A Promise Kept - Chapter 40 - The Dead

The Dead

There was something deeply unsettling about the magic here. Harry had managed to locate the cave easily enough from the memory of Dennis Bishop, but having done so, he quickly realised that he might just be out of his depth.

The cavern itself was ominous enough, the magic here reeking of the need of a blood sacrifice, but it was what he could already feel beyond that filled him with a sense of discomfort.

Death.

Not death in the same sense of what had created the wand Dumbledore had left in his possession, something more sinister, unnatural, that felt it went against the very nature of all that was good.

It lingered here strongly enough to leave him feeling rather unclean, and despite believing he had found a place Riddle had left one of his Horcruxes, he could sense nothing of the magic that resided within the diary.

Was it somehow muted by everything else?

No, Harry did not think so.

Such magic was not so easily overshadowed to where it could not easily be discerned, but he knew he would need to venture forth to be certain.

For now, however, he did not feel confident enough to do so.

It was not merely the stench of death that stilled him, but what else might lurk beneath that awaited any who dared intrude upon the cave.

Harry was aware that it was not something he could avoid forever, that he would need to confront, and he would do so, though only when he knew he was ready to face what awaited him.

Truthfully, he was lost on what exactly that was, but it could only be a few things he was aware of, none of which made the prospect of facing it any more pleasant.

There was a part of him that was annoyed with himself for not doing what he knew he needed to. It irked him so even several days after he’d made his way there, yet, he knew he had made the right decision in the moment.

Only a fool would rush in unprepared, after all, and Harry refused to die as such.

“You’re frowning again,” Sabine sighed. “Is my company so terrible?”

“Of course, not.”

“Well, you don’t seem so happy to…”

She fell silent as he pressed her lips to hers, and even as he pulled away, she kept her eyes closed.

“That won’t always work on me, Harry Potter.”

“Did it this time?”

“A little, but you’re still frowning.”

They’d been back at Ilvermorny for only a fortnight, and this was the first time they’d managed to steal some time away together. With both of them preparing for their OWLs, and each having Prefect duties, something that amused the girl to no end when she’d seen Harry’s badge, their time was quite limited.

“Sorry.”

“What is going on, Harry?” Sabine asked gently, taking him by the hand.

He did not even know how to begin answering that question.

In the space of a matter of months, everything had changed for him. There were no lingering vestiges of youthful enjoyment beyond these snatched moments with Sabine, and everything else continued to weigh heavily on him.

Voldemort had yet to make another move, but as Sirius had pointed out, that was when he was at his most dangerous.

“I’ll tell you something that might interest you if you tell me something in return, agreed?”

“What is it?” Harry asked curiously, noting that Sabine was sporting a frown similar to his own.

“We had a visit towards the end of the summer from a British family.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Unheard of. The Malfoys.”

Harry felt his grip tighten slightly around her hand.

“What did they want?”

“Lucius wanted to import potion ingredients from one of my father’s businesses, but it doesn’t make sense why he would go to the trouble. The prices are the same, and he’d be paying a tax levy to do it.”

Harry knew why.

He wanted to be able to supply Voldemort with whatever the man needed without raising suspicion at home. He was connected enough within the Ministry to ensure questions were not asked, or rumours circulated.

“He brought Draco along with him?”

“And his wife. She was miserable, and Draco was…”

“A complete prat?”

“He was interested in you. He asked if I knew you…”

“I know you had the sense to tell him you didn’t.”

“I did,” Sabine said with a grin, “but I may have mentioned just how popular and good on a broom you are. He didn’t like that very much.”

“Poncy little wanker.”

Sabine smirked.

“You sound a little jealous, Harry Potter. Does it bother you that I had dinner with him?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar. Anyway, your turn.”

He could only shake his head.

“Well, I know why Malfoy wants to import potion ingredients through your father. He’s looking to supply Voldemort with whatever he needs.”

Sabine looked at him as though he’d grown a second head, evidently thinking that he was making a terrible joke, but when she realised he wasn’t, her eyes widened.

“You’re serious.”

Harry nodded.

“He’s not dead, and he’s back. He killed Dumbledore, but the British Ministry of Magic will not believe it until it is too late. Britain will be at war again soon.”

“Which means you will be going to war, doesn’t it?”

“Even if I try to avoid it, it will find its way to me.”

“But you don’t want to avoid it.”

Harry said nothing and Sabine gave his hand another squeeze.

“I don’t blame you, Harry. He killed your father…”

She broke off as she choked back a sob.

Harry had never comforted a crying girl. He’d tried when he’d been a young boy and found his mother upset from time to time, and he felt as useless now as he had then.

Not knowing what to do, he pulled her into his arms, and she melted into the embrace. For several moments they said nothing until Sabine released a stuttering breath.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?”

She shrugged as she sat up.

“I’m not usually much of a crier.”

“You’re not?” Harry asked with a grin.

“No, so, don’t get used to it. Don’t think I will be spending my days weeping at my window for you, Harry Potter.”

“I was relying on that to get me through.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“I know.”

She fell silent once more.

“No one else knows?”

“Not many, and very few who can do something about it. Things are going to be bad over there. I don’t know when exactly, but when he strikes, he will do so in a way that will limits resistance against him. He will not make the same mistakes he did last time.”

“Britain will fall.”

Harry nodded.

“Until someone takes it back from him, and the only way they can do that, is by killing him. Without him, everything collapses, just as it did last time.”

“Cutting off the head of the snake.”

Harry winced at how unintentionally close to the problem Sabine was, though it was not so simple as removing the head of a regular snake.

Riddle was a Hydra. If a head was removed, he currently had the ability to simply grow another in its place. Well, not so simply, but he certainly could.

The Horcruxes.

He needed to find them to ensure that didn’t happen; something he was not confident he was close to achieving.

“Would you like me to speak with my father to stop him…”

“No, that would just raise suspicion, and you already know too much.”

“But not everything.”

“No, and it is better for you that you don’t.”

Sabine offered him a sad smile as she took his hand once more.

“Don’t do anything stupid that will get you killed.”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“I had to try.”

“I know,” Harry chuckled humourlessly, “but it’s more than likely I will be doing the opposite.”

“Can I pretend you didn’t say the last part, for a little while, at least?”

Harry met her gaze and saw more in it than he could’ve anticipated. Sabine was worried, fearful even, but more than anything, she cared about what happened to him.

“I will be fine.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No, but dead people don’t have so much to worry about anymore, do they?”

It sounded much crasser than he’d intended, but Harry had known most of his life that his time here might be short. Thus far, he had done all he could to ensure that wasn’t so, but he was not so cocky nor egotistical to believe that his fate was set in stone.

The prophecy itself was vague enough on its own and Tom Riddle had decades of experience on him, dangerous supporters, and several lifelines if Harry did not manage to sever them.

This war he would find himself embroiled in would be more unpleasant than he could now comprehend, violent, unyielding, and would test him in ways he knew he’d not even begun to understand.

Even so, he was the one person that could end it, but to do so, he would have to do things no other could bring themselves to, kill any that stood in his way, and eventually, better a Dark Lord who no other that faced him had yet to get the better of the man.

On the surface, it was an insurmountable task, and yet, Harry Potter remined steadfast, undeterred by the path he found himself navigating.

(Break)

It was not so easy learning the outlay of a castle as vast as Ilvermorny. Whenever he felt as though he knew an area, he seemed to change again, and Peter had grown frustrated with his inability to navigate the school.

Not that it would’ve mattered if he could.

Already, he’d avoided two near death experiences courtesy of the odd creature who served as the caretaker here, and he’d barely caught a glimpse of Harry within the walls.

When he was present, he was either in class or in his room, which Peter could not access, try as he might.

Outside of the castle, however, he had been able to watch him fly, and he proved to be every bit as good as his father.

Oddly, it almost took Peter back to better days, to when he and Remus would watch the Quidditch matches from the stand, and sometimes the team training.

It had been simpler then, and though his life had certainly not panned out the way he’d ever thought it would, he still held onto those memories rather fondly.

Nonetheless, he was not here to remiss on what had once or could’ve been.

He was here to watch the boy, to observe him, to learn all he could, and besides his incredible flying ability, Peter had nothing else to show for his time here.

Harry was elusive, always careful, and took different routes to wherever he was going. He took no chances by following any kind of pattern, and even the Dark Lord would be impressed with his ability to avoid anyone he did not wish to see.

What Peter had been able to observe, however, despite his many setbacks, was that although the boy certainly resembled his father, and he’d inherited James’s talent for flying, he was not so brash, did not share the same need for attention, and was much more observant.

Yes, it would be easy to mistake the boy for the man that sired him, but Peter suspected doing so would be quite the mistake.

Not that he could report much more than that, for now, at least.

Soon.

When he got a better grasp of his surroundings, and somehow figured out Harry’s odd schedule, he would learn all he could and put an end to what he started almost fifteen years prior.

(Break)

He drummed his fingers impatiently atop the kitchen table whilst he waited for the other members of the Order of the Phoenix to arrive. His first couple of weeks as the Headmaster of Hogwarts had been trying at best, and he wondered how Alus had coped all these years.

It wasn’t as simple a job as sitting behind a desk, sucking on Sherbet Lemons, and offering words of wisdom under the guise of absolute nonsense.

Day in and day out there was something that required his attention; a gripe of one of the professors, a matter of discipline, or some other trivial matter that distracted him from what was plaguing his mind.

“How’s it going, Alastor?” he asked as the newest member of staff entered the kitchen. “Frightened any more first years?”

Moody grinned as he nodded.

“Aye, had one of them in tears today. All I did was take this thing out,” he explained, pointing to his eye.

Sirius shook his head.

The man was an incredible wizard, and there was likely none more qualified to teach the subject than him, but he certainly lacked people skills.

Before he could offer a response, however, the others began filing into the room, and soon enough, the table was full.

“Still no word?” Lily asked.

“Nothing,” Sirius sighed worriedly. “He’s been gone for weeks. I’ll give him another few days before I begin searching. I know this is normal for him, but something doesn’t feel right. Tonks, any news?”

She’d been investigating the Department of Magical Transportation in a bid to discover who was feeding information to Voldemort, and judging by her expression, her efforts had born no fruit.

“No,” she huffed irritably. “There are five potentials who are members of certain families who work there, but I can’t find anything. None of them were working the night you were followed, Lily, but there were seventy people on duty.”

“That is a lot of people to vet, and it will be almost impossible to find them unless they made a mistake,” Alastor pointed out.

“I’ll keep looking,” Tonks said determinedly. “There has to be something.”

Sirius nodded appreciatively.

“Anything else?”

“Everything is quiet,” Kingsley spoke up, “and there is no sign of Fletcher anywhere. He’s gone to ground.”

Sirius hummed.

“I will find Fletcher,” he decided. “The little shit would be in Azkaban if it wasn’t for Albus. That’s it for now, we can…”

He broke off as Kreacher entered the room, offering something resembling a bow before handing him a piece of parchment.

“From Master Harry,” the elf explained.

The way he spoke was almost pleasant, and as he opened the piece of parchment, Sirius frowned.

Sirius,

Lucius Malfoy has been meeting with people in the States to import potion ingredients in large quantities. I will see if I can get hold of any invoices or anything to explain what it is he is doing.

H

With a shake of his head, he passed the note around, and Lily scowled as she read it.

“I told him to keep himself out of trouble.”

Sirius held up a hand.

“I think I know where he got the information, and I do not doubt it, but it is troubling that Malfoy would go so far afield, and too much of a coincidence that it is in America.”

“You think he is trying to get information about Harry.”

“I do,” Sirius murmured. “I will speak with him and see what he thinks.”

“Where did he get the information?” Lily asked.

“Probably from his girlfriend.”

“He has a girlfriend?”

Sirius shrugged.

“I have no idea if she is his girlfriend, but he spends time with her.”

“Which one is it, Olivia, Maggie, Isabelle?”

Sirius fought the urge to smirk.

“None of them, and it isn’t Marisa, Hermione, or Gabrielle either.”

“How many girls does he have?” Arthur asked confusedly. “He sounds worse than Bill.”

Sirius chuckled as Lily continued to glare at him.

“It’s not like that with the others, I think,” he replied thoughtfully. “Maybe it is. I don’t know what these teenagers are like these days.”

“They can’t be any worse than you were,” Lily grumbled.

He did not dignify her with a response, instead, he chose to ponder what Harry had revealed to him, what it meant, and assess the situation for what it appeared to be becoming.

(Break)

“For now, it must be kept strictly to business. Cultivate a relationship with him, Lucius. He could be a most useful contact in the future.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“What did you make of him?”

“He’s a show off and braggart. He inherited his entire wealth and has likely not worked a day in his life.”

The Dark Lord could not ignore the irony of Lucius’s description. He’d described himself quite accurately, which meant that Van Droombeeld was similar, only without any loyalty to him.

It was a variable he did not like, but he had interests in America that could not be ignored. He needed information about Potter, about Black, and where he could strike in a way that he would not create an international incident, should such an eventuality become necessary.

He would prefer to lure Potter back to Britain, but the Dark Lord was not certain he could force a confrontation. The boy had proven to be courageous thus far, but there was a significant difference between what constituted bravery and what was undoubted stupidity.

Nonetheless, the two of them were destined to meet, and when they did, he would silence any of those that doubted him, and right the singular mistake he had made.

“Ah, Severus, I was not expecting you back so soon,” he greeted the man as he entered the room.

He appeared to be rather tired, more unkempt than usual, but oddly pleased. Saying nothing, he placed a golden phoenix pendant on the desk between them, and the Dark Lord picked it up.

He remembered these well enough, and had claimed a few for himself during his first rise.

“Who?” he asked.

“Remus Lupin. He was there spying on the werewolves. Greyback did not take so kindly to it,” Severus said with a grin, removing a shrunken head from within his robes.

Had he not known it belonged to Lupin, Voldemort would not have been able to identify the features. He had been mutilated beyond recognition; his final expression having been one of sheer agony.

“Quite the gift,” he mused aloud. “Perhaps I will have it mounted.”

“Or you could send it to Black.”

The Dark Lord chuckled as he nodded.

“I may just do that.”

(Break)

He threw the dagger into the air before guiding it towards a tree a short distance away, where it buried itself all the way to the hilt. With another motion, it appeared back in his hand, and Harry inspected it closely.

Its craftmanship was incredible, detailed, but it was the magic within that resonated with him so deeply. No, it had not been Potter who’d created this blade, but someone that had loved one.

Oddly, it felt that the love used to power it had been for him; an impossibility, of course, but that was how it seemed to him.

He was curious about its origins, where it had come from, and the journey it had been on until it had been left in what Croaker had described as an abandoned cabin in Wales.

Now, it was in his possession, though it felt as though this wasn’t the first time.

With a shake of his head, he hurled it once more, and it followed his directions carefully, flying a perfect circle before returning to his hand.

Harry chuckled as he made it vanish, turning sharply as he heard approaching footsteps behind him.

“You followed me.”

“It was the only way I’d be able to find you,” Wendell said apologetically. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Tell you what?”

The other boy shot him a pointed look.

“Voldemort.”

Harry released a deep breath.

“Being my friend is complicated enough.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s a shit one,” Wendell chuckled. “I know you, Harry. You’ve known about this all along, haven’t you?”

“Always.”

“And you’ve spent your life preparing for him.”

Harry nodded.

“I can’t say I blame you, and I have no intention of trying to talk you out of it. Pa always said that a man has to do what a man has to do. He killed your Pa, and tried to kill you,” he finished with a shrug.

“And I’m going to kill him.”

Wendell offered him a sad smile.

“Well, if I know anyone that can do it, it’s you.”

He’d said nothing else on the matter, had taken a sip of his coffee, and began watching the birds flying above them.

Harry appreciated it.

There wouldn’t be many who’d be so supportive of his choices, and as ever, Wendell had accepted it without question, even if he didn’t like it.

Not that Harry was thrilled with his destiny.

He’d sooner honour his father by living a life worthy of his sacrifice, and though he still intended to do so, it would be marred by the war he found himself the very centre of.

Oh, he didn’t doubt that Tom Riddle’s ambition stretched far beyond murdering him, but until he could, it was Harry’s continued existence that would consume him, and he would never stop coming for him until that was no longer so.

For Harry, he simply refused to attempt to hide from the man.

Perhaps it was his own youthful foolishness, but he didn’t think so.

He wanted to be the one to rid the world of Lord Voldemort, to emerge victorious and see justice for his father who’d been slain all too soon.

“A Knut for your thoughts, Mr Potter?”

“Bloody hell,” Harry gasped, not having heard Croaker’s approach.

He was sitting in front of the Veil, the odd archway he’d visited on a few occasions now.

Strangely, he found it comforting, peaceful, and allowed him to ponder whatever was on his mind. From time to time, his thoughts would be interrupted by that cruel, hollow laughter that sent a shiver down his spine, but it wouldn’t last.

Sometimes, he wondered if he was truly hearing it or it was a sound that existed only within his mind.

Maybe it was a part of the magic of the veil.

It was an incredible oddity which he could glean very little from.

“He’s made more than one.”

“You’re certain?”

Harry nodded.

“I think I have found a location of another, but I am not ready to face it.”

“No?”

“No, there’s something there I have not encountered before, something unnatural, and it isn’t a Horcrux, it’s something much more readily a threat. A Horcrux will defend itself if it senses danger, but whatever it is lurking there…”

“What does it feel like, Harry?”

“Dead.”

“Dead?”

Harry frowned as he attempted to find the words to describe exactly what he felt.

“The magic feels alive, but dead at the same time.”

“How very ominous,” Croaker mused aloud, “and concerning, but I may be able to shed some light on a rather dark piece of magic.”

“To your study then?”

Croaker nodded.

“Indeed, but you will not like what I have to say, Mr Potter. What you describe is most troubling and abhorrent.”

“Worse than what I already have to deal with?”

“Not quite, but just as grotesque in nature.”

(Break)

“And with fifty-four percent of the vote, I can now announce that the new Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot is, Pius Thicknesse.”

Fudge almost seemed relieved by his own declaration, and Sirius took note of those openly cheering, those clapping politely, and the rest that were not pleased by the result.

Blackmail, bribery, and corruption.

Only six months prior, Thicknesse would not have even been in the run for the position, and now, he’d secured it; a damning indication of the direction the political field was leaning if there ever was one.

To those that remained woefully ignorant of what was happening around them, it was shocking, to those that knew, concerning, and those who supported the Dark Lord, a cause for celebration.

He did not miss the smug grin sent his way by Lucius Malfoy, which Sirius merely acknowledged with a nod before shooting a knowing look of his own towards Amelia Bones.

Truthfully, he had anticipated this happening, much like it had begun to during the first war. What was different, however, was that Voldemort had not quite managed to muster the support within these four walls, but now, he seemingly had.

Not only would the changes be seen in here, but soon enough, they would spill onto the streets of Britain.

What was worse, however, was that far too many people would choose to remain ignorant, stay silent in the hope that they could weather the storm, and simply do what would keep them safest from the repercussions of the Dark Lord.

Cowards and sheep.

There were too many among those that could prevent the political fallout, and those that were courageous would become targets.

Not that Sirius Black would be deterred.

No, he would fight until his very last breath for what was right.

He took a sip of his Firewhiskey as he sorted through the correspondence that had arrived since the last time he’d spent any significant time in Grimmauld Place outside of the Order meetings.

There were a few statements from Gringotts, proposals to support upcoming bills in the Wizengamot, and a few invoices attached to the family vault, which continued to overflow with gold.

He’d only come here in the hope that he could distract himself, even for a moment, from all that plagued him.

Harry was away from home, as safe as he could be whilst at school, and he’d promised he’d not look for Voldemort, but that did not stop Sirius worrying about the boy.

He’d become just a little more confrontational, secretive, and singularly focused on his training.

Sirius had seen him leaving the house before the sun had risen during the summer, watched as he’d pushed himself, as he’d wielded magic in ways that no boy his age should be able to.

He’d not forgotten his antics at the World Cup and had often pondered just how much further he’d progressed in the year since.

Exponentially.

Although he’d been wounded badly, he’d killed three Death Eaters, had managed to navigate his way through an attacking group undetected, and shown the same strength he had as a mere babe to survive what most would’ve fallen to.

Even so, he remained a constant worry, and Sirius knew it was only a matter of time before the situation in Britain would worsen so much that Harry would no longer be able to sit idly by and watch what was happening unfold.

The very thought filled him with dread, just as much as Remus’s continued absence.

Something was wrong.

Sirius could feel it in every fibre of his being that something had gone amiss, that Remus was in danger, at the very least.

“Edward?”

It was only a moment later the elf arrived, tired, worn, but offered a bow.

“Lord Black,” he greeted him.

“Any news?”

Edward shook his head.

“Lord Malfoy barely appears in public, and there is no sign of Mr Crouch of Peter Pettigrew,” he murmured. “Edward was certain he sensed them a few times but could not find them.”

“Where?”

“America.”

Sirius released a deep breath.

He’d expected Voldemort to send people in a bid to find Harry, or even him and Lily. The latter of his plans would fail at every turn, but with Harry out of the safety of the home…

He would need to speak with the boy when he visited imminently, to discuss it, and the information he’d provided during the last Order meeting.

With a nod, he penned a note to Fontaine to inform him of his arrival.

“Thank you, Edward, but I have one other job for you. I need you to find Remus Lupin, but you must be careful. He will likely be surrounded by werewolves on the continent. Can you do that?”

“Edward can,” the elf assured him, vanishing with a gentle pop, and Sirius readied himself to depart Grimmauld Place, downtrodden, acutely aware of just how things were taking a turn for the worse, and more concerned knowing that Wormtail and Crouch were undoubtedly looking for Harry.

He knew that he should tell Lily, but she would only have Harry returned home, where, admittedly, he would safer, but not grateful for being kept a prisoner.

For Sirius, there was no victory in the scenario, but he hoped that a conversation with Agilbert `Fontaine would put his mind at ease, even if only a little.

(Break)

He watched as the boy threw off the curse for the dozenth time with little effort on his part. Alastor had been given his all to get Potter to comply with his demands, but he’d remained resilient, steadfast in his defence, and entirely unmoved by the effects of the Imperius Curse.

“Good,” he praised. “They won’t control you so easily. Now, your turn.”

“You want me to use the curse on you?”

“Do I sound like I’m joking?”

With a shrug, his wand snapped upwards much quicker than Alastor had anticipated, and he felt the familiar warmth and comfort of the magic wash over him.

It was intoxicating, as though he had been plunged into a warm bed after being submerged in ice until he was numb, and though he knew this was wrong, he did not want to leave.

“Give me your eye.”

Alastor could almost feel himself reaching for it, but he refused to do so, though his hand was only an inch away from his face before he managed to throw the boy out of his mind.

“Bloody hell,” he chuckled, rubbing his throbbing temples. “You’re a little too good at that, Potter. It could be an effective weapon.”

The boy nodded quite unsurprised by his ability before he frowned.

“What about the Cruciatus Curse?”

“You can bugger off if you think I’m going to let you use that on me…”

“No, I want you to do it to me.”

Alastor was taken aback, and he shook his head, but before he could speak, Potter held up a hand.

“There’s a strong chance I am going to be hit by it at some point. I would rather it be here for the first time than out there and not know what comes after. I need to feel it to understand just what condition I will be in.”

In a twisted way, it made sense, and once more, he did not seem uncertain, nor did his voice waver.

“Potter, there is no fighting it off like with the Imperius Curse, and your mind can only take a certain amount of punishment before it will break. It is called the torture curse for a reason.”

The boy nodded.

“I stand by what I said.”

“Your mother will kill me…”

“Are you going to tell her, because I’m not? I need to be ready, Moody, and I have no chance of that if I don’t do this.”

Alastor eyed him for a moment, took in the determined expression, and saw a little of himself in the boy.

He’d never met any that was so willing to take the curse, but then again, he’d never met someone who would inevitably face such adversity in the coming years.

“Alright,” he agreed reluctantly, readying his wand.

Potter merely gave him a nod and waited.

“Crucio!”

At first, he wasn’t sure the spell had worked.

Potter stood firmly for a moment before dropping to a knee, gritting his teeth so tightly that Alastor was convinced they would break under the strain. However, not a single sound escaped him, and as blood began spilling from the corner of his mouth, Alastor relented, hurrying forward to check on him.

“That wasn’t pleasant,” the boy wheezed, his legs shaking as he pushed himself to his feet. “I’d best avoid that if I can.”

Alastor could only shake his head.

How he’d endured the curse without uttering a sound was beyond him, but even now, the look of determination was unwavering.

Potter was a tough bastard, and although it was difficult to see just how he would survive the Dark Lord when the man came for the boy, he’d more than earned Alastor Moody’s respect.

“Alastor?” Minerva asked, breaking into his thoughts. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s a damned good duellist. Filius has taught him well, but that won’t be enough. He needs to learn how to survive, how to fight when the odds are stacked against him.”

“Well, there’s no one better to teach him that than you.”

“Aye,” Alastor murmured.

He’d already been planning on doing so, working with the boy and moulding him into what he would need to be. The potential was there, but he was still raw in many ways.

His instincts were exceptional, his reflexes equally so, and his resilience was like nothing else, but it was not enough. He needed to be skilled, to be ruthless, and be willing to kill as readily as Voldemort and his followers would kill him.

Whether or not the boy would make it remained to be seen, but Alastor Moody was hopeful that there was, at least, something of a possibility.

What happened would hinge on Potter and just how much he wanted it, but from what he had seen thus far, that wasn’t in question.

Potter wanted this more than anything, and it was time for him to begin grasping it.

(Break)

He could feel Croaker’s gaze on him as he inspected the book the man had handed him. It was made of a leather of sorts, and as he read the title, he realised that it was human skin he held.

“The Book of the Damned,” he translated from the Latin cover.

With a frown, he flicked through some of the pages, ignoring the unpleasant texture.

“You’ll find what you are looking for on page twenty-four.”

“Inferi,” he murmured, breathing frustratedly.

“Indeed, Mr Potter,” Croaker said gravely. “I remember vividly during his first rise to prominence that there were considerable reports of graves being desecrated, corpses going missing, and we even found a few sites we suspected were being used for the purposes of Necromancy. However, as there was no proof of him using anything against the public, it was all but forgotten about. I suspect you may have found exactly where he has placed those monstrosities.”

“How many bodies?” Harry asked.

“Hundreds, Mr Potter.”

“Of course it is,” Harry sighed, closing the book. “He doesn’t do things by half measures, does he?”

“It appears not. Perhaps that book will be of use to you moving forward, as will this.”

Harry watched as he unlocked a drawer to his desk with a series of taps of his wand as he spoke in a language he did not understand. When he was done, it popped open, and Croaker rifled through it for a moment before withdrawing a book.

For a moment, he stared at it, almost contemplating if he was doing the right thing by handing it over, but he did so.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“A book of magic that should not see the light of day,” Croaker warned. “The spells within are dangerous, Mr Potter, dangerous to practice, difficult to master, and in the wrong hands, could be devastating to many. I am entrusting it to you because I fear you may just have need of them.”

“Where did you get it?”

“It came through the Veil.”

“The Veil?”

Croaker nodded.

“It is not the only that has appeared from there, but that information is not to leave this room. The odd trinket appears, and I am alerted to it. There was an incident before the book arrived that saw one of my colleagues die a most unpleasant death courtesy of what appeared to be a rather innocuous ring. Unfortunately, he threw it back into the Veil before I could investigate and died only a moment later. All that remained of him was a charred skeleton.”

If he had not spoken in such a dire tone, Harry might think the man was jesting, but he wasn’t. Croaker was not one to makes jokes, nor embellish the many things he had seen and experienced.”

“I will be careful with this,” he promised, holding the book up.

Croaker nodded.

“I think that page ninety-four will be of particular interest.”

Harry could feel the nature of each spell on every page he turned to, some seemingly not so dangerous as others, but page ninety-four filled him with a mixture of excitement and concern.”

“Fiendfyre, the cursed flames,” he spoke.

“Truly cursed and perhaps summoned from another plane entirely. The flames are alive, Mr potter, and are not easily quelled. It takes one of strong mind and magic to control them.”

“Do you think I can?”

“Perhaps,” Croaker mused aloud, “but you will not attempt it until I am confident you are able to. Legilimens!”

Harry had not even seen the wand pointed at him, but he felt the sudden intrusion into his mind, like nothing else he’d ever experienced before, and he knew he had quite the fight on his hands to begin removing the man that did not belong.