Avalon - Chapter 79 - The Way of the Crow

The Way of the Crow

He had truly considered claiming the heads of both Guinevere and Lancelot, and perhaps he would have if there was any love left in his heart for the former.

Arthur knew he’d not truly loved his wife for some time, though he could not remember the moment of clarity as it came to him.

Perhaps it had been long before he had stopped trying to find something worth salvaging between them, but certainly before he’d put his queen to the test to see if she would seek her out of her own accord instead of him doing so.

No that it mattered anymore.

Nonetheless, Arthur had expected fallout from his discovery and subsequent actions. As he watched a rather frantic Leodegrance pacing back and forth in front of him in his study, the king felt something akin to sympathy for the man, but try as he might, his mind would not be changed.

He would not profess to feel justified for his decision, and there was no pleasure to be had in discovering that three of the people he had thought he could trust most had betrayed him in such a way.

Still, he did feel unburdened, and somehow freer despite the sting of all that had transpired under his nose.

“My king, I know that she shamed you, but to cast her aside…”

Leodegrance fell silent as Arthur held up a hand.

“What would you have me do?” the king asked. “I had only two choices, and I chose the one that would see your daughter live. I could have removed her head for her transgressions. This was not an isolated incident, Leodegrance. Lancelot was very forthcoming with the details, and had I been privy to all, I can assure you, neither would’ve been granted the mercy they have been shown.”

The letter the man had written to Arthur before departing aboard a ship had been candid, apologetic, and written by a broken man who knew he’d squandered their friendship.

Lancelot had provided all the pertinent details of what had transpired, giving credence to Arthur’s thoughts that Guinevere had indeed never loved him.

In a way, it lessened the sting of what had occurred but only left him feeling all the more foolish.

Leodegrance visibly swallowed.

“She is my daughter,” he pleaded.

“And she was my wife,” Arthur pointed out. “Tell me, in what capacity has she served me? She never provided an heir, she has shamed me time and again and has no regret for it. Any remorse she feels is only because she was caught, and you know this to be true. That she never loved me is something I can accept. You cannot force someone to love another, but to be dishonoured in such a way is unforgiveable. I have been gracious enough with my punishment, so I urge you to accept it. Take your daughter out of my lands, Leodegrance. I meant what I said. If I am to lay eyes on her again, I will have her head.”

Not so many years ago, the man before him would protest, and even offer threats to the young, inexperienced king.

The dynamic, however, had shifted significantly. Gone were the days where Arthur would be cowed by another, and Leodegrance knew that should he will it, the entirety of the kingdom would come down upon him.

With nothing left to be said, his former good father nodded, though he paused as he reached the door.

“She shames me too, my king,” he said sincerely. “I do not understand why she did what she has, and for what it is worth, I am sorry.”

Arthur offered the man a nod of acknowledgement and deflated when he was once again left alone.

For now, it was what he needed to process all he had learned and what had happened after the fact, but that could not be so.

He could not neglect the people of his lands, and though he knew it would take some time to come to terms with everything, life for him would go on.

With a shake of his head, he retrieved the coin he’d been gifted from his pocket.

He did not wish to burden Harry with his problems, but the man should be made aware of the changes within his court.

In truth, Arthur had not given Myrddin much thought thus far. He was furious with the man for keeping what he knew from him, and he remained unsure if he could forgive the man for his own part in it.

Only time would tell, but there was one thing Arthur could not deny.

Never in all his life, not even when he felt an outcast in the home of Ser Ector, had the king felt so truly alone.

(Break)

He frowned thoughtfully as he pondered the past day and shook his head at the changes it would bring.

Of course, were he not of a mind to save the slaves from the fate that awaited them, his immediate problems would only have halved, but it wasn’t those dwelling in the hurriedly cleared field that concerned him.

Knowing they were being tended to by those he trusted, Harry’s thoughts shifted to what had happened to his two men in East Anglia.

Someone had gone to great lengths to harm him and his efforts, doing so through the senseless murder. Oddly, they had gone to similar lengths to cover it up, or pass it off as something else entirely, and Harry was unsure why.

Either someone wanted to get his attention but not allowed what had been done to be traced back to them, or they truly wanted Harry to believe the murder had been committed by the local muggles.

Only the faintest traces of magic had been left behind, and yet, he could not help but think that the former was more likely.

It was troubling, though nothing new for harry who had spent most of his life making enemies. This was merely just one more to add to the already extensive list.

“What’re you thinking?” Owain asked as he took a seat next to him.

It wasn’t so often that he and Morgana could be found in the cabin they’d built together so many years prior, but given it was likely both would be spending considerable time here whilst the former slaves were tended to, they’d decided to reside here.

“Rookwood,” Harry answered. “The only thing I’m wondering is if he is working alone or he has convinced other members of the Wizard’s Council to help him. I didn’t exactly endear myself to them, and Meadows warned me about more than a few.”

“Does it matter?” Owain questioned. “The council have no power here.”

“But they do outside of here, and with helping Arthur ensuring the muggles are safe from us, it leaves our men vulnerable.”

Owain hummed.

“Well, doubling the number is patrols will help, and maybe emergency portkeys along with their shields.”

Harry nodded.

“For now, we need to be more vigilant,” he urged. “I will find out who is responsible for this, but it will cause conflict.”

Owain chuckled amusedly as he clapped him on the shoulder.

“That’s nothing new for us. Besides, the council is nothing but a bunch of high and mighty shits who think they can do as they wish because of their wealth. The bastards could do with a reminder that they are men, just like us.”

“And women.”

“And women,” Owain huffed. “Not that it matters. If any member of it is responsible for what happened, they will face our justice, Harry. An attack against any who calls this place home is an attack against us all. The council will come to know that soon enough.”

It was not a thought that filled Harry with any semblance of joy, but a line had been crossed, and it was not something that he could allow to slide. It would only embolden the council, who already took more than enough liberties with the men and women of Britain, both muggle and magical.

“Well, first, I need to establish the truth of what happened. We can decide what to do from there.”

“And if it is the council?”

“It is as you said, they will face our justice.”

Owain nodded.

“So, what next?”

Harry frowned as he pondered the ideas that had already crossed his mind.

“A little bit of instilling fear won’t go amiss. I have a few ideas,” he added, rubbing his thumb across the stone he’d acquired during his return trip to where he’d come from.

(Break)

“Well, at least there doesn’t seem to be much else beyond malnutrition and superficial wounds. It’s what’s going on up here that they will struggle with most,” Morgana side, tapping the side of her head with a forefinger.

Helga yawned as she deflated.

It had been a long night for all of them whilst they’d seen to the wounds of those that Harry had rescued.

Immediately, the two of them had set to work with brewing potions that would undoubtedly be needed, and soon enough, the large batches would be ready to be administered.

Having been fed what had likely been the largest meal in the longest time, they’d been able to do little more than make their way to their tents to sleep, some still wary of their new surroundings, but more relaxed than when they’d arrived.

Ath the very least, they were free now, though Morgana couldn’t fathom what that meant for them.

Harry had explained that there was no home for them to return to, but she was certain that between him and Owain, they would find something suitable.

It wasn’t in either of the men’s nature to leave any in need without, after all.

“I think that’s it,” Helga declared, snuffing the fires beneath the cauldrons. “This will certainly see them through until they’re feeling better.”

Morgana nodded appreciatively as she checked on her sleeping son, offering the boy to the waiting Hook.

Although Harry did not believe any of those brought here on the ships were a threat, he’d taken no chances and had ensured there were more than enough of the men from the village around to watch over them.

“I do not know these people, and I learned long ago that none can ever be fully trusted. For now, they may seem docile enough, but if they decided to take it upon themselves to, they could cause problems.”

“Harry, they barely have the energy to stand.”

“Desperate people are capable of incredible feats.”

Maybe her husband was being just a little paranoid, but Morgana had learned to never take anything for granted, especially the words and warnings of the father of her son.

“Should we wake them?”

“No,” Helga decided. “Let them sleep peacefully. It will be best if they eat again before taking these anyway.”

“Then I will speak with Anwen, and Harry before he decides there is something he needs to do.”

“He’s quiet,” Helga pointed out.

“Yes, and when he is quiet, it usually means he is planning something rather miserable for someone else.”

Helga hummed in response.

“That doesn’t worry you?”

“It does, and call me what you will, but that is one of the things I love most about my husband.”

“That he has the ability to make others miserable?”

“That he can make others miserable but only does so for those that deserve it,” Morgana clarified, offering the woman a grateful smile before finding the man occupying her thoughts.

He had briefly explained what had happened in East Anglia only the previous day, and Morgana didn’t doubt that despite his efforts here to assist the former slaves, his mind was already on what his reaction would be to what had been done to his men.

Morgana already knew Harry would not be idle, but him stewing over something for so long truly did mean that someone was in for a most unpleasant reckoning when her husband had settled on what he would do.

(Break)

He feared that Rookwood’s amusement would be rather short-lived.

His need for vengeance had clouded his judgement where Harry Potter was concerned, and as Myrddin arrived at the man’s home to meet with the others he had thrown his lot in, he couldn’t help but think this would end most terribly.

Potter may only be one man, but he was like no other Myrddin had been in the presence of, and if Willan continued on his chosen path, it would lead to nothing short of a magical war they could not comprehend the consequences of.

“Ah, Myrddin, thank you for joining us,” the Lord of the manor greeted him.

He’d always found the home to be rather gawdy for his own tastes. Myrddin may have become accustomed to the wealth of Camelot, but Arthur had at least resisted the urge to rub his riches in the faces of others.

Willan was not of such a mind, and nor were the others he found himself looking upon who had gathered round a large table in one of the Rookwood home’s parlours.

Gaunt, Flint, Nott, Parkinson, Rosier, and Yaxley.

It was quite the group to assemble in confronting a common foe, and yet, Myrddin still remained unconfident of their success, even if they appeared to be quite self-assured.

None had ever faced such a threat, but if they were indeed determined to proceed with their plan to be rid of Potter, they would soon inevitably be humbled before experiencing any modicum of lasting success.

“Take a seat, old friend,” Willan urged, holding out a chair for Myrddin, who accepted it graciously. “As you can see, we have quite the gathering united in a common cause.”

“Indeed,” Myrddin acknowledged, “but despite such an august coming together, I must first urge caution to you all, just as I have with Willan. Harry Potter truly is more dangerous than you can comprehend, and before you make any moves against him, you must be absolute. He will quickly discover your ploy and will retaliate in ways you cannot fathom.”

Myrddin frowned as more than a hint of concern crossed the feature of watch of the men, and he shook his head.

“Judging by your demeanour, might I assume you have already acted?”

“Flint did,” Gaunt said accusingly.

“We agreed!” Flint protested.

“We agreed to come together,” Willan pointed out. “We did not agree on the murder of his men.”

“I took the initiative!”

“You took liberties and acted too hastily,” Willan scoffed. “It was you that warned us about him, if you remember correctly.”

Flint was affronted by the sudden turning on him, and he scowled at his companions.

“We are in this together,” he hissed. “I saw an opportunity and took it. Besides, it will never be traced back to us.”

The others murmured amongst themselves and Myrddin leaned forward in his chair.

“Perhaps not,” he observed, “but who is it among you that would bear a known grudge against him already?”

He shifted his gaze towards Willan whose eyes widened.

“You damned fool, Marcus!” he growled irritably. “He will think I was behind what happened!”

Flint waved him off dismissively.

“Bugger him. If he wants to come for us, he will be squashed like a bloody insect.”

Willan remained quite wroth with the man, and Myrddin held up his hands placatingly.

“I remain ignorant of what you have done, Lord Flint.”

“He only had two of Potter’s men ambushed and killed,” Gaunt informed him.

“Oh dear,” Myrddin sighed. “He will not take it well.”

“Potter can bloody hang,” Flint snorted.

Myrddin shook his head.

They truly did not understand the gravity of the situation they had now led themselves into. If any of Potter’s men truly had been murdered in cold blood, they would certainly now have his attention.

For men who were supposed to be politicians, they were proving themselves to be rather dense in handling such a delicate manner.

“Subterfuge, gentlemen,” Myrddin sighed. “Only a fool would be so brazen to do something to set such a tone. He will reply in kind when he inevitably uncovers the truth of what happened.”

“Nonsense,” Flint said dismissively, “and besides, I have taken other steps. I have sent some of my own men to join with Potter as members of his group. They will feed needed information to us.”

It was a much more desirable approach, and yet, Myrddin was left in no doubt that the damage had already been done.

Nonetheless, these men were working towards an end he sought for himself, and it would be foolish to not use them to his advantage.

At the very least, they may be able to weaken Potter or even prove to tip the balance in his favour when he needed it most.

No, Myrddin was not so foolish to take the man lightly, and as he’d already predicted before his arrival here, Willan and the others would be humbled soon enough.

All that remained to be seen was how Potter would retaliate, and until then, Myrddin would keep his distance under the guise of seeking further useful information.

“Well, I cannot say this is the best of starts, but I am willing to help you,” he offered. “Allow me some time, and I will see what more I can learn of Potter. I have excellent resources dotted around the country, and I will be in contact with you all shortly.”

He stood and offered the others a nod, expecting that the next time they gathered, they would be perhaps minus one of their numbers if Potter did indeed respond how Myrddin anticipated.

(Break)

Meadows shook her head, but Harry couldn’t deny that the woman was concerned by what had happened.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to take a more diplomatic approach?” she sighed.

“Would it solve anything?”

Meadows deflated.

“No, I cannot say it would. It’s not about knowing what you know, but about what you can prove.”

“Or how many strings you can pull,” Harry grumbled. “Who is it that members of the council answer to anyway?”

“Each other. It is not the most stable of processes, but we rarely have need to convene in such a way.”

“Because most of you are willing to ignore what the others are doing so long as it doesn’t impact you.”

“That is hardly fair.”

“But it is the truth. You all came together as a group to avoid conflict with one another. That is why I cannot trust you as a collective. If Rookwood is responsible for what happened, what would the council do about it? I would wager that it would be very little.”

Meadows could not bring herself to disagree with him.

“I wish I could tell you differently, but I cannot. I am aware that some of my peers harbour some rather unpleasant tendencies, but if we were to allow discord to lead to conflict, it would end badly for us all.”

Harry nodded his agreement.

“And that is why I am not here asking for your assistance. A time will soon come that we need to be united, but for now, I will not let what was done to my men slide. I will have justice for them.”

“I only ask that it is proportionate to the slight against you,” Meadows sighed before frowning. “What do you mean a time will come that we need to be united?”

“For now, I will hold my tongue until necessary, but as a favour to you, I urge preparedness. Whether it is war amongst us or another conflict entirely, it is on the horizon.”

Meadows’ frown deepened as Harry stood.

“It seems as though I have some work to do,” he continued before the woman could question him further. “I will let you know my findings.”

Meadows could only nod, and Harry took his leave of her home.

In truth, he’d not ventured here to discuss what he already strongly suspected with Meadows. No, Harry had an ulterior motive, and having gotten a feel for the protections around the home, he had an idea of what it was he would likely face during his next outing.

(Break)

The last time he’d been aboard a ship was when he’d found himself gathering the fleet from East Anglia with Cnut at the helm. Lancelot vividly remembered the sickness he’d been plagued with, and then subsequent battle to intercept Eadwulf’s assistance as they’d rounded the south-west of the country.

Oddly, he now thought of that harrowing experience as some of his better days, and as his stomach lurched once more from a wave rolling the ship he found himself upon, he did his utmost once more not to empty the contents of his stomach.

Neither Gawain nor Bors has said much to him since they’d departed Britain, and Lancelot could not fathom where it was they were going.

All he knew was that he was to be exiled, and that he’d never be allowed to return home lest he wished to be relieved of his head courtesy of Arthur’s sword.

He sighed at the thought.

He would not deny his guilt for what he’d done, and he’d never try to justify his actions. He would only be dishonest, and despite the trouble it had landed him in, he still missed the woman who had taken his heart with her.

“We’ll be there soon enough,” Gawain said gruffly.

Lancelot nodded as he spotted the coast in the distance.

“Why did you do it?” Bors murmured.

Lancelot chuckled humourlessly.

“Because I was a damned fool in love, enchanted by the beauty and grace of a forbidden woman.”

Bors shook his head and placed a weighty bag in his hand.

“You’re not the first nor last, lad,” he said sadly.

“What’s this?” Lancelot questioned confusedly.

“More than enough gold for you to start a new life. Arthur doesn’t want you to be miserable, he just can’t stand to look at you. You’ll live well enough, just don’t go looking for her. It will end badly for you both.”

Lancelot nodded his understanding.

“Do you think he will ever forgive me?”

“No,” Gawain snorted, “but he loves you. That won’t ever change.”

It hurt to hear it.

It would be much easier if Arthur despised him for what he did, and yet, Lancelot knew it was another burden for him to carry.

Nonetheless, there was a part of him that hoped that Arthur may one day find enough forgiveness within him to face Lancelot again, even if it was only to hear a heartfelt apology for the pain he’d caused his friend.

Guinevere had a hold over him.

From the very moment he’d laid eyes on her until the very end, Lancelot could not deny it.

Still, despite the words of Gawain and Bors, there was that slither of hope he would cling to, and perhaps one day, if he was fortunate, he would see Britain again.

(Break)

The silence Myrddin had left in his wake was almost deafening, and those left behind lost themselves in their own thoughts as they pondered the man’s words.

“Do you think…?” Yaxley asked.

Flint snorted as he shook his head.

“He’s just a man!” he reminded them. “He’s just a bloody man like all of us here. Myrddin is being paranoid.”

Willan was not so sure.

Myrddin was not one to give in to fanciful tales, though how could they be considered fanciful when Potter’s feats had been witnessed by many, even Myrddin himself?

“What now?” Nott asked the group at large.

“Nothing,” Flint answered. “For now, we do nothing. He has nothing on any of us. Rookwood wasn’t even involved what happened, and I am not even under his gaze. We have nothing to fear.”

Nott quirked an eyebrow at the man.

Even to Willan, Marcus Flint did not seem to be convinced himself.

Perhaps he was merely offering himself some words of encouragement, but what he’d said was true.

Willan had not been involved in Flint’s plot, and yet, he could almost feel Potter’s inevitable approach.

He grimaced at the thought; one that had become only more prevalent since his companions had departed is home.

Shaking his head, Willan took a sip of his wine.

He was safe within his walls from any, and he’d never been one to let the words of others dictate the way he should feel. Willan was at the very top of magical society.

There was none he should fear.

Nonetheless, he could not ignore the sense of unease at the thought of being stalked by such a man.

Who was foolish enough to fight a dragon in flight, or face down an army of the dead?

Willan had felt the presence of the abominations across Britain, and even his fellow members of the Wizard’s Council had been at a loss at what to do, just as they often had when the wraiths would enter Britain; something else Potter had managed to find a way to deal with.

Willan shook his head.

Just who was Harry Potter?

He was indeed a troubling entity, one that had carved himself a reputation for deeds most could not begin to comprehend, yet despite his notoriety, he remained a complete mystery.

“Bloody hell,” Willan gasped as a bird suddenly landed heavily outside the window of his study.

A crow.

The Lord Rookwood found his breath hitched in his chest, and frozen in place as it eyed him almost accusingly, certain they flashed a rather ominous white as a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance The crow suddenly squawked before taking flight, eliciting a flinch from Willan.

“Fucking bird,” he grumbled as he stood, pausing a a large shadow past by the very same window. “Who’s there?”

He’d drawn his wand, though much to his shame, it tremble in his grip.

In response to his demand, the fire flickered until it was snuffed, along with the candles he’d lit prior to his guests arriving.

They were no longer here, however, and with Dustin taking some time to recuperate on the continent, Willan was alone.

He shuddered as a sudden coldness swept through the room, and the wand in his hand felt all but useless against what he was faced with.

“It’s just a damned storm!” Willan huffed, scowling as a fork of lightning lit up the night sky.

He needed to speak it aloud to convince himself that there was nothing else more sinister afoot, but he did not linger in his study any longer. Instead, he opted to turn in for the night in the hope that tomorrow would be a better day.

Such a thing, he soon realised, would be unlikely.

The moment he stepped out of his study, the candles that lined the walls of the lengthy hallways were snuffed, plunging Willan into darkness. Even as he lit the tip of his wand, he could see little, not the table he knocked into with his leg, and certainly not the hand that seized him by the throat.

Willan felt the wind knocked from his lungs, and his wand clattered to the floor.

It was the coldness he could feel.

It seemed to seep into every fibre of his being, and despite his best efforts to do so, he could see nothing.

“Did you do it?”

Willan shook his head in protest as the grip of his attacker grew tighter skill.

“No!” he wheezed.

“Then how do you know what it is I am referring to?”

“I didn’t!”

The attacker tutted at him as though he was but a child being chided.

“You reek of dishonesty, Rookwood, but no, it wasn’t you. You do know who did it though. So, enlighten me before I take it upon myself to tear through your mind as though it was wet parchment.”

Willan wheezed as he felt a stabbing pain in his head.

“Flint!” he choked. “It was Flint. None of us knew about it until it was done.”

“Us?” the attacker pressed. “Hmm, yes, I can see them now.”

Willan tried to force the presence from his mind to no avail, but much to his relief it withdrew of its own accord a moment later.

“You are fortunate, Rookwood. Had you been involved, you’d be dead. It would be foolish for you and yours to continue on the path you have chosen. For now, only Flint need suffer my wrath.”

Somehow, the grip around his throat tighten further, as though it had been snatched into the jaws of a wolf, and as his vision faded, the whist eyes of his attacker glowed ominously in the darkness that took him.

He awoke with a gasp and his breathing was laboured as he looked around the room his found himself in. Immediately, Willan reached for his neck, which he expected to find to be tender, but it wasn’t.

Only adding to his confusion, he found himself within his study with no sign of a storm raging outside, and both the fireplace and candles were lit.

Had what he’d experienced been nothing but a nightmare.

Willan could not be certain, but what did remain with him was the abject fear he’d felt throughout the ordeal, and just a lingering presence of the coldness.

Shaking his head, he stood and tentatively peered outside of the window.

There was nothing.

There was no lingering signs of a storm having passed through, and as he took in his reflection in the glass, there were no marking around his neck where he’d been grasped.

Willan was at a loss.

It had felt so real, and yet, there was no evidence other than his own thoughts to suggest otherwise.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered as he sunk into his seat and poured himself a generous measure of wine to stave off the vestiges of what continued to plague him.

If what he’d experienced had been only a dream, it was one he did not wish to be repeated.

Willan thought his life was forfeit, but worse still was the thought that it had truly happened, and that somehow, he’d been convinced it was dream.

It was a worrying thought, and yet, he could not be sure of the truth.

Draining his cup, he decided to turn in for what he believed to be the second time this evening, again, something Lord Rookwood could not entirely convince himself of.

(Break)

“Are you sure about this?”

Harry nodded and Arthur cursed under his breath as he began pacing back and forth in front of his throne.

He was tired.

With all the betrayal he had faced, the fallout surrounding him, and now this, Arthur didn’t know what to think any more.

“And Myrddin is involved with them?”

“Not so directly, but he attended one of the meetings. If anything, he urged them to be cautious, but he is just as ken as the rest of them to have me cowed.”

Arthur shook his head.

“Well, Myrddin and I are not on the best of terms,” he murmured. “I have banished him from Camelot for keeping something from me.”

“Your wife’s affair.”

Arthur deflated at the mention of the woman, but it was his thoughts on his wayward friend that irked him most. With Guinevere, he felt nothing. Of course, the sting of betrayal was prevalent, but in truth, he’d expected it.

Lancelot, however, was another matter entirely, and Arthur missed the presence of his friend.

“Did everyone know before me?”

“No,” Harry assured him. “It was not my place to interfere, but I told you to keep your eyes open to those around you.”

“And that is why I paid closer attention. I didn’t know it was Lancelot until I caught them together.”

“You banished both?”

“It was either that or execute them,” Arthur sighed. “Guinevere has been placed in the custody of the church, and Lancelot banished to Francia. He will live a comfortable life, just not here.”

Harry nodded.

“For what it is worth, he is a good man, other than what happened between him and Guinevere. Women are often a weakness for men, especially when they capture the heart as well as the eye.”

“Much like your wife?”

Harry smiled.

“Much like my Morgana,” he agreed, “and my son.”

Arthur gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze, though he couldn’t deny the pain that plagued him for not managing to father children of his own.

Even at the beginning of the marriage when he and Guinevere would lay together often, she had not fallen pregnant.

Perhaps she couldn’t, or perhaps it was Arthur who was destined to have none of his own.

Whatever the reason, and despite what his wife had done to him, Arthur was saddened he had nothing to show for their time together.

“What do you intend on doing?” he asked, turning back to the matter at hand.

“I have already responded decisively so there is no doubt that I am a man they should not be crossing. If they are bright, they will let it lie.”

“But you do not think so?”

“These men are not so bright, Arthur, and they are as stubborn as they are prideful. Even so, I know who they are, and I have taken steps to ensure they cannot repeat what they have done. If they do continue to make a nuisance of themselves, then I will deal with them in a much more permanent manner. That remains to be seen.”

Arthur nodded his understanding.

“And Myrddin?”

Harry shook his head.

“If he chooses to align himself with them and offer his assistance beyond words of caution, then he too will become my enemy.”

Arthur released a deep breath.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Both Harry and Myrddin had been invaluable to him over the years, and for them to be at odds with one another was a most unpleasant prospect.

No, he could not allow it to happen, and to that end, he knew he must send for the man he’d only recently banished, for the good of the kingdom.

“I will speak with him, Harry. Allow me the time to do that before the situation becomes any more unpleasant. You have sought your justice, and I do not doubt you have had it. I do not expect you to back down but take a step back whilst I see what I can do.”

Harry nodded his acceptance as he stood.

“I do not believe they will listen to reason, but I am willing to let you try. So long as they let it be, I will take no further action against them. If they do not heed your words or Myrddin cannot be convinced to cow them, I will, and it will be most unpleasant for all that have provoked my ire.”

With that, he vanished, and Arthur did not doubt the word of the man.

Harry Potter was not one to make idle threats, and this Lord Flint, one whom Arthur was not familiar with, would undoubtedly understand that for himself soon enough.

(Break)

It had been a frantic pounding on his bedroom door that had woken him, and though Marcus had been initially furious at the intrusion, the pale and shaken demeanour of the servant that had roused him was sobering.

Nonetheless, it was the sight that greeted him on his own front lawn that gave him pause, and as Marcus looked upon the twelve bodies laid out in the shape of a crow, he swallowed deeply.

“How?” he whispered.

Not only had Potter somehow discovered he’d been behind what had been done to his two men, the man had responded in such a vicious and violent manner, and all without being detected whilst doing so.

How had he made it past the protections around his home?

Marcus had spent a small fortune to ensure the safety of his family, and evidently, it had been for nothing.

“Where are their eyes and hands?” he dared to ask.

“I do not know,” the servant murmured, “but this was in one of their hands.”

He accepted the piece of parchment and unrolled it, grimacing at the traces of blood it left on his hand.

Flint,

It was a fool’s errand to do what you did. For now, the lives of your men who carried out your wishes will suffice, but should you try again, it will be the souls of those you hold most dear I come to claim.

For now, we are even, but even a veiled threat against me will be treated as a breaking of the peace that now exists.

The Crow

Fear.

Marcus was not accustomed to feeling such, but quickly, it gave way to another emotion he was much more comfortable with.

Using his wand, he reduced the not to ashes before stomping back into his home.

“Burn them!” he hissed, already planning a suitable retribution, and pondering ways he could better protect his property.

The damned Crow would not get away with this, and especially not threatening his family in such a way.