord gestured for the man to continue.

“We Were explicitly instructed not to attempt to remove any from the shelves,” Augustus explained. “Only the people that the prophecy refers to can do so, as can the seer that spoke it, and the individual that heard it.”

“And if any other was to attempt it, what would happen?”

Augustus released a deep breath.

“I cannot be certain, My Lord, but I would expect the repercussions to be quite dire. The department is very protective of the prophecies. It is a branch of magic they wish to get a better understanding of.”

Voldemort nodded his understanding.

“Do you believe in them?” he asked curiously.

Augustus frowned for a moment before nodding.

“I am a logical man by nature, but I have seen things in the department that defy logic,” he mused aloud. “I wouldn’t say I am a strong believer of traditional Divination, but there is magic in the spoken word. If magic can grant us the wondrous things it does, is it so farfetched to believe that it can guide us towards a point of destiny?”

“My thoughts exactly,” the Dark Lord replied. “Thank you, Augustus. You have given me much to consider.”

“Do you wish for me to see if I can still access the hall, My Lord?”

Voldemort considered the offer for a moment.

“I do,” he confirmed.

It would not do well to not have an insight into the workings of the department, and Augustus was his most able follower for the task.

“Then it shall be done as quickly as I can manage without being detected,” Rookwood declared as he stood.

“Thank you, Augustus, and do tell Wormtail that I wish to see him next,” Voldemort instructed. “He has skulked around at my feet for long enough. It is time that he puts what limited ability he has to use.”

“Of course, My Lord.”

With that, Augustus took his leave of the room, and the Dark Lord absentmindedly ran his fingers across the top of Nagini’s head whilst he waited for the rat to answer his summons.

(Break)

“You’re going to Britain, aren’t you?” Cain asked as Harry pocketed his shrunken trunk.

Barely a week had passed since the first attack had taken place that another hadn’t followed. The death toll of the muggles caught up in a war they didn’t even know existed only growing with the attacks.

Harry felt useless here, and though Sirius and Cassie had both written to him numerous times assuring him the Order was doing all they could to prevent them, it simply wasn’t enough.

Voldemort was having all the success he could hope for, and still the Ministry were seemingly doing nothing about it.

Fudge offered platitudes to the public, often declared his intention to find Sirius and put an end to the attacks, but the fool was looking in the wrong place despite the truth being right in front of him.

“I am,” Harry confirmed. “I need to see it for myself.”

Cain deflated as he shook his head.

“Do you think it is a good idea?” he pressed. “They will be looking out for you, won’t they?”

“Probably,” Harry snorted, “but even if I am seen, Voldemort will have to come and get me himself. When he does, everyone will know he is back.”

“I don’t think he would be that stupid, Harry,” Cain sighed. “Everything is going well for him with everyone thinking Sirius is behind what the Death Eaters are doing. Why would he risk exposing himself, even if it was for the chance to get to you?”

He made a good point, but Harry would not be deterred.

“Then I have nothing to worry about, do I?” he returned stubbornly.

Cain muttered incoherently under his breath.

“It’s not like you’re going to listen to me, or anyone,” he huffed irritably. “Just be careful. I don’t want to see your name plastered across the headlines announcing your death.”

Harry offered the boy an appreciative smile.

“I will be,” he promised. “I just have to see it for myself. I need to know what I will be getting myself into.”

“War,” Cain chuckled humourlessly. “You’ll be getting yourself into a war.”

“Something I’ve been preparing for all my life,” Harry reminded him. “You might not like it, but that is the hand I have been dealt. Eventually, Tom and I will meet, and it will be the end for one of us.”

Cain chose to ignore the last part of the statement.

He had attempted to get an explanation from Harry several times of why he was so sure it would culminate in a fight between the two of them.

“I still don’t get how the purebloods allow themselves to be led by a half-blood,” he grumbled.

“Because they either don’t know his origins, or they don’t care,” Harry replied with a shrug. “He is a powerful wizard that they can follow to their own ends. They will choose to remain ignorant so long as it serves them.”

“Just like your Ministry,” Cain snorted.

Harry nodded his agreement.

“It seems that ignorance works for most,” he sighed, “but not for me. There is no ignoring what is to come, and if I have to put an end to it myself, then so be it.”

Cain said nothing else on the matter but offered Harry a firm clap on the shoulder.

“You’ll win,” he said confidently before taking his leave of the dormitory, followed by Harry.

The rest of the group were waiting for them in the Common Room, each of them having packed to return home for the Christmas holidays.

The mood amongst them had been sombre since news of the first attack had been published in The Daily Prophet. To them, the war in Britain was a world away and something none of them had been affected by.

Harry believed they found it difficult to understand why he was so invested in it other than what had happened to his parents when he had been a baby, but it went far beyond the murders of James and Lily Potter.

Harry simply did not know how to explain it to them in a way they would understand.

Ana was the first to approach him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and resting her head on his chest.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she pleaded.

Evidently, it was no secret that he would be going to Britain for the holidays. Something his friends had subsequently been discussing.

“I’m not planning to,” Harry replied.

He wasn’t, but he could not deny the possibility that trouble might just find him when he was there.

Ana offered him a smile and Jonas punched him on the shoulder.

“That’s for just being you,” he snorted, offering him a grin.

Harry frowned at the boy, but he was pleased to at least see him smile. It had become a rare sight to see it from any of his friends.

Lucinda merely offered him a sad smile.

With Harry’s mood having become rather less jovial in recent weeks, she had been the one to struggle with it most and the dynamic between them had shifted.

It was not something that Harry had intended, and he found that he missed the back and forth the two of them often shared.

There was no longer any flirting between them, nor the impromptu wrestling matches where she would quickly put him in his place. It was as though she was distancing himself from him, and Harry did not like it, though he knew it was his own demeanour that was the cause.

With a shake of his head, he pulled her into a tight embrace and the girl hesitated for only a brief second before melting into it.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered.

Lucinda hummed and narrowed her eyes at him as they broke apart.

“Sorry might not be enough this time,” she said airily. “If you want my forgiveness, you have to work for it,” she added, prodding him smartly in the chest.

Harry snorted amusedly.

“Yes, Princess,” he sighed.

Lucinda scowled at him, but the ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips as she nodded.

“That’s better,” she declared. “Don’t get yourself killed. We already know you can’t be trusted to not do something idiotic. Just be careful,” she finished worriedly.

“I will be,” Harry promised. “Come on, if we hang round here any longer we will miss Christmas completely.”

It was almost as though none of them wished for him to be out of their sight as they followed him out of the Common Room and for the duration of the short walk to the courtyard where their parents were waiting for them.

As ever, Cassiopeia was standing to one side, away from the others.

She had never made any attempt to engage them in conversation. Her reputation from the war and who she had supported was well documented, after all.

“My Grandmother is here!” Eleanor whispered excitedly. “You have to meet her!”

Before Harry could even spot the Summerbee family, he was being all but dragged towards them by the girl and he soon found himself standing before her familiar mother and father, whom he had met previously, but also another, older woman he had yet to make the acquaintance of.

“Grandmother!” Eleanor gushed as she threw herself into the elderly woman’s arm.

“Look at you,” the woman wheezed, barely able to breathe due to how tight she was being held. “All grown up. You look just like me when I was your age. Now, who is your…”

She broke off as her gaze shifted towards Harry, her mouth falling agape as she stared at him dumbly.

“Grandmother?” Eleanor questioned worriedly as the woman stepped towards Harry.

“It can’t be,” she whispered. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

Harry was confused and thought perhaps the woman was having an episode of sorts but he did not flinch as she cupped his cheek with a wrinkled, trembling hand, looking at him almost longingly.

“I’m sorry, I think you are mistaking me for someone else,” he said gently.

The woman nodded as her look of wonder faded.

“I am,” she said sadly.

“Who do I remind you of?” Harry asked curiously.

“Just a man I knew a lifetime ago now.”

“What happened to him?”

The woman shrugged.

“I don’t know. I suppose it will always be a mystery as to what happened to Harry Evans.”

“Harry Evans?”

“Is the name familiar?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, but my mother’s maiden name was Evans. She married my father, James Potter.”

“Is that so?” the woman questioned with something akin to a knowing grin. “Well, I don’t believe much in coincidences, Harry. As to what happened to the Hit-Wizard I met, I will likely never uncover the truth, but you remind me of him so much, down to those brilliant green eyes of yours.”

Harry was taken aback as the woman kissed him gently on the cheek and smiled at him the same way Eleanor often did.

It was one of fondness, and though the situation he currently found himself in was strange to say the least, he found that he quite liked the woman.

“Do come and see me some time,” she requested. “I’d quite like to speak with you more.”

“I will,” Harry assured her with a smile of his own.

The woman gave his hand a firm squeeze before turning away.

“Say goodbye to your friend, Eleanor,” she instructed as she walked steadily back to her son and daughter-in-law.

Harry watched her for a moment, perplexed by what had just happened.

“What was that all about?” he asked an equally confused Eleanor.

“My grandmother told me about Harry Evans once,” she explained. “He was a Hit-Wizard that arrested her, and then broke her out of jail during the Grindelwald war. He vanished soon after. She told me she believed he survived the war and that his death would have been made known by Grindelwald. She says that she thinks he had a different calling, that he was needed somewhere else.”

“How strange,” Harry commented thoughtfully.

Eleanor nodded her agreement.

“I think she was in love with him,” she whispered amusedly. “Anyway, remember to be careful. I don’t want you to become my Harry Evans.”

She followed her grandmother’s example and kissed him on the cheek before leaving the school grounds with her parents and grandmother who shot Harry a final sad smile as they departed.

Harry could only frown as he made his way towards Cassiopeia, his mind momentarily occupied by the odd exchange.

However, his own reality weighed heavily on him once more as he reached his Aunt.

“Sirius is waiting for you,” she explained as she withdrew a portkey from within her robes.

Harry merely nodded as he took hold of it and felt himself pulled across the continent where he was deposited into the study in Grimmauld Place only a moment later.

It wasn’t until he entered the kitchen that he found his godfather, seated at the table and nursing a cup of coffee between his hands.

Despite how exhausted Sirius looked, his expression brightened as he looked up to see who had arrived, and he stood to pull Harry into a tight embrace.

“How are you?” the man asked fondly.

“Better than you, obviously,” Harry snorted. “What’s been happening?”

It had been too risky to disclose too much in any letters between them, and as useful as it was to receive The Daily Prophet, the articles were still lacking in relevant information.

“Nothing good,” Sirius sighed. “We’ve not seen a single one of the Death Eaters. They vanish long before we get there. It’s just like last time, but we have less useful people on our side. Honestly, I’m almost grateful they flee before we make it to an attack. Most of the Order wouldn’t be much use in a fight.”

Harry nodded his agreement.

Having met them himself, he was of a similar mind.

The Aurors would fare well enough, and perhaps Bill Weasley along with Sirius and Remus, but the others were little more than paper pushers in the Ministry, or far beyond their best years.

“What was the Order like before?” Harry asked curiously.

The question brought grin to Sirius’s lips.

“Well, there was me, your father and Remus,” he began thoughtfully. “We had only just graduated from school when we joined with your mother, but we knew how to handle ourselves. James and Lily really were brilliant at what they did, and Remus is just about the best at Defence Against the Dark Arts I know, other than Moody and Dumbledore.”

He paused for a moment, evidently reminiscing about the times he had shared with his friends before shaking himself from his thoughts.

“Our best fighter was Dorcas Meadows, have you heard of her?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Harry responded with a frown.

He wasn’t familiar with the members of the Order from the prior war.

“She was a brilliant witch, Harry. As fierce as they came and with the talent to back it up,” Sirius explained. “There wasn’t a Death Eater among them who could go toe-to-toe with Dorcas.”

“She was killed by Voldemort.”

Sirius nodded sadly.

“He attacked her in the dead of night and caught her unprepared, but she still put up a hell of a fight judging by the state of the scene. He did the same to Benji Fenwick.”

“Benji Fenwick?”

“A larger-than-life Irishman,” Sirius chuckled. “He was huge and scared the crap out of most of us. I once watched him duel six Death Eaters by himself and he killed three of them before the others ran. Between Benji and Dorcas, they didn’t want to stick around and fight us much.”

“And now we don’t have anyone like them.”

“Other than Moody, no,” Sirius murmured. “He is cut from the same cloth as them, but he’s not what he once was. Between the injuries and the paranoia, he is a shadow of what he used to be.”

“But still the best we have.”

“Other than Dumbledore,” Sirius pointed out. “Albus is one of the most brilliant wizards born in the last few centuries, but he is not a fighter. He can handle himself, but he lacks the killer instinct to fight a war. He was like that the first time around too, and the likes of Malfoy walked free.”

“Malfoy?”

“It was Dumbledore that arrested him at the end of the war. If he would have killed him, the country wouldn’t be in the state it is now.”

Harry nodded his agreement.

Without Lucius Malfoy around, Britain would certainly be all the better for it.

“Anyway, let’s not waste what time we have ruining what little festive spirit we can feel,” Sirius urged. “Is there anything you would like to do?”

“We could always set up a prank for the werewolf,” Harry suggested.

Sirius grinned as he nodded, rubbing his hands together with anticipation.

Between the two of them, Remus would not know what had hit him.

(Break)

“This is unacceptable, Minister!” Lord Boot scolded. “It is taking too long for the Aurors to respond to these attacks. How is it that our infrastructure in place to detect magic being cast around muggles is proving to be so useless?”

He received only half-hearted murmurs of agreement from some of his peers, with many continuing to simply look at the floor to void drawing attention to themselves.

Albus had not felt such tension in the Wizengamot chambers since Voldemort’s last raise, and it appeared as though History was repeating itself.

The Lord and Ladies that were usually much more outspoken against the radical traditionalist block were remaining silent, even those of a typically neutral stance.

They were fearful of reprisals, and with how events were currently unfolding, Albus could not blame.

Very few possessed the needed audaciousness to speak out, with Lord Boot being one of them.

The others, Albus suspected, had already been cowed. And with them refusing to oppose Tom’s supporters, things would only get worse from here-on-out.

It had taken weeks for the meeting to be called by Cornelius, days that had been taken advantage of by the likes of Lucius Malfoy and his allies.

Now all that remained was to see what direction this session would take.

“What would you have the Ministry do, Lord Boot?” Lucius questioned. “The Aurors are already working around the clock and responding as quickly as they can to these most heinous acts. I am keen to hear what suggestions you have. Our infrastructure cannot simply be improved. It would cost thousands of galleons and weeks of manpower to achieve. Now is not the time to make such an investment in resources and gold.”

Cornelius offered Lucius an appreciative nod.

The man was tired, weary, and yet still ignorant of what was happening around him.

Cornelius was not typically so foolish, but when it came to conflict, or opposing those who so steadfastly supported him, he demonstrated only reluctance to speak his own mind.

Instead, he seemed to be hoping that the Death Eaters would be rounded up by the Aurors, and that he need not do anything some would deem to be drastic and lose the support of those he couldn’t possibly not suspect of being involved.

“That is not my job to decide,” Boot fired back irritably. “The Ministry is failing to protect our muggle counterparts, and even our own when it comes to these attacks. Nine prospective witches and wizards have been killed already. How many is too many before something is done?”

Again, the man received only silent murmurs of agreement from a few.

Boot shot his peers a look of disgust.

He had always been one of the more outspoken members of the Wizengamot, and unafraid of making enemies, if necessary.

Either he did not feel concerned about what was happening, or he too was ignorant of the truth.

Albus did not know what was worse.

Regardless, Lord Boot was undoubtedly irking the likes of Lucius Malfoy who was openly glaring at the man.

“I have a suggestion, Minister,” Lord Nott spoke up.

Cornelius’s expression morphed into one of relief as he eagerly gestured for the man to speak.

“Lord Boot is correct,” Nott sighed. “Not enough is being done for the muggleborns that are being caught up in these attacks. Might I suggest something that may seem a little over the top but I believe is necessary?”

“Go ahead, Lord Nott,” Cornelius urged.

Nott offered the Minister a bow.

“I believe that if we could keep tabs on those that live within the muggle world, we can be better prepared to protect them, and at the same time take an accurate account of our current population. What I am suggesting is a census of sorts where every magical person in Britain is to sign a register stating their blood status, their place of residence, and any children they have.”

“To what end?” Cornelius asked with a frown.

“So that the Aurors know which areas to focus their attention on,” Nott explained. “If the infrastructure cannot be improved, then is this not the next best thing?”

Cornelius nodded thoughtfully.

“That in itself is quite the task to arrange,” he sighed.

“But a much simpler and cost-effective solution than the alternative,” Nott pointed out.

Cornelius hummed as he pondered the idea, and even Lord Boot seemed to be contemplating it.

“It is not something that can be decided immediately,” Cornelius sighed. “A detailed plan for doing such a thing must be created before we can even consider it.”

“I volunteer my services to create the plan,” Dolores Umbridge offered.

Cornelius smiled at the woman.

“Thank you, Dolores,” he said gratefully. “The idea certainly has merit, and if it will assist in keeping the public safe, then I am sure we can find common ground to see it done.”

Albus frowned unhappily at the smiling Umbridge.

This was not good.

What Nott had suggested was simply a way that muggleborns, both adults and children, could be watched closely and targeted when the Death Eaters chose to.

They didn’t care about the insufficient Auror force that opposed them, and should Nott get his way, it would only present more opportunities to ambush them when they were patrolling in their standardised pairs.

No, this was not good at all.

Albus would need to discuss the matter with Cornelius in the hope of making him see sense, though the headmaster doubted his words would be taken on board.

Already, Britain was reflecting what it once had during the previous war, and Albus could not help but feel that in only a matter of months, things would only have gotten worse.

(Break)

Harry could only stare at the brightly coloured building he stood before in Diagon Alley, shaking his head in amusement at how stark it stood out compared to the others.

“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” he snorted.

He had ventured to the alley to complete some last minute Christmas shopping and had spotted the shop that was only a short walk from Gringotts from the other end of the alley.

The Weasley twins had certainly been busy.

Entering the shop, every one of his senses was assaulted by odd noises, smells, and too many objects of interest to take in with a single glance.

“Ah, Harry!” one of the twins greeted him enthusiastically. “What do you think of our humble shop?”

“Humble?” Harry questioned with a quirked brow. “It is brilliant.”

The twin smiled brightly, gesturing to all of the customers around them.

“And business is booming,” he declared happily. “Thanks to you, of course.”

“It’s your products that have brought them here,” Harry pointed out. “I just made it happen a little quicker than it would have.”

“Well, either way, George and I will always be grateful,” Fred whispered. “Whatever you want is on us, always.”

Harry nodded appreciatively as he peered, pausing as he caught sight of a familiar figure skulking past the main window.

“I’ll be back,” he assured the redhead. “There’s something I have to do.”

Fred frowned curiously at him but said nothing as Harry stepped out of the shop and ducked into a nearby alleyway where he covered himself with his cloak.

It took only a few moments to catch up with Draco who had entered Knockturn Alley, pausing to look around before making his way into Borgin and Burke’s.

Harry waited; his eyes fixed on the door as he pondered one of the very few letters he’d received from Pansy since September.

Draco is worse than ever!

No one will stand up to him, and he’s already hurt some of the younger students.

Snape won’t do anything about it either and I don’t know what to do.

He hasn’t hurt me yet, but he has threatened both me and Daphne.

It’s only a matter of time before he follows through.

Harry’s jaw clenched, the same anger he had felt whilst reading the letter for the first time surfacing once more.

Draco needed to be reminded of just how significant he was, and if no one else was willing to do it, who was Harry to not take advantage of the opportunity presented to him?

It was several moments later that the boy emerged from the shop, stowing away whatever it was he had purchased within his robes before he skulked back towards Diagon Alley.

It was when he was passing through the isolated archway that separated the two alleys that Harry struck.

Draco did not have time to react before one of the lids of a nearby bin smashed into his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

He attempted to draw his wand, only for Harry to ram his heel into the sensitive flesh of his forearm.

Draco cried out in pain as his wand clattered to the floor and Harry removed his cloak, revealing himself to the fearful boy.

“I’ve been meaning to have a little talk with you, Draco,” Harry growled, seizing the other boy by the throat. “I thought today would be perfect. What, you don’t think us being here at the same time is purely a coincidence, do you?”

It was, but Draco didn’t need to know that.

“Now, I’ve seen what you have been doing,” Harry continued, “and I’m telling you now that it will stop. I know everything, Malfoy. I even know how infrequently you change your skiddy pants. This is your first and only warning, do you understand?”

The boy was beginning to purple from the tightness of Harry’s grip, so he loosened it slightly so that he could breathe.

“My father…”

He was cut off by Harry’s fist ploughing into his already bloody nose.

“Your father is nothing to me!” Harry spat. “He will die soon enough, and his master will not be able to prevent that. Voldemort cannot protect you from anything. I’m coming for them all, Draco. Every single person that carries the mark, and you can tell them that from me when you run home crying to your mother. As a matter of fact, I might kill her first.”

Draco’s eyes widened.

“She isn’t one of them,” he protested.

Harry shrugged uncaringly.

“Maybe not,” he chuckled darkly, “but wouldn’t it be quite some justice to make your father suffer for all the misery he has caused others? I imagine he is fond of your mother in his own way, and to find her corpse in their marriage bed would be quite something, wouldn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t,” Draco choked.

“Just keep telling yourself that, Draco,” Harry snorted. “Believe me, I have no problem with taking lives. When you witness your own mother being murdered, doing so means very little. Why don’t you ask Thorfin Rowle or Titus Yaxley? I met them during the aftermath of the World Cup, and it didn’t end well for them, did it?”

“You k-killed them?” Draco stammered.

“I did,” Harry confirmed, “and they were only the first of many. Now, if you do not want your mother to be pushed to the top of my list, I suggest you change your ways. I can get to her any time I wish. Maybe when she visits the apothecary to get her potions ingredients, or on a Thursday afternoon when she leaves the florist she likes at the bottom of Diagon Alley.”

Draco swallowed deeply.

“Leave my mother out of this, Potter!”

“Whether I do or don’t is on you, Draco,” Harry reminded him. “If you behave, she may remain safe, but if you do not, I will make her suffer unspeakable agony and misery before I end her. Understood?”

Harry’s gaze bore unwaveringly into Draco’s, leaving the boy with no doubt to the truth of his words.

He received only a nod in response and Harry stood before turning to take his leave, pausing momentarily to speak once more.

“Oh, and Draco? Tell Voldemort when you see him that every riddle has a solution. He will know what I mean.”

With that, Harry headed back into Diagon Alley, leaving a bloodied and confused Draco Malfoy in his wake.

(Break)

“It is done, My Lord,” Lucius declared proudly as he entered the parlour the Dark Lord was being hosted in.

Voldemort simply nodded, and Lucius frowned evidently having expected a more gratuitous response.

“Is something wrong, My Lord?” Lucius pressed.

Narcissa said nothing as she sipped her tea.

She was deeply uncomfortable in the man’s presence and found it best to not draw attention to herself.

It was how she had avoided being marked during the first war, and she wished for her skin to remain unblemished.

Bellatrix had often bemoaned the fact that Narcissa had not pledged herself to her master the way the others had, and though she supported the movement, she had seen the discomfort the Dark Mark could elicit within the Death Eaters should they find themselves in the bad graces of their lord.

“Nothing is wrong, Lucius,” Voldemort responded. “I am merely pondering how we should move forward. Nott’s suggestion to the Ministry should bear fruit, but it is only the beginning.”

Before Lucius could respond, the door to the parlour slammed open and Narcissa gasped as a bloodied and fearful Draco rushed into the room.

She ran to him immediately, cupping his cheeks in her hand as she surveyed the damage.

His nose was broken quite badly, and both of his eyes were almost swollen shut.

“What happened, Draco?” Narcissa whispered worriedly.

Her son was trembling from head to toe and it took him a moment to compose himself.

“P-Potter,” he stammered.

“Potter?” the Dark Lord interjected as he stood.

Draco nodded, his gaze shifting towards the floor as Voldemort approached.

“H-he attacked me in the alley,” he explained. “He made some threats against us, and you, My Lord.”

Voldemort narrowed his red eyes.

“What threats?” he demanded.

Draco swallowed deeply and Narcissa looked towards her irate husband.

“He s-said that he is going to kill my father, and me,” Draco choked, “but that he would kill my mother first to make us suffer more.”

Narcissa felt her blood run cold at the revelation.

There had been something rather unsettling about Potter when she had met him briefly at the World Cup.

He had shown no fear of her husband nor the Minister despite the influence they carried between them.

Was he truly capable of killing her?

Narcissa could not be certain, but the threat left her feeling rather disturbed.

“He threatened me?” Lucius growled, stomping towards Draco.

The boy nodded.

“He killed Rowle and Yaxley. He told me himself.”

Lucius paused, looking towards the Dark Lord who seemed to be impressed rather than angry as Narcissa expected.

“Is that so?” he questioned amusedly. “Well, there is more to Potter than I expected.”

“Allow me to kill him, My Lord,” Lucius all but demanded. “He has threatened my family and attacked my son.”

Voldemort held up a hand as he shook his head.

“Potter is mine,” he said firmly.

Lucius appeared ready to protest, but a single glare from his master changed his mind.

“Did he say anything else?”

Draco nodded, finally looking up from the ground.

“He told me to tell you that every riddle has a solution.”

Narcissa frowned, and Lucius appeared to be as confused as she and Draco were, but the words evidently meant something to the Dark Lord whose eyes had narrowed in fury.

“Get out,” he whispered dangerously.

“My Lord?” Lucius questioned.

“GET OUT!”

Narcissa dragged Draco from the room, the door slamming behind them and Lucius just in time as a guttural roar sounded.

The entire lower level of the house shook as the Dark Lord unleashed his anger, but it wasn’t the damage the man would do to her home that occupied Narcissa’s mind.

She had never been threatened in such a way, and though she did not doubt that Lucius could protect her, she could not ignore the feeling that if he truly wished to, that Potter would find a way to follow through with his words.

(Break)

“Oh, cheer up, Moony,” Sirius sighed, unable to prevent the bout of laughter that followed.

“I’m not talking to either of you!” the werewolf returned sulkily as he pawed the ground.

“If it is any consolation, you do make for a good reindeer,” Harry broke in, chuckling unashamedly. “Would you like a carrot?”

The prank had gone better than either Harry or Sirius could have hoped for.

They had initially intended to give the man antlers, and perhaps a red nose, but between them, they had managed to create a full transformation.

It wasn’t a permanent change, but it should last for the duration of Christmas day.

“Yes,” Remus muttered grumpily.

Sirius laughed once more at the sight of Harry feeding Remus a carrot, and even more so as he patted the head of the reindeer.

“Who’s a good boy?” Harry cooed.

Remus pawed the ground again in irritation.

“Don’t bloody push it!”

“Do you think we could find a way to keep him like this?” Sirius asked excitedly. “I think I prefer him as a reindeer.”

“Bugger off!” Remus growled as Harry shook his head.

“I wouldn’t risk it. I couldn’t imagine what would happen during the full moon. I don’t think a reindeer/werewolf hybrid would be pleasant.”

“True,” Sirius conceded, frowning as a sombre Cassiopeia entered the kitchen, pausing as she eyed the reindeer.

“I don’t think I want to know what on Earth the three of you are up to,” she sighed, “but you need to see this.”

She handed Harry a copy of The Daily Prophet, and any joviality he had felt vanished immediately.

“He killed the Boot family?” he whispered. “Why would he do that?”

“To send a message,” Cassiopeia explained. “Dumbledore said that Boot was one of the few that has been speaking out against Malfoy and his ilk during the Wizengamot meetings. I don’t think anyone else will be following his example after this.”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered as he took the newspaper from Harry. “He killed all of them.”

“To send a message,” Harry echoed Cassiopeia’s words. “If the Lords and Ladies know that not even their children are safe, they will offer no resistance. Voldemort has all but taken over the Wizengamot.”

Cassiopeia nodded gravely.

“I expect things will only get much worse from now.”

As much as he wished to disagree with his Aunt, Sirius knew she was right.

Voldemort would be getting his way with just about everything he did now, and there seemed to be no silver lining on the horizon.

It would be worse than before, and even then, they had come so close to being defeated.

That was until the Dark Lord had attacked James, Lily, and Harry, but there would be no miracle to save Britain this time.

All that stood between Voldemort and the victory he failed to clinch a little over fifteen years ago was a depleted auror force and the lacking efforts of The Order of the Phoenix.”

‘And Harry,’ the voice at the back of Sirius’s mind added.

He shook his head of that thought.

‘Not Harry!’ he protested internally.

Still, as he looked upon his godson, it was not fear of what was to come that he saw, but determination, and though Sirius wished the boy would stay out of it, he knew that it was out of the question.

Harry, just like his parents, and Charlus before them, would go to war.

There was nothing that Sirius could envision coming to pass that would stop that.