Avalon - Chapter 38 - The Soul
The Soul
He winced as he applied the salve to his burns.
Fortunately, they were minor, though he would be left with scarring from the heat of the flames.
Myrddin knew he had been foolish, had perhaps acted prematurely against Harry Potter, but he hadn’t been able to dismiss his suspicions of the man any longer.
Potter knew something, of that, Myrddin had no doubt, and the suspicions he’d been harbouring had been all but confirmed now.
The girl.
How the two knew one another, Myrddin didn’t know, and he could not deny that he had been surprised by her sudden appearance on the ship as she came to Potter’s aid.
The girl was a dark witch.
Myrddin had sensed it about her the very first time they’d met during one of his many trips to Hogwarts some years ago now. He’d urged Rowena and the others to not teach her, to expel her from the castle so that she could not explore the vile magic within her, but they had not listened.
They had allowed Morgana to remain, and now, she was no longer a girl.
Myrddin shook his head as he tried to piece together the puzzle of how she was tied to Potter.
Evidently, they were married, but to his knowledge, the young man had never set foot in Hogwarts.
Myrddin frowned.
No, he was missing something important, and he paused as a daunting thought made itself known.
Why would Potter hide his association with the school, and even the two Founders Myrddin had found him in the company of in the east.
They undoubtedly knew one another, and yet, all of them had denied it quite fervently.
Why?
Myrddin shook his head once more.
He was missing something, and though he didn’t wish to make assumptions before he’d confirmed his concerns, he could not shake them.
He needed to learn more of Potter, all he could about the young man; who he truly was, how he had become entangled with Morgana, and what his intentions were.
Something was not right, and now, more than ever, Myrddin felt that Potter was a true threat, a danger that could not be left unchecked in wizarding Britain.
He would learn all he could of him, and he would begin by speaking with some of his contacts who may just be able to shine some light on the man.
If that failed, he would need to be a little more cunning in his efforts, but Myrddin knew he could not ignore the urge to explore Potter before he would ultimately have to see the man eliminated.
He’d witnessed for himself what he was capable of, and even felt the power of his magic.
Potter was an unknown he needed to be known and seeing that the girl had finally ventured out of the forest, she too could not be left to roam free, not with her proclivity for magic that none should ever be allowed to possess.
Things had indeed become rather complicated in the last hours, and Myrddin knew he must return to Arthur shortly.
He needed to control the narrative of what had happened and why he was not in possession of the queen.
Had Potter managed to retrieve Guinevere?
Not that it truly mattered.
The woman would not speak out against Myrddin, not when he could expose her own secret which would cost her head and that of her lover.
Nonetheless, Myrddin could not be absent for long, but his investigation into Potter would begin immediately, though there was a part of Myrddin that already knew he would find little.
Those who did know would disclose nothing to him.
He’d burned those bridges, but perhaps there was a way of making amends.
Strenger had served his purpose, after all, and if Myrddin could be the one to bring justice for Rowena, perhaps the woman would see her way to allow him back into her good graces.
Myrddin nodded to himself before repairing his robes and apparating away back to where Arthur was camped.
It was not his best plan, but it was what he had to work with.
He needed to know Potter, to understand the man before he decided just how to be rid of him.
Arriving at the edge of the camp, Myrddin shuddered at the cold, and his freshly repaired robes were quickly soddening through by the heavy rainfall that seemingly plagued this part of the country, though this time, it seemed to be quite the storm brewing in the distance.
The thunder echoed across the sky, and Myrddin hurried towards the main tent where he hoped to find his king waiting.
Arthur, however, was not in the tent.
He was standing by a fire nearby, holding his wife tightly to his chest as he glared into the flames.
The king was furious, but pensive with it, and as Myrddin approached, his expression shifted only slightly to something less volatile as he held Guinevere closer.
The woman narrowed her eyes at him, but Myrddin ignored her.
He cared nothing for the queen.
It would have been much better if she had been killed on the ship, and Myrddin cursed Harry Potter for saving her.
“My king,” Myrddin greeted Arthur.
“I think you have some explaining to do, don’t you. Myrddin?” Arthur replied grimly.
(Break)
“It was rather brazen of him,” Ignotus commented, “and rather foolish. He must see you as an imminent threat for a man so seemingly intelligent to act so impulsively.”
Harry nodded.
“I think he mostly wanted to ensure that Guinevere died but saw it as the perfected opportunity to remove us both. He didn’t like that Arthur had come to me for help. He wants the king to rely only on him, and I may not have helped the situation,” he sighed irritably. “I’m tired of all this circling around each other. I know what is to come between us, and I prefer to know who my enemies are when they are an enemy.”
“I understand, Harry,” Ignotus said with a sympathetic smile. “You are not one for playing games.”
“I’m not, and tonight only proved why. It took very little for him to turn on me. I only intended to see how he would react if he believed I was suspicious of him, and he certainly did that.”
Ignotus hummed thoughtfully.
“You must tread carefully now. Before there was doubt on how he viewed you, but that is no longer so. The lines between you both are finally being drawn, and not it comes to who crosses it first.”
“He already did.”
“He did,” the man agreed, “but he may see it differently. He could claim he was merely trying to protect his king, as is his duty, and that in doing so, there was no personal motive for his attack on you.”
“Who would believe that?”
“Many would, given Myrddin’s reputation. That is something you must consider, Harry. You may be a hero to many of Arthur’s men, and even the king, but Myrddin has been there from the very beginning, long before Arthur had amounted to anything. To most, he is the man who saved Arthur, kept him hidden from the men that killed the rest of his family, and nurtured him to be the man he is today. You may find yourself looked upon unfavourably by many should you pursue this with vigour.”
“So, I just let him get away with it?”
“No, but I urge you to tread carefully. It is inevitable that your paths will cross again in a place that violence between you will not be an option. You may despise these games, Harry, but for you, it is important to be seen as a force of good by our kind, and by the muggles.”
Harry snorted.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“I know, and you shouldn’t, but perception is everything in such matters. Do you believe me and my brothers did what we did because we care what others think? No, we did it because we loved magic, and wanted to push something no other would dare delve into. Our reputation outside of those who knows us is not favourable. Many are fearful of us, others despise us, and few would entertain us. Myrddin only did so because he needed us. What we did sickens the man, but he doesn’t understand it enough to make an enemy of us, and much the same can be said for you. He doesn’t understand you. He undoubtedly thinks you to be a man of different morals to him, and yet, you have done heroic things that go against his thoughts on you. For some time, he will be confused and try to understand just who you are.”
“Even I don’t know who I am, not really.”
“So few of us do, Harry,” Ignotus offered comfortingly, “but I have an idea of the man you are. You are Harry potter, a kind and caring man who will fight for those who cannot, who stands up for what he believes in, takes no pleasure in harming others, but will do so if necessary, and someone I am proud to share my blood with. No matter what, Harry, just be true to yourself, and then it truly will not matter what anyone else thinks.”
Harry nodded his understanding, frowning as the door to the church opened.
“Godric!” he greeted the man who entered.
Godric nodded, though his expression was grim.
“We got him, Harry. We got Strenger.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
Strenger had plagued much of Britain these past years, and with him gone, Myrddin had lost perhaps one of his most useful of tools.
“Myrddin?” he asked.
“Myrddin,” Godric confirmed. “He helped Strenger escape Hogsmeade, just as you thought. I had hoped he had not stooped so low, but I was wrong. We all were.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to think the better of someone you once knew.”
“I never knew him,” Godric denied. “I knew what Myrddin wanted me to see. Nothing more, but he will pay for what he did. He may as well have killed Helena himself for all he’s done.”
“That’s just the beginning of it.”
“What do you mean?”
Harry shook his head tiredly.
“It’s a long bloody story,” he sighed, “but you should hear it, as should the others.”
“Hogwarts?”
“Hogwarts,” Harry agreed, bidding farewell to Ignotus and following Godric from the church.
(Break)
“Guinevere!”
Arthur couldn’t believe his eyes, and he all but sprinted towards the woman who had her arm wrapped around Harry’s shoulder as the two of them approached the camp.
“Are you hurt? Are you okay?”
Guinevere merely nodded in response, and Arthur wrapped his arms tightly around her.
She was shaking, and would be traumatised by what had happened, but she was not hurt, and Arthur thanked god for watching over her in her time of need, though there was one other who deserved it much more.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Harry,” Arthur murmured. “I…”
Harry held up a hand to silence him.
“There’s no need,” he sighed. “She is safe, and that is all that matters.”
Arthur nodded appreciatively.
“Where’s Myrddin?”
Harry’s expression darkened at the mention of the man.
“I’m sure he will explain himself when he returns,” the man said grimly.
His eyes were almost burning with anger, and Arthur frown as he took him by the forearm.
“What is it?” Arthur asked.
Harry shook his head.
“Nothing that matters,” he said dismissively, “but tell him he is no longer welcome to seek help from me or my people. Should he attempt to set foot in our lands, he will not leave alive.”
With that, Harry vanished, and Arthur stared at the spot he had been occupying, confused and equally concerned as to what could’ve happened for him to be so furious with Myrddin.
“What does he mean?” he asked Guinevere.
“I don’t know,” Guinevere answered honestly. “I did not see Myrddin on the ship. Only Harry was there with his wife.”
“His wife?”
Arthur had never seen the woman but had no doubt Harry was utterly devoted to her.
“She helped him rescue me,” Guinevere said quietly. “They took me from Camelot and to a ship. There were three ships and they locked me in the hull of one. I don’t know much of what else happened until I heard the shouting and smelled the burning. I thought I was going to die, Arthur, but…”
“Harry came for you.”
Guinevere nodded.
“And you didn’t see Myrddin?”
“No.”
Arthur frowned.
Myrddin had gone ahead of Harry and had undoubtedly been there. Harry would not have a reason to be so angry with had he not, and yet, Arthur could not fathom what could have happened between them.
“Come on, let’s get you to the fire,” he urged, helping Guinevere along.
The woman was trembling something terrible, and Arthur continued to ponder what had occurred on those ships for his friend to be so furious that he would kill Myrddin if given the chance.
Something wasn’t right, and Arthur was determined to get to the bottom of it.
He valued Harry’s friendship as much as he did any other, and he was not one to have such a reaction without good reason.
“The curse was a most unpleasant one, Arthur. Had I not retreated to cure myself, I would’ve been consumed by the fire,” Myrddin explained.
He was indeed hurt, as indicated by the burns along his arms and torso, but given that Arthur knew nothing of magic, he had no way to tell if Myrddin had been honest.
If he only retreated from the fight because he was wounded, Harry would not be so wroth with him.
Still, without knowing what happened, Arthur didn’t know what to do.”
“Then you should get some rest,” he urged.
Myrddin nodded appreciatively and took his leave of the tent, leaving behind a pensive and unsatisfied king.
His version of events spoke of a battle he and Harry fought on the ships in an attempt to rescue Guinevere, of fires and explosions consuming each, and Myrddin being caught in one of the fires, unable to assist any further.
Harry had done so.
He too had been burned, and his tunic was torn and covered in blood.
Yet, he had stayed and had not given up until he’d brought Guinevere back to him.
No, something didn’t feel right to the king, and though Guinevere couldn’t tell him much as she’d seen so little, there was one who could.
Arthur shook his head.
He would not bother Harry again so soon, not when he was still so angry, but he wanted to discuss the matter with the man. He wanted the truth of what had happened, and the one thing Arthur could rely upon was that Harry had never lied to him.
At the very least, Myrddin was omitting something important, but Harry had always been honest and direct, something Arthur appreciated, and something he suspected he would be without now.
Harry had made it clear that he wouldn’t help Arthur with his campaign, and Arthur accepted that, but somehow, he already felt that he was now worse off without he man to turn to in those personal matters he might just need help with.
Arthur was not untalented in battle, and he wanted only to do his best for the people of Britain and those he loved, but he wasn’t Harry potter.
Harry had skills that Arthur never would, and somehow, his help never seemed to come with a burden. With Myrddin, there seemed to be an expectancy of loyalty and even compliance.
It was something Arthur had expected when he’d only been a boy, but he was a man now. For better or worse, he was a king, so why did he feel so beholden to Myrddin.
He shook his head tiredly.
All of the thinking had only managed to provoke a headache, and with the news that the Danes were seemingly working with Eadwulf, he needed a clear head to ponder his next move, though he already knew what he intended to do.
He was going to take the northwest of Britain, no matter who it was standing in his way.
(Break)
“Did he suffer?”
Godric nodded as he poured himself, Harry, and Salazar a drink.
“No less than he deserved.”
“I should’ve been there,” Harry huffed. “I would’ve made him suffer more.”
Salazar snorted into his ale.
“I think you forgot who I am, Harry. He suffered. I made sure of that.”
“Good,” Harry muttered.
Strenger deserved the worst of fates for all he’d done, and now that he was gone, Harry felt some of the burden lifted from his shoulders.
“Myrddin knows, or he at least sees me as a threat.”
Salazar frowned at him and gestured for an explanation.
As he spoke, both men only became angrier, and Godric even uttered some expletives that he would be chided for if Rowena or Helga were present.
When he was done, Harry merely shook his head.
He knew it would eventually come to this, but for it to be so sudden was something he’d not expected.
Myrddin was usually so calculated, and yet, he’d made a decision in a moment rather than pondering it carefully enough to be certain.
Unless he had.
Unless Harry had not realised the man was already suspicious of him long before they’d arrived to rescue Guinevere.
Perhaps that was the truth and he’d not gotten a good enough read on the man but given that he’d finally established that Myrddin had indeed been involved with Strenger, he’d undoubtedly underestimated just what Myrddin was willing to do for his goals, or even because he felt as though he’d been slighted.
That was the only reason he would’ve allowed Helena to be killed.
Rowena had never gotten in the way of what Myrddin was trying to do, but she had indeed refused to help him with his enquiries when he’d visited the castle on occasion.
Myrddin had been slighted, only slighted, and had done nothing to prevent the murder of a young woman purely out of spite.
Myrddin projected a man of good morals, of infallible brilliance and even soundness, but there was much more to him than that, pettiness, pride, bitterness, and jealousy.
Again, Harry could not ignore the similarities the man possessed to both Voldemort and Dumbledore. It was as though he was the very best of the former, and the worst Harry had seen of the latter.
It was odd.
Perhaps Myrddin was not inherently evil, but he could certainly display some deeply unsettling tendencies in the pursuit of seeing what the stars had shown him coming to fruition.
“It changes nothing, does it?” Godric snorted. “You knew this would come, and it has. This is just the very beginning of it all for you, Harry, and I still have every faith in you.”
“Should I not just…”
Salazar held up a hand.
“You’re much smarter than that. With a man like Myrddin, you must bide your time carefully, and strike when it is the most opportune for you. This is neither about courage nor cunning, but to see you live a full life. It is not only you that you must think about. You have a wife now.”
Harry nodded his understanding.
“I know, but I do not want it hanging over me forever. I want him gone.”
“And he will be,” Godric assured him. “When the time is right, and when the stars align, Myrddin will be no more. It is not often you will hear me say this when it comes to such things, but Salazar is right. For now, you must exercise caution and patience. Myrddin will. He’s not just going to suddenly arrive and try to kill you. No, he will be patient, he will focus on getting his king his crown. What do you want to focus on?”
Harry released a dep breath.
There was much that required his attention, and still, Myrddin was not the most pressing, imminent matter plaguing him.
“The dead,” he answered, “and there’s still the goblins.”
Godric nodded darkly.
“Then do not lose focus of Myrddin Emrys. He will be cautious and perhaps even expect you to seek him out. Allow a cooler head to prevail whilst you focus on the imminent threat.”
“I will,” Harry sighed.
Godric squeezed his shoulder.
“Good, and never forget that you have us on your side. We will do what we can to know what Myrddin is doing. Remember, we want him just as much as you do.”
“I know,” Harry murmured.
Salazar offered him a smile, though his expression fell as he frowned.
“You said that you knew Strenger from your own time, that he was a ghost here.”
“You don’t think he would?” Godric asked worriedly.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked.
Salazar shook his head.
“After we killed him, we returned to the castle and discovered quite the surprise. Come, it’s best that you see for yourself.”
Harry frowned and followed the two men.
They found themselves at Rowena’s office a short while later, and Godric knocked.
“Come in.”
As they entered, they came upon the scene of the woman sitting by the fire and holding the ghostly hand of a younger woman who looked much like her.
Harry had never formally met Helena when she’d come to the castle before she’d been murdered, but he had seen the ghost before around Hogwarts, though that was before he’d come back here.
He said nothing as he watched the two women talking to Godric and Salazar, and even as Rowena looked at him, he gave nothing away.
“Harry!” she said fondly, standing to pull him into a warm embrace. “Are you staying long?”
Harry shook his head.
“No, it’s just a brief visit.”
“Tell her,” Salazar urged. “Tell her what happened with him.”
He didn’t mention Myrddin’s name, but the bitterness he spat the pronoun with left no doubt of who he was referring to.
“What happened” Rowena asked.
Once more, Harry found himself explaining what had occurred on the ship, that Myrddin had attempted to murder him whilst they were supposed to be rescuing Guinevere.
It was odd how disjointed he felt from the moment now, almost as though it hadn’t truly happened, and yet, it undeniably had.
When he finished speaking, Rowena’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“He is unbelievable,” she whispered. “Does he have no morals on which he stands?”
Harry shook his head.
“No, he doesn’t, and he will pay for what he did to me, and to you. You have my word that I will be the one to destroy him.”
Rowena nodded, and her expression became a maudlin one, much like how it had been since Helena had been killed.
“I know you will, Harry,” she said quietly, “and I will do all I can to help you. If there is anything you need, just say the word and I will find a way to make it happen.”
Harry nodded appreciatively.
“I know,” he assured her, “but I’ve got this. When the time is right, he will pay his debts in blood, all of them.”
Rowena offered him a weak, sad smile.
“I know he will.”
“Come, Harry,” Salazar urged. “Let’s allow Rowena and her daughter some time together.”
The three of them left the room, and Godric released a deep sigh.
“This can’t be good for her. Helena is a ghost now.”
“I agree, but if it helps, even a little bit, then who are we to deny her?”
Godric nodded.
“What is it?” he asked Harry.
“I recognise her from when I first arrived at Hogwarts. “I didn’t see her around the castle much, but she was there. I don’t think anyone knew she was Rowena’s daughter. If they did, everyone in the school would’ve wanted to speak with her.”
“And she looked just like she did then?”
“She did. Does that mean Strenger murdered her then too? If so, that explains why she wasn’t seen much. I can’t imagine her wanting to be around the Bloody Baron if he killed her.”
Salazar shook his head.
“We are as uninform as you in this matter, Harry, but if Strenger somehow arrives here, he will be expelled from the castle.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
“There are too many similarities, and yet, so many differences of what I know from home,” he mused aloud. “Maybe Strenger did kill her, or maybe he didn’t, but it didn’t change her fate. She still died young.”
Salazar placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You no longer believe you were merely sent back in time.”
“I don’t,” Harry said quietly. “At first, I did, but…”
“But?”
“I’m still having visions of what is happening in my old life. They’re broken and disjointed, but I see them from time to time when I am sleeping.”
“When your mind is at its most vulnerable,” Salazar corrected. “What have you seen?”
“Voldemort,” Harry answered. “I always see things from his perspective, as though I am him.”
Godric appeared to be uneasy by the revelation, and Salazar released a deep breath.
“Harry, I cannot say for certain what it is, but I would urge you to really read Herpo’s book. I could give you my thoughts, but you are more likely to accept the truth if you reach the conclusion yourself, as unpleasant as it may be.”
Harry frowned deeply.
“Do you know?”
“I have an idea,” Salazar answered, “but as I said, it is a conclusion you must reach yourself. Find the section marked Horcruxes, and the truth will out.”
“Horcruxes,” Harry murmured. “I’ve read it. They are containers that store a part of someone’s soul. Herpo says that anything can be used as one, anything as ominous as a rock, or as grand as the finest jewels…”
He broke off as he pondered the text and swallowed deeply as one of the most unpleasant memories of his life resurfaced.
“The diary,” he whispered. “Riddle’s diary was a Horcrux, wasn’t it?”
“I believe so,” Salazar said apologetically.
“That means he found out how to make them.”
“Perhaps from my own collection of works,” Salazar sighed. “Worry not, Harry, the only one left is the one in your possession. I meticulously destroyed anything that even mentions them.”
Harry nodded before shaking his head as he realised the reason behind his continued visions despite being separated from Voldemort by both time and whatever other magic the Lady of the Lake had invoked when she’d retrieved him.
“Bloody hell,” he groaned disgustedly. “I’m a Horcrux, aren’t I?”
Salazar nodded in response.
“It would explain your ability in parseltongue, and perhaps even how you survived that night. Perhaps it was merely the magic your mother invoked, but I believe it is something much deeper than that. From what I understand of the killing curse, it tears away the soul of the victim, but at the same time, it fractures that of the attacker. My thoughts are that as Riddle tore your soul away, his own fractured, and the fractured piece somehow connected with your own, limiting the damage and somehow protecting it. It was still only a small piece of his, Harry, and long before now, your own would’ve used the magic within his soul to repair your own.”
“So, I do not have a piece of his soul in me?”
“No, I very much believe it is your own, Harry, but the magic you took and used is the connection between you.”
“Can he see what I see?”
“With how skilled you are in the Mind Arts, I doubt it,” Salazar answered thoughtfully. “Perhaps he can feel your presence when you are there, but I would hazard a guess that he does not feel the connection the same way you do. He damaged his soul in such a way that he has little capacity within him for others. He may just think it to be a loose connection because of what happened that night.”
“But what if he can?”
“Then that presents us with another problem we must remedy when it becomes a problem, Harry. It hasn’t been thus far, not even when you were at your weakest. He has much more to fer from this connection than you do.”
Harry nodded, though he was not entirely convinced.
He wanted to discuss it with Morgana and read the section in Herpo’s book once more in the hope of understanding it better.
“I still can’t shake the feeling that we will one day meet again.”
“Perhaps you will,” Godric broke in, “but it is Riddle who should fear you by then, Harry. You are no longer a defenceless boy. You are a seasoned warrior in your own right. If and when you meet, it will not be as he hopes or expects. You will fight, Harry, and this time, you will have the ability to win. Whether it is Myrddin, Voldemort, or both, I would stake all I own you emerging victorious.”
“What do you think?” Harry asked Salazar.
“I think if the opportunity arises, you should be the one to end my line where you come from. I am deeply ashamed of what became of it, Harry.”
Harry nodded his understanding.
“Then that is what I will do, if it comes to that. Thank you for being honest with me, Salazar. Dumbledore would likely have come up with an excuse not to tell me as he always did when I asked him anything about Riddle.”
“I would never lie to you, Harry, even if the truth is a painful one.”
He gave Harry’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze before taking his leave, and Godric followed suit.
With the knowledge of what he’d just learned making him feel distinctly uncomfortable, Harry wanted to go home to consult the book as soon as possible.
He believed what Salazar had said, but he wanted to be certain for himself, certain that there was no way Riddle could find a way to possess him or play games with his mind, though perhaps Harry might be able to do much the same if he could somehow take control of Riddle whilst the two were connected in his sleep.
How he would do that, Harry didn’t know, but it could certainly prove to be a useful skill to master, even if it wouldn’t be enough to end Tom Riddle from where Harry was.
(Break)
The coldness was the first thing he felt when he’d arrived; the very same coldness that had plagued the east when he’d gone to investigate the rumours of the dead having been risen by Guthrum and his witches.
But Myrddin was not in the east this time.
He had ventured to Daneland in search of Strenger, and all he’d found was utter devastation waiting for him.
“The dead did this?” he asked worriedly, ensuring he kept his wits about him.
The terrified woman he’d accosted shook her head.
“No, but I saw them. They passed through here only this morning. The damage you see happened last night. The two men did that. They killed all the others and took another away with them.”
Myrddin swallowed deeply at the revelation.
“Did you see these two men?”
The woman nodded as Myrddin met her gaze, urging her to tell the truth of all she knew.
“One was strongly built with a big red beard. He didn’t sound like he was from around here.”
“And the other?”
The same height, but thinner. He had black and grey hair. They had these stick things. I don’t know what they were. I ran and hid as soon as the fighting started, but they took the other man with them. He looked a little like the second, but much younger.”
Myrddin nodded and released a deep breath.
Godric and Salazar had found Phillip and had undoubtedly bled any and all information they could from the man, which meant they knew of Myrddin’s involvement with him.
Myrddin cursed under his breath as he walked through the village.
The dead being on the move was indeed troubling, but much less so than Strenger being captured.
By now, the man would be dead.
He would’ve offered little resistance to what Salazar could’ve done to him, and the two men certainly had no use for him after they’d gotten what they’d wanted.
No, Phillip Strenger and all of his cohorts were no longer of this world, and Myrddin could only curse the man a final time.
He’d hoped to use Strenger himself as leverage to get what he needed from Rowena, as a gesture that their friendship had not been abandoned by Myrddin, but it was not to be.
He shuddered once more as he pondered what he would do next, and idly wondered if Harry potter would indeed come to their aide after al that had transpired on the ships.
There were few things in life that Myrddin regretted, but his impatience in dealing with Potter was quickly becoming one of them.
If he did not intervene on the roaming dead, and Myrddin could find no way to be rid of them himself, they could all but spell the end for Arthur’s campaign.
For that, Myrddin could only blame himself for his foolish, premature actions against the one man who he might just need sooner rather than later.
(Break)
She watched as Harry re-read the same section of text in Herpo’s book with a furrowed brow.
He’d said nothing since he’d returned and had sat in front of the fire as he perused the work of the darkest of wizards.
“Harry?” Morgana pressed.
He looked up at her and seemed to be uncharacteristically concerned.
“He infected me,” he murmured. “Not intentionally, but a piece of his detached soul attached itself to mine.”
Morgana frowned.
She didn’t need to ask who Harry was speaking of. Whenever he mentioned the man who’d killed his parents, his eyes burned with the restrained fury he carried.
“His soul?”
“A Horcrux. He turned me into a Horcrux.”
Morgana shook her head.
She had read that section in Herpo’s book and knew more than most of how souls worked in humans and animals alike.
“Impossible,” she denied. “A fragment of a live soul attaching to a hole one would never survive as a separate thing, not by the time your magic had fully developed. Any piece of soul he left in you would become yours, along with whatever of use your own could take from it.”
“Salazar said the same.”
“Salazar is right,” Morgana said confidently. “Harry, whatever he did to you when you were a child is null and void, save for the good your own soul could’ve taken from his.”
“You’re sure?”
Morgana nodded.
“If it wasn’t, the moment you pledged your soul to me whilst we exchanged our wedding vows, something unpleasant would’ve happened. If it was a part of Riddle’s soul within you that still belonged to him, it would’ve rejected the vow. You cannot pledge someone else’s soul in a binding vow. No magic would allow that, not even the very worst Herpo could come up with.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
“I just thought…”
“You thought wrong,” Morgana broke in. “Trust your wife in this, Harry. The soul is something that should never be messed with in any magic. The ramifications of doing so can be exceedingly volatile.”
“But we pledged our souls to one another.”
“And they accepted one another and did so fully because we love and our dedicated to each other.”
“It’s that simple?”
“It’s that simple,” Morgana assured him, frowning as a knock sounded at the door.
“It’s Ignotus,” Harry informed her as he opened the door.
The man entered, and his expression was grimmer than usual.
“The dead are on the move. They have entered Daneland. One of our scouts returned to inform me of it.”
“So, Guthrum is going after Cnut?”
Ignotus nodded.
“It seems that way,” he sighed. “There will soon be war in Daneland, and to the north of us when Arthur attacks Eadwulf and the Danes there. The entire country will soon be plunged in war, Harry.”