Avalon - Chapter 80 - In the Service of Justice

In the Service of Justice

“They’re grateful for everything we are doing for them, but they grow restless, Harry,” Hook explained. “They do not wish to be idle.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

The former slaves had been with them for close to a moon now and had physically recovered well under Morgana’s care. The field they occupied had become something of a small community within Godric’s Hollow, and much to Harry’s surprise, only a few had left to return to what remained of the homes they’d been taken from.

He'd seen what awaited them for himself.

The slavers had indeed left nothing behind, had even torched and salted the earth on some of the small islands off the coast of Britain most had once called home.

Even with magic, it would be difficult to make the land arable again, and most understood it.

Still, living as they were in tents on a field that had been hastily repurposed to accommodate them was far from ideal for all.

“I will speak with them,” Harry sighed, “and I will need to speak with you and Gwyneth soon.”

Hook looked at him questioningly, and Harry gave the man a reassuring smile.

It was not a subject he wished to broach, but Maxim was getting older now.

Already, Hook was training him to wield a sword, and as Harry had expected, he took much after the man that had sired him. Just one look at the boy and anyone who was familiar with Arthur could see he was the boys’ father.

What that meant for the future, Harry didn’t know, but it was best that all involved were prepared for all eventualities.

“Is this about the boy?”

“It is.”

Hook deflated as he nodded.

Although he and Gwyneth now had two children of their own, it was Hook who had been raising Maxim, though Harry wasn’t sure if Gwyneth had told him of the circumstances of his birth.

If the rather grim demeanour of his friend was anything to go by, he expected she had. Gwyneth was a good woman and wouldn’t keep something so potentially problematic from him.

“I suppose it had to happen, didn’t it,” he murmured.

“It did,” Harry agreed, “but I will not see any of you put out. You’ve raised that boy, and regardless of what happens in the future, that will not change. Arthur may have sired him, but he is your son in every way that matters.”

“And maybe a future king.”

“Maybe,” Harry acknowledged. “Come, let’s see what we can do for our guests.”

Hook followed him towards the field, which to Harry, almost resembled a circus he’d seen in Surrey when he’d been a boy. Of course, he’d not been allowed to join the Dursleys when they had taken Dudley, but he’d seen the plethora of round-top tents from the car as they’d driven past.

“Harry,” Claude greeted him enthusiastically, shaking his hand.

Despite his improved demeanour, the haunting of what he’d experienced still lingered in his eyes.

He’d become something of a figurehead amongst the former slaves, and the others turned to him if there was anything they needed. He in turn would approach Harry to discuss it with him.

“Claude,” Harry returned fondly. “I understand you are all growing restless.”

He had grown to like the man.

He cared for those around him and had been nothing but respectful and an invaluable asset in helping those around him.

“We are,” he confirmed with a sad smile. “As much as we appreciate all that is being done for us, most would prefer to work. It will help us feel that we are earning our keep and give a much-needed distraction. There’s only so much recovery we can take.”

“Then I’m sure there is something we can find for you all…”

Claude held up is hand.

“For some of us, menial labour would be preferred, but there are others, like me, who prefer something with a little more substance.”

Harry frowned questioningly at the man.

“He means your own venture,” Hook interjected.

Claude nodded.

“We have seen the men in grey robes, and we have heard what they are doing. I have around fifty strong and able men who would like a position. We could use the gold, and those I know personally are able.”

Harry looked towards Hook who shrugged.

“We could use the men, if you can afford it. We can almost double our patrols. We’ve only had eight new recruits recently, and some of them won’t last.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully.

Swelling the numbers of his patrol group would be beneficial, especially now that they were travelling in fours instead of twos.

“I will meet with them,” he decided. “I have been meaning to discuss replacing your wands. That will need to be sooner rather than later, especially if we are going to get you to work. Even those doing menial labour will need them.”

“Do you know of someone who can procure so many?” Hook asked.

“I do,” Harry confirmed. “Leave it with me, Claude, and have your men ready. I will make the arrangements and we can figure the rest of it out.”

Claude beamed in response and shook his hand once more.

“Thank you, Harry, we won’t let you down.”

He returned to the others to break the news, and Harry headed back towards the village to speak with Owain and get his thoughts on the matter.

“Do you think it is a good idea to give them all wands, Harry?” Hook asked worriedly.

Harry gave the man’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I sense nothing nefarious from them. Besides, if they do harbour any ill-will towards any here, the protections in place will not take kindly to it. It would be a mistake they could make only once.”

Hook snorted as he shook his head.

“Has anyone told you how terrifying you are?”

“It has been mentioned,” Harry said gravely, his thoughts drifting briefly to what he’d done to Lord Flint only a matter of a few weeks past.

There had been no further repercussions, but that didn’t mean the man wasn’t planning something.

He was certainly prideful and stupid enough to not let go of the grudge he formed between them.

Still, Harry was not concerned by Marcus Flint, nor any of his cohorts.

If they continued to tread the path they had set themselves upon, it would be a short and bloody one for them, after all.

(Break)

“Arthur, Myrddin has arrived at the front gates,” Tristan informed him.

“Send him in.”

The man nodded before taking his leave of the throne room, and Arthur braced himself to face another he’d looked up to more than any. Despite taking some much-needed time to himself to adjust to a life without his best friend, his wife, and mentor, the thought of Myrddin being in Camelot was not one that brought him comfort.

However, speaking with him was necessary, if only to ensure he did not find himself in conflict with Harry.

Arthur looked on as Myrddin entered the room only a few moments later, flanked by both Bors and Gawain, who had recently returned from their trip to Francia to ensure Lancelot had truly left Britain.

“My king,” Myrddin greeted him.

Arthur offered him a nod.

“Leave us,” he instructed.

The room quickly emptied and Arthur rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“I would think that if you wished to find yourself in my good graces again, you would not be seeking to undermine me.”

“Undermine you?”

Arthur eyed the man, wondering if somehow Harry had been wrong in what he’d discovered, but as ever, nothing was discernible when he met Myrddin’s gaze.

“You coalition with certain members of the Wizard’s Council.”

And there it was.

The hint of surprise that crossed his features was brief, but Arthur had seen it, and the truth of Harry’s words too. Myrddin had aligned himself with those seeking to harm the man, and that was not something the king could abide.

Already, the situation was most delicate, but for Harry and Myrddin to find themselves opposing one another…

The thought alone was most troubling.

“Potter,” Myrddin chuckled humourlessly. “How he discovered their intentions…”

“Their intentions?” Arthur pressed. “Do you not share a common cause?”

Myrddin shook his head.

“I admit that I met with them, but I have offered no assistance save to urge caution. I rightly pointed out that Potter is a dangerous man, and one that shouldn’t be crossed lightly.”

“But they did, didn’t they?” Arthur returned evenly. “They murdered two of his men, men that serve me, Myrddin. It was damned foolish, and I can only hope that the unpleasantness has been forgotten now that justice has been served.”

As ever, Harry had done nothing by half measures, and his retribution had been swift, decisive, and violent in nature. When he’d informed Arthur of what he’d done, the king could only pity those that had been rightly punished.

“Justice?” Myrddin pressed confusedly. “My king, I know of nothing that has been done since the murder of Potter’s men.”

Once more, Arthur frowned.

If Myrddin was lying, he was doing an exceptional job of feigning ignorance, but Arthur was not convinced he was being cunning. He seemed to truly be unaware of what had transpired since, and the king chuckled as he leaned back in his throne.

“Then I urge you to speak with your friends, Myrddin, because you are not being informed of everything. Justice was served swiftly. Perhaps you should discuss the matter with Flint, Rookwood, Yaxley, Nott, Parkinson, Rodier, or Gaunt.”

Myrddin was rather taken aback that he knew those names, and an expression of concern formed across his features.

“Potter knows,” he whispered. “How?”

Arthur shrugged.

“That, I cannot tell you, but when have you ever known Harry to be so lax? If any wish him ill, he, much like you, has his ways of discovering anything he needs to.”

Myrddin was certainly less relaxed than when he’d entered the throne room, and Arthur shook his head as he leaned forward.

“Whatever it is you have against Harry, Myrddin, let it go. He has served me well and continues to do so. Were it not for him, I would not be sitting here now, and the throne would’ve been taken from me before it was ever mine, or have you forgotten that?”

Myrddin shook his head.

“I have not, but I haven’t forgotten how dangerous he is to your reign, and even to my own kind. Men like Harry potter serve only themselves, and should he choose to no longer wish to benefit you, my king, he could be the greatest threat to both muggle sand magicals alike.”

“And yet, he is the one man that has given me no reason to doubt his motivations,” Arthur [pointed out. “He does not hunger for power but wishes only for peace. It is the actions of others that have dragged him away from his home because he is a good enough man that he cannot abide to see others suffer. It is your council that fails both muggles and magicals, Myrddin. Harry is doing all he can to keep us all safe. The same cannot be said for them, can it?”

Myrddin shook his head once more.

“It is not so simple, my king,” he sighed. “If it were, we would not be having this conversation.”

“No, and I would not have to spend much of time worried that my people are going to be attacked just because they are easy targets for yours,” Arthur sighed. “Harry and his men are making a difference, and no one has overstepped. With each apprehension, I ensure that punishments are fair and just. Harry and his men are bridging the gap between our peoples, Myrddin. They cannot be allowed to do as they wish at the expense of mine. I will not allow it, and if the council are unwilling to do anything, I will continue to in any way I see fit.”

“Arthur, your people are not in danger from mine,” Myrddin protested, falling silent as Arthur held up a hand.

“Day in and day out, your people are brought before me for their crimes they commit against us, Myrddin, and the people who claim to be in charge of them do nothing. It has been left to me and a citizen of your own to do so. Do not tell me we are not in danger from you, not when I see it for myself.”

“Then allow me to handle it, Arthur,” Myrddin urged. “You funding a vigilante group is not the way to better our relations. Giving a man like Potter such resources…”

Arthur chuckled humourlessly as he shook his head.

“I am not funding Harry’s men. If he is doing so, then that is his prerogative, but they are loyal to him, Myrddin, and I will show him the same loyalty he shows me and my subjects. Believe me, old friend, I would rather you were on my side in this, but you are either choosing to be blind to what is happening, or you don’t care. I do not know what is worse. Now, if there is nothing else, I would ask that you leave.”

Myrddin appeared to be confused as he was disappointed, but he nodded and offered Arthur a bow.

“I will, my king, and I hope you soon see sense that this path you find yourself will not lead to anywhere good. Potter will find himself at further odds with the Wizard’s Council, and he cannot hope to overcome their might.”

His words were ominous, but even as the man retreated, Arthur could see the uncertainty of his words in his steps.

Perhaps he’d given too much away, but it wasn’t as though the man wouldn’t discover what he wished to for himself.

Myrddin was just as resourceful and clever as Harry, after all.

With a shake of his head, he released a deep sigh.

He truly had hoped to steer Myrddin from whatever involvement he had with the group that had taken exception to Harry, and though he believed him when he said he’d only gone as far to urge caution, Arthur feared that would not remain so.

(Break)

It was not often Harry visited London, or Londinium as it was currently known. The city itself had been a point of contention between the Danes, Angles, and Saxons over the course of the last centuries, and had seen more than its fair share of bloodshed.

To Harry, it was nothing like the place he’d become somewhat familiar with during his younger years.

There was often a smell of urine and faecal matter permeating the air, and with so many people crammed into such a small place, illness was rife.

The Romans had used it to predominantly as a port during their time in Britain, and the trade route had attracted all manner of people, and not always the most savoury of characters.

Still, Harry had not ventured here to take in the sights or mix with the locals.

There was only one man he wished to speak with, and as he spotted the rather innocuous stall on the bank of the Thames, he approached.

It was an odd place for such an establishment to be set up; and certainly a far cry from the majesty that would one day become Diagon Alley only a short walk away from where he found himself now.

“Mr Ollivander?” Harry greeted the man.

A familiar pair of silvery grey eyes roamed over him questioningly before a smile followed as he was recognised for what he was.

“Ah, good morning, sir. What do you require of me today?”

“You may regret asking that question, Mr Ollivander,” Harry chuckled. “I cannot go into specific details, but I recently found myself assisting a rather large group who had their wands taken from them against their wills.”

The wandmaker frowned confusedly for a moment before his eyes widened.

“Are you saying that…?”

Harry held up a hand.

“Let us just say they have endured a most unpleasant experience and they are currently under my care. They do, however, require replacements. With such a delicate matter, your discretion will be most appreciated. Of course, I have more than enough gold to cover your costs, if you think you can accommodate them.”

Ollivander glanced around them as he nodded.

“How many wands do you require, sir?”

“Around one hundred and fifty, give or take.”

Ollivander whistled.

“It will be quite the task, but I certainly have the inventory. I will, however, need to meet each of them. I will not gain a reputation for providing wands to just anyone who is able to hand over a bag of gold. I told the others the same when they came to me.”

“Others?” Harry asked with a frown.

“I will not name names, but you are not the first to come to me with such a request. Oddly enough, they soon change their mind when I insist upon transparency.”

“Which is a testament to your character,” Harry replied with a bow. “You can of course meet with them, and I am sure some will share their stories with you. They are not mine to tell.”

Ollivander was taken aback by Harry’s willingness and he nodded keenly.

“Well then Mr…?”

“Potter, Harry Potter.”

Ollivander’s eyes widened.

“The Harry Potter?” he whispered excitedly. “The dragon slayer?”

Harry grimaced at the moniker he had not heard for some time.

“Dragon slayer, the Crow, and whatever other damned nicknames I’ve managed to acquire over the years.”

Ollivander chuckled as he held up his hands placatingly.

“I meant no offense, but you are known to most, both magical and muggle alike. I was merely surprised at your unexpected visit.”

For the briefest of moments, Harry felt like the eleven-year-old he’d been when he’d visited Diagon Alley and found himself being scrutinised by the same silvery eyes he was now.

This Ollivander even looked like his own, though a decade or so younger.

“I will help you and those under your care, Harry Potter, as best I can. Will you need me to travel to you?”

Harry nodded.

“Godric’s Hollow. If you could come tomorrow?”

“I will be there in the morning,” Ollivander assured him. “Before you leave, may I?”

Harry frowned before removing the first wand he’d received and modified over the years under the watchful eyes of Salazar and Godric. Handing it to Ollivander, he found himself curious to what the man would say.

“Ah, yes, quite the wand indeed, and quite the journey, but there is another that calls you its master…”

“You’re as astute as I expected,” Harry said amusedly as his wand was returned to him, “but some secrets are best kept as just that.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ollivander replied, offering a bow of his own. “Until tomorrow, Harry Potter.”

Harry couldn’t be certain if being so perplexing was just something each generation of the Ollivander family was born with, but as he took his leave of London to return to his own home, he found it was not something he wished to ponder.

From what he’d seen of both he’d met, they were simply men of their own; quirky, but some of the very best at what they did.

Still, the conversation had given him much to think about.

Although Ollivander had not said as much, it took little to deduce the very small selection of those who would attempt to employ him in such a way, unless he had been coyly referring to the goblins.

It was a thought that gave Harry pause.

It was a troubling notion to say the least, and regardless, each of those that crossed his mind had already proven themselves to be his enemies.

A troubling thought indeed.

(Break)

On the surface, all seemed well, and had he not spoken to Arthur, Myrddin did not think he’d notice it, but there was undeniable, lingering tension in the air, a sense of fear beneath the front of keenness and confidence.

With good reason.

As his eyes drifted over those gathered, it did not take him long to see where such fear was emanating from.

With, according to Arthur, justice having been served for the two of Potter’s men that had been murdered, Marcus Flint was the one who found himself under Myrddin’s scrutiny.

As ever, he appeared to exude that same aura of arrogance, but there was indeed hesitance beneath it.

Flint knew of what had been exacted upon him, was acutely aware of it, and yet, he’d not seen fit to tell any.

Neither Gaunt nor Rosier appeared any different from the last time they’d met as one, and Nott, Yaxley, and Parkinson were as nonchalant as ever. Rookwood, however, oozed the same unease as Flint, perhaps more so than the other man.

Myrddin shook his head as he watched the two closely for a moment or so. Before he could speak, however, a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Flint, who was hosting the meeting once more, bade.

Oddly, or not so given what Myrddin knew, the man’s protections had been improved upon since the last gathering, so much so that the air was thick with the ambient magic, and he suspected there were few other homes within Britain better protected now than Marcus Flint’s.

“Ah, gentlemen, come in, come in, take a seat,” Flint invited, gesturing for the two free chairs next to him. “These are my two men who have managed to infiltrate Potter’s group,” he explained to the others.

They took their seats, both looking as tired and uneasy as one another.

“What have you discovered thus far?” Flint pressed.

One of the men deflated and shook his head.

“Potter’s group consists of around seventy men that are being trained by him and Owain Peverell.”

“Peverell?” Rosier asked, unable to hide the concern in his voice.

The man nodded gravely.

“After what happened to two of his men in East Anglia, Potter is taking no chances. They now travel in fours and have been given an emergency portkey each that will take them back to the village should they need it. They are being supplied with new robes like nothing I have ever seen. They have spells and protections imbued into them.”

Flint frowned unhappily.

“Do you have them?”

The man shook his head.

“We have not finished our training yet. It will be a moon or so at least before we do, and that is even if we make it. Potter is paranoid. He watches us all closely. It’s almost as though…”

He broke off and shook his head once more.

“Almost as though what?” Flint pressed irritably.

“Bloody hell, it’s like he can see into your soul when you meet his eyes. It’s like he knows every last secret we have.”

Rosier and the others, save for Rookwood and Flint scoffed.

Myrddin saw no humour in the situation.

He had gotten the very same impression of Harry Potter and had seen what the man was capable of. This was no laughing matter, and as he cleared his throat in irritation, the others fell silent.

“Do you still not understand the gravity of what it is you are facing?” he questioned.

“It’s all bloody nonsense,” Rosier snorted.

“Is that so?” Myrddin pressed. “Is that so, Marcus?”

Flint frowned at him and Myrddin shook his head.

“I had a very interesting conversation with Arthur just this morning,” he revealed.

“Your damned king who is funding this lunacy,” Gaunt growled.

“No. he is not,” Myrddin corrected. “Arthur has not given a single piece of gold to Potter, which means he is either funding it himself, or the men he has at his disposal are that damned loyal to him.”

“It’s both,” one of Flint’s spies interjected. “Potter is spending considerable amounts of gold, but those that are with him are loyal. They remember what he did at Camelot, and how he defeated Guthrum, but it gets worse.”

“Worse?” Flint pressed.

The man nodded nervously.

“Potter has acquired more than one hundred slaves, closer to two hundred, and he is getting them all new wands.”

“He brought slaves?” Flint asked, seemingly irritated that the man was taking a leaf from his own book.

“No, he bloody didn’t,” Rookwood broke in. “He took them. Did you not hear of what happened in Ireland at the end of the last market? The Irish are up in arms that seven of the slavers were murdered and two full ships of slaves are missing. Potter must’ve taken them.”

“Bastard!” Flint huffed; his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth ground together.

“He enslaved slaves?” Gaunt questioned.

Flint looked towards his spies.

“No,” one of them answered ruefully. “He rescued them and gave them their freedom. They are choosing to stay with him. There are rumours that most will join his group.”

“I put no stock in rumours,” Nott said dismissively.

“No, but you should in the truth,” Myrddin broke in once more. “What you have just learned is the least of your concerns. Potter knows, doesn’t he, Marcus?”

The man looked suddenly nervous and he swallowed deeply.

“Knows what?” Parkinson questioned.

“Will you tell them, Marcus, or shall I?”

Flint deflated and shook his head.

“The twelves men I sent to kill two of Potters, well, I found them dead on my lawn. Each of them were missing their eyes and their hands. Not that it matters, I’ve improved my security. It won’t happen again.”

“It won’t happen again,” Gaunt snarked. “How the bloody hell did it happen the first time? How did he know that you were responsible for it?”

“I don’t know!” Flint snapped, slamming his hands on top of the table as he stood. “Do you not think I haven’t thought about it?”

His breathing became laboured as he and Gaunt glared at one another.

“I warned you,” Myrddin spoke gravely. “I told you not to take him lightly, and now you have reaped what you have sown. We must tread carefully as we proceed from now on.”

It would be rather easy and somewhat satisfying to reveal that Potter knew all who were gathered here, perhaps save for the two spies, though Myrddin was not convinced he didn’t.

Somehow, Potter had learned of their meetings, learned of who attended, learned of Flint’s involvement, and who the man had tasked with killing two of his own.

How he became aware of such things, Myrddin didn’t know, but it was concerning to say the least.

Once more, he gaze flickered towards Rookwood, who had remained ominously silent for some time now.

Myrddin would speak with him away from the others.

He had not said as much, but he knew something he wasn’t sharing. Until he could clarify what that was, there was little more to be said.

If Flint’s spies proved to be useful, perhaps they could glean something from their time in Potter’s company. If not, Myrddin feared they would be the next to die in this rather clandestine rivalry that was brewing between those here, and the one man Myrddin was determined to be rid of.

It was Fate after all that had decreed such.

(Break)

“Father, we must try to find him.”

He said nothing, his expression as stony as it had been since he’d learned of all that had transpired during her marriage to Arthur.

Her father had not uttered a word since they’d taken their leave of what was now her former home, and Guinevere was becoming frustrated with him.

“You cannot ignore me forever!”

Her father shook her head, and for the first time, his features shifted into something other than the stoic one of displeasure. It was with unrestrained disappointment he looked upon her with.

“Do you hear yourself?” he snorted. “Are you even aware of what it is you have done?”

“I fell in love with the wrong man.”

“No, you stupid girl, you have shamed your husband, the king of all the land we step upon! We, my child, have now become the least favourable family in all of Britain. Had Arthur been a monster, I could understand it, but he is a good man who cares for his subjects.”

“You cannot help who you love!”

“No, but you can help who you opened your fucking legs to!” her father snapped furiously. “You have left us with nothing! You could not even birth him an heir, and you are speaking of finding your exiled lover? Are you not fond of your head remaining on your shoulders? He will take it, girl. Believe me, it too all the restraint in the world to allow you to live and he only did so because the rest of your days are going to be exceedingly miserable. He has already sent for you to be attended to by the church, and they will arrive shortly after we do. He meant it, Guinevere. Your life is going to change in ways you cannot imagine.”

“You’re going to allow him to punish me?”

“Allow him?” her father chuckled humourlessly. “My girl, I could not stop him if I tried with everything I have. Are you so clueless to the power he now wields? He is not the same boy king that bartered for you all those years ago. He’s a man grown, and one with all the resources you could imagine at his disposal. If he even got a whiff of deception, he will drag you from our home and execute you, and there is nothing I could do to stop him.”

Her father’s warning proved to be true.

Only two days after Guinevere made it back to her childhood home, the Abbess arrived with three other nuns to oversee everything she did.

Only when she slept or bathed she was left alone, and when she was awake, and clothed, she was put to work. Sometimes it would be in the washhouse, or to fetch firewood, but mostly in the church itself in the service of god.

Misery.

It was the only way to describe what her life had quickly become, and if given the choice now, she would have gladly kneeled for Arthur to take her head.

This was no life for a queen, but then again, Guinevere no longer was such. She was just the daughter of another rich man who had conceded his crown to her former husband.

She released a deep sigh as she continued washing her hair.

The abbess didn’t mind how often she chose to bathe. If anything, the woman encouraged it, believing it held Guinevere cleanse herself of her sins.

Still, a cold lake was no substitute to a hot bath in Camelot, but it was all she was allowed. The cold was something she was growing accustomed to, but the longing for love and comfort would never fade.

“You seem troubled.”

Guinevere all but jumped out of her skin and covered her modesty at the sound of the voice, though it was a scowl that followed when she saw who it was that had intruded upon her.

“You!” she whispered harshly. “You did this!”

“Did I?” the odd lady that had visited Guinevere so many years prior asked almost amusedly. “I never said this is what would become of you. I merely explained that you would have your part to play in building a kingdom.”

Guinevere did not appreciate the patronising tone she was being spoken to in, but she could not deny the words of the pale woman who had gifted her the necklace she still wore.

“Was this your intention, to see me suffer?”

The woman shook her head.

“I am merely responsible for ensuring those of Fate are where they are needed. Their actions after are of their own doing.”

Guinevere narrowed her eyes in response.

“So, my fate is to spend the rest of my years here as I am now?”

“Perhaps, but did you not enjoy your marriage. I expect you did, even if it wasn’t with your husband, but worry not, Arthur’s line will continue, and he will remain to be a great king. The world as you know it doesn’t hinge on what he does next, but on the actions of others.”

Guinevere frowned questioningly.

“Wait!” she demanded as the woman made to return to the deep. “Arthur will remarry?”

“I cannot say. All I know is that those who are needed are where they need to be, as Fate has decided. What comes next is impossible to say, but war is on the horizon, a war like no other, and it will come quicker than you expect. Many will perish, others will thrive, a kingdom may burn, or it may survive.”

Guinevere frowned as the woman vanished, and she removed the necklace that had adorned her neck these past years before hurling it into the lake from whence it once came.

If war was to come, it didn’t matter to her.

Here, she would remain, and there was nothing short of a miracle that would change that.

(Break)

“Thank you, Mr Potter. I don’t know how I will make this up to you, but I will find a way.”

Harry shook his head as the man shook his hand frantically.

“There is no need,” he assured him. “Sometimes, we just need a little help to get back on our feet.”

The man nodded appreciatively.

“Well, we are all grateful for you and everything you have done. You didn’t have to welcome us as you have.”

He returned to some of his companions, and Owain gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze.

“He’s right. You’re not obligated to help them as much as you are. You’re a good man, Hary Potter. I expect the muggles who frequent the church would say the same.”

“I helped them escape from whatever awaited them,” Harry sighed. “They became my responsibility to take care of when I did that.”

“But you did it anyway.”

Harry nodded.

“An old friend of mine said I seemed to have a thing for saving people. Maybe she was right.”

“Because you didn’t have anyone to save you when you needed it,” Owain pointed out.

“I used to think that,” Harry said thoughtfully, “but when I really needed someone, I found them.”

Owain shook his head amusedly as Harry’s gaze drifted towards Morgana.

“You soppy git,” he snorted before he frowned. “What do you plan on doing about those two?”

Harry’s expression darkened as Owain nodded towards the men among them that didn’t belong. It had taken only a matter of moments to uncover the reason they were here.

After dosing them with some Veritaserum and applying a few memory charms, they were none-the-wiser, but their presence was a problem, though one Harry and Owain had taken advantage of.

“Well, we’ve fed Flint and his lot more than enough of the truth. I say we use what we have at our disposal to instil a little fear.”

“Is that so?” Owain asked, his eyes alight with eagerness.

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“There are more than enough rumours about us that have spread up and down the country. Did you know that some in the north believe you to be a vampire? They think you have made a deal with a coven to be their representative here.”

Owain chuckled amusedly.

“I don’t suppose it’s any less farfetched than the belief that I convene with Death.”

“No, but it’s not so far from the truth, is it?” Harry asked. “Maybe we can use that to our advantage.”

“Why do I have a feeling you have something ridiculous in mind?”

“Because I do, but it will certainly be worth it just to see how much they shit themselves when they see it for themselves.”

“I think Rookwood is already terrified after what you did to him, and Flint.”

“Maybe, but they’re not anywhere near fearful enough. They have threatened us all by placing those men here, and we both know what your father would’ve done.”

Owain nodded soberly.

“Then we will do it for him, and for all those that look to us to keep them safe. Let us a send them a message, Harry, one they cannot ignore.”

“We will,” Harry promised, “and that message will only be the beginning. You will need your cloak soon enough. If they were scared before, they will be too damned terrified to leave their homes. Let’s show them why that fucking with the people of Godric’s Hollow is not such a good idea.”