Written in the Stars - United

United

It was several hours after the commotion had ended that Remus felt his body shifting back to his human form, and despite having taken the wolfsbain potion, the process was no less uncomfortable.

Groaning as the aches and pains of his injuries made themselves known once more, he pushed himself to his feet, pleased that he could at least stand of his own volition.

Still, he was certainly not feeling his best, but he was no longer on death’s door as he had been when Cain had freed him.

Cain.

Remus did not know how he would ever repay the young man for what he had done. Before he could even consider such a debt, however, he needed to get out of this cave and take stock of his surroundings.

Retrieving the wand he had hidden between two rocks that were too big for his wolfish paws to reach into, he removed the barrier he had put up to keep the other werewolves out, and ultimately him inside should the potion have proven to be ineffective.

Much to his relief, it had worked as intended, and though his night had been full of the horror of merely listening to what was unfolding outside, he was safe and on the mend from his ordeal.

As he cleared the debris in the cave entrance, it was the smell of blood that filled his nose first, and he desperately scrambled to remove enough of the rocks so that he could get outside, a feeling of dread settling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

A confrontation had taken place here, and as he manged to squeeze himself through the opening he had created, he swallowed deeply, frowning at the carnage that greeted him.

Much of the sand had seemingly been scorched, and along with the tang of blood was the unmistakeable aroma of singed flesh and fur.

Regardless, It wasn’t these nauseating scents that caught his attention.

No, mingled in with them was another more familiar to him.

“Harry,” Remus whispered worriedly as he began walking the landscape, trying to piece together what had happened.

It took little deduction on his part realise he must have come for Cain, and as a werewolf, Cain would have been unable to tell him anything.

That did not explain what a considerable amount of Harry’s blood was doing here.

Had he been bitten?

There was no question that he had indeed been injured here, but had he managed to get Cain out and escape?

“What the f…?”

Having spotted an odd pile of sand in the middle of the flat beach, Remus made his way towards it, his eyes widening as he recognised what it was he found himself looking upon.

“Greyback,” he scoffed.

Although only part of the headless torso was on display, Remus would recognise the scent of the werewolf that had turned him so many years prior anywhere.

For much of his life, he had envisioned killing the werewolf himself, making him pay for all the suffering Remus had endured because of him.

Now, someone else had beaten him to it, and the only comfort he could take in this moment was that it was Harry who had gotten to Greyback.

Adding to that, the death of the infamous werewolf had not been a clean one.

His head had been removed in a rather savage manner; the wound jagged and the bones left behind broken from the impact of whatever weapon Harry had used.

“Bastard!” Remus growled, spitting on the remains of Fenrir Greyback before he turned away to compose himself.

Greyback was dead, but it would change nothing for him.

The rest of his days would still be plagued by what he had been turned into.

Nevertheless, Remus had grown used to what he was and had accepted it long ago.

It had been his friends that had helped him with that; Sirius, James, and even Peter, though he reluctantly included the last in that list.

Shaking his head of his thoughts, he breathed, and he did so freely in what felt like the first ever time he could do so.

He needed to go home, to thank Cain and Harry for what they had done.

It was a bittersweet moment for Remus, but he would come to accept what had happened in time.

Now, it was time that he left this place, and though seeing Greyback’s mutilated corpse would forever be a favourite memory of his, he had the rest of his life to dwell on it.

With a smile, and something of a spring in his still-awkward step, he apparated to Calais, and from there, he would soon be in London and Grimmauld Place once more.

(Break)

Harry simply snorted as he combed through the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.

THE DARK LORD RETURNS!

By Rita Skeeter

The headline was accompanied by a moving picture of Harry and Voldemort trading spells in the centre of Hogsmeade; the undeniable proof that Harry had been telling the truth all along.

He was not one to say, ‘I told you so’, but there was a small, petty part of him that wished he could see the reaction of the news now that it had been categorically confirmed.

“Fighting Minister,” he murmured amusedly, grinning at the description of Cassiopeia.

Still, now that Voldemort would no longer be operating in the shadows, things would become decidedly more dangerous for the citizens who had been allowed to remain ignorant until now.

Nonetheless, it was better that they were prepared and ready for what was here than woefully the opposite.

“Master Black, the werewolf is awake,” Elgar informed him as he popped into the room.

“Thank you, Elgar,” Harry replied gratefully.

He would give Cain a few moments to gather his thoughts, and whilst he did so, he continued perusing the newspaper, frowning at the running commentary Rita had provided of the duel.

Harry shook his head.

He had held his own well enough for some time, and though he was injured, he would not deny the truth.

Voldemort was currently the better duellist, and it had only been Harry’s inside knowledge of how the man thought that had prevented him from being killed.

Without it, he had no doubt that the fight would have ended sooner, and he would have been on the wrong side of the outcome.

Regardless, it did not deter him from meeting the man once, twice, or a dozen times more if necessary, but he needed to be sufficiently prepared for that eventually.

Between now and then, however, there was much more he could do to weaken Riddle’s position.

Releasing a deep breath and pushing thoughts of his foe aside, Harry made his way towards the basement where Cain had spent the night and pushed the door open where he was greeted to the sight of Eleanor talking animatedly to the pale, young man.

Harry frowned as Cain struggled to meet his gaze when he took note of his presence. The werewolf was undoubtedly despondent after the events of the previous evening, but he had nothing to feel ashamed of.

“I’ve already told him everything,” Eleanor explained as she stood.

Sirius, who was there too, remained in his seat as Eleanor took her leave of the room.

“Sorry, Harry,” Cain murmured.

Harry merely shook his head as he pulled Cain into a tight embrace.

“Sorry?” he snorted. “Bloody hell, you’ve got to be the stupidest prat I have ever met. You could have been killed.”

“I must have spent too much time around you,” Cain returned evenly.

Harry chuckled and was pleased to see his friend crack a smile.

“That’s true,” the former sighed, “but we are both here, against the odds.”

Cain nodded.

“Remus…”

“You found him?”

“I did,” Cain confirmed. “I gave him my potion and hid him in a cave. He has my wand.”

“Well, that explains why you tried to kill me,” Harry pointed out amusedly. “How was he when you found him?”

“Almost dead,” Cain answered gravely. “I managed to patch him up as best I could.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“Let me know where the cave is and I’ll find him.”

“It’s near where you killed Greyback, just a little further down the beach within the rocks. Harry, my parents?”

“I expect they are with the rest of the pack,” Harry replied thoughtfully.

“There will be problems,” Cain sighed. “Greyback was the only thing keeping them together. They’ll probably break off into smaller packs with a chosen leader for each.”

Harry would not pretend to understand the intimate workings of werewolf life, but Cain seemed rather certain of his assumption.

“I will look into finding your parents,” he promised.

Cain deflated and nodded appreciatively.

“How’re you feeling?” Harry asked.

Cain shrugged.

“Sore, tired, the usual,” he snorted. “You?”

“About the same,” Harry replied with a grin. “You have got to be the stupidest, bravest person I know.”

“I’m not as brave as you.”

Harry shook his head.

“I do what I do out of necessity,” he pointed out. “You did what you did out of loyalty to me. You don’t have to be here fighting. All of you could walk away and forget about this.”

“No chance.”

“I know that,” Harry huffed. “Thank you,” he added sincerely. “For everything.”

Cain swallowed deeply as he nodded.

“Any time.,” he returned. “Thank you or not killing me last night.”

“Well, I did think about it,” Harry jested. “That’s twice you’ve tried to kill me now.”

Cain grimaced but Harry waved off the look.

Before he could respond, however, the door to the basement opened once more and a somehow paler, and limping Remus Lupin entered.

“Moony!” Sirius greeted the man, pulling him into an uncomfortably tight embrace, causing Remus to wince in pain.

“Get off, Padfoot,” he grumbled. “I’m fine, well, I will be, thanks to him.”

His curious expression was fixed on Cain who merely shrugged, evidently feeling uncomfortable under such scrutiny.

Carefully, Remus approach and knelt next to the other werewolf before shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t have made it out of there without you,” he said simply. “I owe you a debt that I will never be able to repay. Thank you, Cain. I can’t even put into words what it means to me, but only Sirius and Harry’s father have ever truly looked out for me.”

“Well, now you have me too,” Cain snorted. “Us werewolves have got to be there for each other.”

Remus nodded his agreement and gave Cain’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before standing.

“If you will all excuse me, I think I still have some healing to do,” he announced. “Get better soon,” he added to Cain before hobbling from the room, followed closely by Sirius.

Harry and Cain remained in silence for a few moments.

It was the werewolf that broke it as he spotted the newspaper tucked under Harry’s arm and gestured for him to pass it.

Harry rolled his eyes as he did so, and Cain’s own widened as he read the headline and took in the photos.

“And you think I’m out of my mind,” he muttered. “What happens next?”

“Cassie will be calling a Wizengamot meeting when she has finished surveying Hogsmeade,” Harry explained. “From there, it depends on what action can be agreed to take, I suppose. I don’t know what to expect in all honesty, but I have my own plans to figure out.”

“Stupid, dangerous plans?”

“Aren’t they the best ones?” Harry returned with a smirk.

Cain shook his head frustratedly.

“Do you think you will ever have peace?”

Harry hoped so.

If what Galanis believed proved to be true, he certainly did not wish to be spending the next thousand years at war.

No, that was not the life Harry wanted for himself, and certainly not his friends for as long as he would have them.

The thought filled him with an unspeakable sadness and he offered Cain something of a sincere smile.

“I don’t expect I’ll be at war forever, but peace is another thing entirely, isn’t it?”

Cain shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he mused aloud. “From what I have seen, life has its ups and downs, and you have to take the good with the bad. Sometimes things are bad, and sometimes they are good, but both can be peaceful if you accept both for what they are.”

Harry snorted and shook his head.

“Where did that pearl of wisdom come from?”

Cain shrugged.

“Nowhere, it’s just my experience.”

Harry nodded appreciatively.

“Get some rest,” he urged. “I’ll let you know what is happening.”

“I will,” Cain yawned as he leaned back into his pillows, “and Harry?”

Harry paused as he reached the door of the basement.

“You’re not in this alone,” Cain continued. “You have all of us with you, just, remember that.”

“I will,” Harry promised, the words of his friend meaning more to him than the werewolf would ever understand.

(Break)

“I told you already, the Minister will not be taking questions at this time!” Lucinda growled at the reporters that were following them around the village.

Cassiopeia fought the urge to smirk.

The fact the young woman was a vampire was enough to deter them from being too pushy, and her thick, Russian accent only added to her ability to intimidate them into silence.

Still, Cassiopeia wasn’t sure what to make of her.

For the most part, Lucinda was rather standoffish, which was understandable given what she was and how she was looked upon by others.

Harry clearly thought highly of the girl, however, and that was good enough.

“And what are you, the Minister’s keeper?” one of the reporters asked mockingly.

The others laughed and Lucinda levelled a glare at them.

“Yes,” she answered simply. “I was appointed by Harry Potter. I could always send for him and you can question him yourself about his decision. I’m sure he would appreciate that.”

The man who had asked the question stumbled over his words, and this time, Cassiopeia did smirk to herself.

Diplomacy may not be Lucinda’s strong point, but it didn’t need to be, and her efforts to keep the vultures at bay were most appreciated.

Cassiopeia had enough to deal with without the incessant, irritating questions of the press to disrupt her work.

Forty-three people had lost their lives the previous night; a mix of citizens, Death Eaters, Aurors, and even a few of Dumbledore’s people among them.

Along with the damage to the village itself, what had transpired could only be described as an absolute disaster that would take months to resolve.

Much of Hogsmeade would need to be rebuilt, and in the meantime, those that were homeless needed to be found shelter.

Thankfully, Cassiopeia could delegate most of the tasks to her subordinates, but for the time being, she needed to be a visual presence to reassure the people that would look to her.

For more times than she could count, she cursed Harry again for placing her in this position, shaking her head as she remembered what Healer Galanis had revealed only this morning.

A thousand years.

Cassiopeia was on her way to a century, and she felt that she had experienced more than enough to last a lifetime.

Harry would live considerably longer, so long as one of his hairbrained schemes did not eventually get him killed.

Her eyes drifted over to Lucinda.

At least he would have someone when everyone else he knew inevitably past on; her included.

The thought of him being left alone in the world was a new fear and though she had her reservations about the vampire, there was no questioning how much the girl cared for Harry.

She would look out for him and keep him in line when he needed it.

Most of all, Cassie knew Lucinda could be relied upon to help him pick up the pieces, a thought that offered her some comfort in something so maudlin.

“It’s alright, dear, I will speak to them now,” she declared.

With a nod, Lucinda took her place by Cassie’s side, ready to defend her if needed.

“Minister Black, what will happen now?” one of the reporters asked curiously.

“We will fight,” Cassie answered simply. “We will rebuild, and we will fight until Voldemort and his followers are no more.”

The gathered journalists scratched furiously at their parchment whilst she spoke.

“And what of Harry Potter, is he okay?”

“Harry is fine,” Cassiopeia assured them. “I expect he will attend the Wizengamot meeting I have called for this afternoon.”

“What are you intending to discuss with the Lords and Ladies?”

“That will be revealed when necessary,” Cassiopeia answered firmly. “There is much we need to discuss, and many decisions to be made. You will be informed of them when they are decided.”

“Have you heard from Professor Dumbledore? Wasn’t he injured last night?”

“Professor Dumbledore has reached out to me, and he is doing well despite his injuries. He will make a full recovery. If there are no other questions, I have much work to be getting on with.”

Much to her relief, the journalists refrained from probing for further information, and Cassiopeia was able to prepare for her return to the Ministry.

“That went well,” Lucinda commented.

“As well as can be expected,” Cassie sighed. “This is only the beginning.”

Lucinda nodded her understanding as she took in their surroundings, looking for any potential threats.

“You will look after him, won’t you?” Cassie asked.

“Always,” Lucinda answered, not needing further clarification of what Cassiopeia meant.

“Good. Shall we?”

With a nod, Lucinda took hold of the proffered portkey, and the two of them vanished from Hogsmeade, back to the Ministry where they would await the arrival of the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot.

(Break)

The Dark Lord eyed the broken form of Sybil Trelawney with distaste. The woman was a rambling drunk, and he’d needed to tear through her mind to find the prophecy she claimed not to remember.

Not that it mattered.

He had eventually found it, and though the Hogwarts Divination Professor was now little more than a babbling infant in a woman’s body, the effort of having her retrieved was worth it.

“Neither can live while the other survives,” Voldemort echoed thoughtfully before turning his attention to the waiting Malfoy heir. “You have done well, Draco,” he praised. “Perhaps there is hope for the Malfoy family yet. Now, be gone.”

The boy said nothing as he scurried from the room, much like his father did.

The Dark Lord’s nostrils flared as he pondered the words of the seer.

Potter had been bluffing.

There was nothing in the prophecy that should have made him so sure of himself, and yet, there was one part of it that was ominous enough to cause him concern.

“Power the Dark Lord knows not…”

Voldemort scoffed at the very thought.

Potter possessed nothing that he didn’t, and there was not a person alive who could hope to kill him.

For all intents and purposes, he was immortal.

The reminder only served to bolster Voldemort’s confidence in his success. He had been reluctant to reveal himself to the world, but again, the sacrifice had been worth it.

“You should be resting, Bellatrix,” he sighed as the woman entered the room, her neck heavily bandaged from the wounds she had received at the hands of her aunt.

“I have no need of it,” the woman said dismissively.

The Dark Lord released a deep breath.

“You were almost killed.”

“My husband was killed!”

Rodolphus had been amongst the missing Death Eaters when they had returned from Hogsmeade along with Gibbon, Goyle, and Amycus Carrow from his inner circle.

The biggest loss, however, had been that of Fenrir Greyback.

Already he had sent Walden to see what could be salvaged of the man’s pack, but Voldemort was not hopeful of any werewolves joining him now, reducing his numbers considerably.

The death of Rodolphus was rather inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

He was indeed a gifted fighter, but Bellatrix anger at his loss was misplaced.

It wasn’t that she cared for the man on any level, but his death was a personal slight against her.

She saw him as her property, no more valuable than a hairpin, though still hers, nonetheless.

Bellatrix would likely react more emotionally if someone had taken one of her hairpins from her, as was her rather petty, possessive nature.

“Do you truly weep for your husband?” Voldemort asked curiously.

“Of course not, My Lord.”

“Then why such a strong reaction? If anything, I thought you would be pleased that he no longer draws breath.”

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

“I want the vampire bitch!” she demanded.

The Dark Lord raised a hairless eyebrow at her.

“My understanding is that it was your cousin Sirius that struck the final blow against Rodolphus.”

“Then he will die too, and Cassie!”

Voldemort chuckled humourlessly.

“My, that is quite the list, but I would be very careful with the vampire if I were you,” he warned. “She was turned by Lord Draikon himself, and from what we learned last night, she is no mere vampire. She possesses our magic along with her own. It makes her quite the dangerous foe.”

“All the more satisfying when I remove her head from her shoulders!” Bellatrix declared before storming from the room.

The Dark Lord shook his head.

One day, Bella would bite off more than she could chew.

Although she had healed remarkably well from her stint in Azkaban, she was not what she had once been.

Her duel with her Aunt the previous night proved that.

Oh, Cassiopeia Black was deeply talented, but she was now an old woman, and Bellatrix had struggled against the woman.

Had the two met during his first rise, Voldemort had no doubt that Bellatrix would have emerged victorious.

He frowned as he stared at the door, another thought giving him pause.

Perhaps it was not Bellatrix having deteriorated over the intervening years, but that she was subconsciously reluctant to take the life of one she shared blood with?

The Dark Lord had not personally duelled with Bella since her release.

Maybe he should.

It would give him an understanding of just how much she had indeed deteriorated, if at all.

He hummed to himself before shaking his head of the thought.

It was something he would address in due course.

For now, however, he needed to ponder the prophecy in the hope that he could fully understand it before he and Potter would meet again.

“Power he knows not,” he murmured once more, wondering just what the blasted words referred to.

(Break)

Those within the chambers of the Wizengamot broke into whispers as Harry entered with more than a dozen journalists trailing behind him, attempting to ask him questions he did not wish to answer.

He had been all but mobbed as he’d entered the Ministry and had not been able to rid himself of them.

The smug grin Cassiopeia sent his way did little to improve his mood and he took his seat amongst the other Lords and Ladies.

“Lord Potter,” Amos Diggory greeted him cordially. “I trust you are well?”

“I am,” Harry confirmed with a nod, “but I doubt that lot will be by the time this meeting ends,” he added, gesturing towards where a tired Lucius Malfoy was seated quietly with his cohorts.

The battle of Hogsmeade had not gone in their favour; the few empty spaces surrounding the man speaking volumes of just how much power he had lost within this room in a single night.

The sound of a gavel crashing atop Cassiopeia’s podium silenced the room immediately. The Lords and Ladies were paying rapt attention to the Minister and the journalists had their quills poised and ready to note down what she said.

“I call this meeting to order,” she announced without preamble.

“We cannot hold a meeting without the Chief Warlock,” Malfoy broke in.

Cassiopeia hummed thoughtfully.

“Very well. Since Dumbledore is unable to join, I suggest we elect a temporary Chief Warlock in his place,” she mused aloud. “Any objections?”

“You cannot just elect a new Chief Warlock,” Malfoy scoffed.

“Temporary Chief Warlock,” Cassiopeia corrected. “Dumbledore will resume his duties when he is well enough to do so. Does anyone wish to put a name forward for the temporary position.”

“I nominate Lord Potter,” Amos Diggory called, receiving several cheers of approval. “He has proven beyond any doubt that he has the best interests of the country at heart. Not to nominate him would be a disservice to us all.”

“I second the nomination,” Tiberius Ogden announced, offering Harry a bow.

Cassiopeia’s amusement only seemed to grow as she turned her attention towards Malfoy.

“Are there any other nominations?” she pressed.

“I nominate myself,” Lucius declared.

Cassiopeia nodded in acknowledgement.

“Any others?”

None spoke, and Cassiopeia noted down the name of the two nominees.

“Those in favour of Lord Malfoy, show your wands, now,” she instructed.

Those surrounding the blond did so and Cassiopeia counted the votes, writing down the number he’d received.

“And those in favour of Lord Potter?” she asked, raising her own wand.

Without the same hesitation he’d faced when he’d gotten Cassiopeia elected as Minister, the majority was clear for Harry.

“Lord Potter, if you would take you temporary place behind the Chief Warlock’s podium,” she urged.

Harry did so, ignoring the tumultuous applause he received.

“Now that we have a Chief Warlock, shall we continue?” Cassiopeia asked.

Without any reason to object, the woman cleared her throat, her amused expression shifting to one that was much more severe.

“I will not insult your intelligence by pretending that there is none among us aware of what took place in Hogsmeade last night,” she began again. “In short, along with the thousands of galleons of damage done to the village, forty-three people were killed. It is the worst tragedy Britain has experienced in over a decade, and something I do not wish to see repeated.”

“Will Hogsmeade be rebuilt, Minister?” Lord Greengrass questioned.

“It will,” Cassiopeia confirmed. “I have spent the morning personally surveying the scene and I will be meeting with the finest builders money can buy in due course to discuss the needed repairs.”

“And how will the Ministry afford this?” Malfoy broke in. “That kind of gold is not readily available.”

“You are correct, Lord Malfoy,” Cassiopeia returned with a sweet smile that Harry knew meant trouble. “It will be paid for by the perpetrators. Lord Goyle, and Rodolphus Lestrange were discovered amongst the dead in the village. The Ministry will be seizing their assets, along with the other Death Eaters that were a part of last night’s attack. Any future Death Eaters that are apprehended will be subjected to the same punishment.”

“You cannot do that!” Lucius scoffed.

“If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear,” Cassiopeia replied simply. “The Aurors are conducting the necessary raids as we speak, and I am assured by the Head of the Goblin Liaison Office that we will have full cooperation from Gringotts in this matter. People dying in such numbers is bad for business, after all.”

Lucius was aghast at the revelation, but those seated closer to Harry nodded their agreement.

“No! You cannot simply decide to seize the wealth of pureblood families!” Lord Nott said hotly.

“If a Head of a family is guilty of treason, then the Ministry is able to take what measures are deemed necessary to ensure that such actions do not take place again. The families will keep their titles, and even their seats on the Wizengamot, but they forfeited the right to their wealth when they purposely destroyed a landmark of magical Britain and attempted to murder the current Minister of Magic. Is that not treasonous enough for you, Lord Nott?”

The man was purple with rage, and he and Lucius began whispering furiously with one another.

“Of course, I am willing to listen to any objections to my actions,” Cassiopeia added, he gaze sweeping across the room.

When none offered further protestations, she nodded satisfactorily.

“It is like Lord Potter said, decisive steps must be taken to fight the threat that hangs over us. Last night was a stark reminder of what it is we face, and I refuse to bow down to terrorists. Those caught partaking in the efforts of Tom Riddle will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Now, I have many things to attend to. If there are no other questions or issues to raise?”

Again, none spoke, though Cassie found herself being looked upon with admiration by many, and loathing by Malfoy and his cohorts.

“Good,” she declared, offering Harry a pointed look.

With a tap of the Chief Warlock’s gavel, he brought the meeting to a close before approaching his aunt.

“That was quite ruthless,” he offered.

“Well, if there was ever a time that ruthlessness was needed, it’s now, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded his agreement.

“Can you really do that though, seize their possessions?”

“I can,” Cassie confirmed with a grin. “It is an old law that was never repealed, so I thought I would take advantage of it.”

“Gellert will be proud.”

Cassie rolled her eyes before leaning in.

“Dumbledore wishes to see you as a matter of urgency,” she informed him.

“I’ll go now,” Harry assured her.

Cassiopeia nodded.

“I’m so very proud of you, Harry,” she whispered, “and I know that Charlus and Arcturus would be too.”

Harry offered the woman a grateful smile before taking his leave of the chambers and slipping his cloak on before the journalists decided to attempt to follow him once more.

Without them trailing him, he managed to make it out of the Ministry and apparated to Hogsmeade where the Auror presence remained strong.

As much as he wished to take a look around for himself, now was not the time, and he headed towards Hogwarts where Dumbledore would be waiting for him instead.

(Break)

“I wish you would hold still,” Madam Pomfrey sighed.

Albus grimaced as the woman pushed on his tender ribs. Despite the Skele-gro he had been administered when he’d returned from Hogsmeade, he was still sore.

His advanced years certainly did not help his condition and the headmaster had no doubt he would be spending the rest of the day in the Hospital Wing at the very least.

Madam Pomfrey hummed to herself as she poured him a concoction of potions.

“Drink,” she said simply.

Albus complied, wincing at the unpleasant taste.

“I find it hard to believe that we have yet to discover a way of making them taste better,” he muttered.

“We have,” Poppy said with a smile. “But I choose to use the older recipes to remind silly old fools that their actions have consequences.”

“I see,” Albus chuckled, clutching his ribs as a sharp pain lanced through them.

Poppy rolled her eyes and fluffed his pillows.

“You are not a young man, Albus,” she sighed. “You could have been killed last night. Perhaps you should leave the fighting to others.”

“She’s right,” an amused voice broke in.

Albus was surprised to see Harry standing, let alone having been able to make his way here under his own steam.

“I see that you have healed remarkably well, Harry,” he commented.

He merely received a shrug in response and Albus frowned thoughtfully.

The injuries Harry had sustained were not negligible, and he had not expected to see him for a few days yet at best.

“How’re you feeling?” the younger man asked.

“Not well,” Albus admitted unashamedly. “I fear Poppy here is determined to ensure I do not heal as admirably as you have.”

Harry laughed as the healer only turned away defiantly.

“Do not overstimulate him, Mr Potter,” she warned. “And for what it is worth, thank you for last night. I would hate to think what would have happened had you not arrived.”

With that, the woman shot Albus a final, stern look before heading towards her office.

“I must echo Poppy’s sentiment,” Albus sighed. “Thank you.”

Harry waved off the gratitude and took a seat by the bed.

“It’s my fight, is it not?”

“It is everyone’s fight,” Albus corrected, “but it will be you to strike the final blow.”

Harry nodded his agreement.

“Well, that should be easier now that action is finally being taken,” he replied. “Cassie has introduced a new bill that has certainly pissed Malfoy and his lot off.”

“Is that so?” Albus pressed.

“She has decided to seize all assets of any that is proven to be a Death Eater. As we speak, the Lestrange and Goyle fortunes amongst others are being transferred to the Ministry coffers.”

“That is a rather bold move,” Albus observed.

“But one that is necessary.”

Albus could see the benefit of the such a deterrent, but it would undoubtedly create only more hostility towards the Ministry by those affected.

“What did you need to discuss with me?” Harry asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

Albus deflated at the question.

“Two things,” he explained, “the first being a most unpleasant development. It appears that Tom took advantage of his activities last night by having Sybil Trelawney abducted from the castle. Neither she nor Draco Malfoy have been found.”

“She will already be dead,” Harry murmured.

Albus could not bring himself to have hope for the woman.

She was nothing to Tom, not even a prisoner of any worth.

He would have extracted what he needed and simply disposed of her.

“Indeed,” he muttered unhappily.

“Well, I will inform Cassie and she will make Draco a wanted man,” Harry mused aloud. “It probably won’t amount to much, but it will give the little shit something to think about before I catch up to him.”

Albus opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when Harry shook his head.

“He is his father’s son, and he has proven it time and again. This cannot go unpunished. He has proven himself loyal to Voldemort, and he now has blood on his hands. If he is not killed, he will rot in Azkaban for the rest of his days. I will personally ensure it.”

Albus released a deep breath.

Harry was unwaveringly ruthless, and that was what truly set them apart.

“I did get to experience what being the Chief Warlock was like.”

“You did?” Albus asked, a grin tugging at his lips. “How was it?”

“Tapping a gavel a few times isn’t much of a challenge.”

Albus chuckled.

“There is much more to it than that,” he chided lightly. “For what it is worth, I believe you would make a fine replacement for me when the time comes. You are respected, and that will only grow more when the war is concluded.”

“Well, then I suppose I should be grateful that I won’t be required to replace you for many years yet, so long as you keep away from Riddle.”

Albus’s expression darkened.

“I fear that time will come much sooner than you believe, Harry,” he sighed. “Tom does not know it yet, but he has already seen to my demise,” he explained, removing the white glove he had taken to wear to conceal his blackened appendage.

“Bloody hell,” Harry grumbled as he took it gently into his own, rolling the sleeve up of Albus’s robe to the elbow, where the flesh had not been consumed by the curse.

“As you can see, the prognosis is rather grim.”

Harry nodded as he inspected the hand and arm.

“When did this happen?”

“During the past summer.”

Harry shook his head.

“At the rate that it is spreading, it will reach your heart by July next year, August at best.”

“Severus has said much the same,” Albus murmured. “He did what he could to slow it down, but…”

“It cannot be cured,” Harry finished. “Well, not unless you wish to take a very dangerous risk which would likely kill you anyway.”

“Indeed,” Albus observed.

“How were you cursed?” Harry asked curiously, allowing Albus to hide his blackened skin once more.

“Ah, now that leads me to the other reason I wished to see you,” the headmaster replied as he tapped his finger with his wand, revealing the ring that was the cause for his condition.

Harry eyed it curiously for a moment as he took in the details.

“The Gaunt family ring?”

Albus nodded.

“It was a Horcrux,” he explained. “I have destroyed the soul piece, but it is not the ring itself that I wished to give you.”

Harry had fallen silent, his stare transfixed on the stone set into the gold.

“Is that…?” he whispered in disbelief.

“It is,” Albus confirmed. “I suspect that Tom is unaware of what this is. If he was, I expect he would have found something else to pervert. Now, you have all three. For the first time since their creation, the Hallows have been united.”

“Do you think this is the power he knows not?”

“Perhaps,” Albus answered carefully. “Regardless, I expect possessing all three will grant you an advantage that he lacks.”

Harry swallowed deeply as he removed the wand from his sleeve and his cloak from within his robes and placed them on the bed.

“What do I do with them?” he asked.

“Try holding all three,” Albus urged. “They may show no sign of recognition, but I am hopeful something will happen.”

Cautiously, Harry placed the cloak around his shoulders, picked up the elder wand, and with a trembling hand, accepted the offered ring.

For a moment, nothing happened and Albus found himself disappointed until he looked up at Harry’s expression.

His usually brilliant green eyes were completely white, and his hair was being tousled by an unseen force.

He remained that way for several moments, and Albus started to become concerned something had gone terribly wrong.

Had uniting the Hallows been a terrible idea?

Just as he was going to call Poppy for assistance, Harry took a step back, his breathing becoming laboured and eyes widening as the tip of the wand began to smoke.

Albus too was taken aback when the smoke formed into a pair of figures; one a large, cloaked being and the other a thestral with eyes matching the young man.

A staring match between Harry and the cloaked figure ensued for several minutes before the thestral bowed to him, followed shortly by the figure before the vanished back within the wand from whence they came.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Albus asked.

Blinking rapidly, the headmaster was relieved to see Harry’s eyes having returned to normal, and the young man nodded.

“That was quite the experience,” he whispered.

“What happened?” Albus probed.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Harry answered, “but I feel different, cold, but warm at the same time. I need to think about this,” he added.

“Of course,” Albus replied. “I am at your disposal should you need me.”

Harry nodded, and wandered slowly towards the door, and Albus could not help but ponder just what it was the boy had experienced in the moments just passed.