Avalon - Epilogue - Part Three
Epilogue – Part Three (5 years later)
Seren had remained as vague as ever with any explanation she had offered as to why she had involved herself with Fyren and his foolish ambitions. Try as they might, neither Harry nor Morgana had been able to glean much from their daughter.
“All will become clear when the time is right.”
For the final months of her pregnancy, she had been mostly silent, saying little as she nurtured the child growing within her.
Despite any misgivings he may have developed for the choices she had made, he did not doubt that she would prove to be an excellent, caring mother.
He just wished she had chosen a better father.
Nonetheless, the baby would be here in the coming moments, and with Helga no longer around to supervise the childbirths within the home, Morgana was with Seren, whilst Harry waited with Taran, Caden, and Mairwen.
“Do you think it’s going to be born with two heads too?” the eldest asked.
Harry frowned at the man.
“Honestly, I don’t know what to expect,” he sighed. “I never do when it comes to your sister.”
It saddened Harry to think of his daughter in such a way, to even consider that he was disappointed in what she had done under the guidance of the stars.
He’d made enough mistakes of his own to know you cannot learn from the errors of others, but he’d hoped the story of what had happened to Myrddin would’ve served as a cautionary tale.
In this instance, it hadn’t, and now, Harry was to become a grandfather to the child of a man he would’ve killed without question.
That babe would one day know that their mother killed their father, and their grandfather and grandmother had killed their other grandmother, grandfather, and great grandmother.
It was a terrible start in life for any.
“Harry?”
Morgana was quite pale from the ordeal, but she offered him a nod, telling him all he needed to know.
“It’s a boy,” Seren declared as he entered the room.
The babe was awake, as silent as his own mother had been, but his hair was as dark as Harry’s and he had the silver-grey eyes of Morgana.
He certainly did not have two heads and appeared to be just a normal child.
“Have you thought of a name for him?”
Seren nodded before deflating.
Her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked up at Harry.
“I have disappointed you both,” she whispered.
Harry released a deep breath.
“I will not pretend that I am happy with what you have done..”
Seren held up a hand.
“I know,” she murmured, “but I have already shamed your name. They will always speak of me as the daughter of Harry Potter who was so unlike her mother and father, the daughter that married a dark wizard and birthed his child. They already do.”
“When have I ever cared what anyone else says or think?”
“You don’t,” Seren said with a sad smile, “and although I will always be your daughter, I am no longer a Potter.”
“Of course you are,” Morgana chastised.
Seren shook her head.
“No, I am not, and I’m not meant to be again. For the sake of your own legacy, and for mine, I cannot take the name back that I gave up willingly. I’ve known for a long time that this was to be so, but it doesn’t make my fate any less painful. Soon, I will take my son and raise him, not as a Potter, but not what his father had been. That is what I am to do, what I was always meant to do.”
“I do not understand,” Morgana murmured.
“Yes, you do,” Seren soothed. “Both of you will. My legacy is not to be tied to yours, but to become something of its own. Neither me nor my son will carry the name of his father, but we cannot have yours either. I am a widow, and my son is to begin a new story, one that will continue on and become something exceptional in its own right. Britain will one day need those that come from him, just as it needed you now.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully, and Seren reached up and took hold of his hand, offering a bright smile.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “Both for you for being a better mother and father than I could’ve ever hoped for.”
Harry could only squeeze her hand in response.
He knew nothing he could say would change her mind.
His daughter was as stubborn and steadfast as both him and Morgana, and she was led by something only she truly understood.
“Sirius,” Seren declared. “My son will be named Sirius Black, for the man you left behind.”
Harry looked towards wife and felt something stir within him.
Perhaps he did not truly understand his own daughter, nor the gift she had for the magic that chose her, but he knew now that she knew more about him than he had ever deigned to tell her, and as she smiled at him once more, he could only nod.
This was as much as he would understand her, and though he did not agree with her decision to do what he knew she would, he finally understood her better than he ever had.
“You know, he’d get a damned good kick out of all of this,” he chuckled.
“As would Prongs and Moony,” Seren added.
She had said little else before she had fallen asleep, but when she woke, Seren seemed much less burdened than she had these past years and immediately proved to be a doting mother to her son.
It was only a few moons later that she had decided to leave the family home, and though she often wrote to Harry and Morgana, she had not returned, determined to fulfil what she believed to be her own tryst with Fate.
Harry missed her dearly, but even when Salazar had died only a year after the birth of Sirius, Seren had not attended the funeral. She had visited the lake after, had even laid a wreath of flowers with her own fitting tribute to the man, but hide nor hair of the woman had been seen.
“Harry?”
He turned to find a rather grave Hook standing only a short distance away.
Over the years, the two of them had remained as close as any friends could be, along with Owain, of course.
“What is it?”
“It’s Arthur, Harry. He’s asked to see you.”
The king had respected his wish to not be seen so regularly in Camelot, and had not asked for his presence since Fyren’s brief rebellion against the crown had been quashed.
Harry had not attended Camelot then, his focus on Seren and her son.
“He’s dying, Harry. He doesn’t have long left.”
Harry released a deep breath as he nodded.
“I will see the king,” he agreed.
(Break)
He coughed, wrapping his arms around his chest in a bid to stave of the pain of doing so. It was only a matter of moons ago that Arthur had still been a healthy man, roaming the outer lands of Camelot atop his horse, as fit and strong as he’d ever been.
The illness he was succumbing to had seemingly struck overnight.
At first, he’d been breathless, fatigued, and needed to rest more than normal, but that had quickly developed into severe weight loss, coughing up blood, and the inability to walk more than a few steps without collapsing from exhaustion.
It had been more than a moon now that he’d been bed-ridden, feeble, and waiting for the inevitable.
Arthur was no fool.
He’d seen dying men before, and though those around him did not wish to accept what was coming, there was nothing to be done but wait for the moment to arrive the he would meet his maker.
It was the sound of the door opening that pulled him from his thoughts, and he groaned in discomfort as he turned his head to be greeted by Tristan, Gawain, and Bors, three of his most loyal men who had been by his side from the very start.
“We brought someone to see you, my king,” Tristan informed him, stepping aside to reveal the very last of those he wished to convene with before his time was done.
“Harry Potter,” he whispered fondly.
It had been many years since he’d laid eyes on the man, and where Arthur was on the cusp of death, Harry had barely aged a day.
“I would stand, but I am afraid I am no longer able to.”
Harry nodded as he approached, his eyes roaming over Arthur’s weakened form.
He seemed saddened at the state of him, and the king reached up to take the hands of one of his dearest friends. He managed to give it a squeeze and even offer something of an encouraging smile.
“You know, I could fix this.”
Arthur chuckled as he shook his head, wincing once more.
“It is my time, Harry. God has decided that my work is done, and if I am fortunate, he will have a place for me not so far from him.”
Harry nodded his understanding.
“You and your bloody god,” he sighed.
“God is good, Harry. Look at the life he has allowed me to live. I have managed to untie Britain, and now, for the most part, it is safe, my people thrive, and I have two sons, and grandsons to continue with my work. It was never my task to perfect what I managed to build, just to lay the foundations. I have you to thank for that. You saved my kingdom more than once, and you never asked for anything in return. For that, I will forever be in your debt, now and beyond.”
Harry shook his head.
“There is no debt between friends.”
Arthur smiled in response.
“Old friends,” he wheezed, “even if it seems you are not so old. My illness has ravaged what I once was.”
“You were never so handsome,” Harry said with a grin. “Besides, we do not die so young. I might have a hundred years or so before my time comes, maybe even longer.”
“Truly?”
“I heard of wizard who lived more than seven centuries, naturally, and another that found a way that may see him live forever. I could think of nothing worse.”
“No, all men should die, Harry,” Arthur agreed. “My time comes sooner than I hoped, but I die with a clear conscience, a legacy intact, and hope for the future of Britain. I am more hopeful knowing that you and yours will still be here, ensuring your kind and my own co-exist without so much interaction. I only ask that remains so.”
“It will,” Harry assured him. “I have sons, daughters, and grandchildren of my own that will ensure it, as does Owain.”
“Then I can pass in peace.”
Harry nodded as he gave Arthur’s hand an affectionate squeeze.
“At least let me alleviate your pain. You do not deserve to suffer in your final moments.”
“Nothing works anymore, Harry,” Arthur sighed tiredly. “I cannot even rest peacefully it seems, but my suffering will be worth it. I do not expect it will be so long.”
“Well, I won’t see you suffer,” Harry murmured, reaching into his pocket and removing a small box.
Arthur watched s he tapped it with a wand, and it expanded into a large trunk.
“You know, I never grow tired of seeing what it is you can do,” he said wistfully.
Harry hummed as he rifled through his belongings before retrieving a large glass bottle filled with an almost glowing blue liquid.
“This will relieve your pain,” he explained. “Just a small sip whenever you are feeling any discomfort will suffice.”
Arthur accepted the bottle with a trembling hand, and Harry popped the cork before helping him take a small measure.
Immediately, the king felt his pain alleviated and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“I fear there is one other thing I must ask of you.”
“Name it.”
“Excalibur,” Arthur said with a smile as he nodded towards where the blade was leaned against the wall. “I would task you with returning it to whence it came. The sword was to be used to unite Britain, and it has served its purpose. Now, it must be given back.”
“Where?”
“The Lady will come for it when the time is right.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
“The Lady in the Lake,” he snorted. “How do you know of her?”
“I didn’t, not really. Myrddin mentioned her in passing, but not who she was. Would you believe me if I told you she came to me in a dream?”
Harry laughed, almost indecently.
“I think her coming to you in a dream is the least I could’ve expected from her.”
“You know her.”
“Our paths have crossed, and I expect she planned this too,” Harry huffed. “I will return it for you.”
Arthur nodded appreciatively.
The dream had been a strange one, so surreal and not like any other he’d had.
The Lady had said little to him, but more than enough to know that she was no simple water nymph or anything else so seemingly benign.
Regardless, Arthur knew that her request must be complied with, and he could think of no other more trustworthy than the man sitting vigil by his deathbed.
“You’re a good man, Harry Potter, and have always been a true friend. Thank you for being a part of my journey. It hasn’t always been easy, but you have always been there when it mattered, even now.”
Despite his pain having faded to almost nothingness, Arthur still felt what little remained of his life dwindling away, and he had no doubt that Harry could see it too.
“It has been on an honour to call you friend, my king,” the man murmured, wiping away an errant tear that rolled down his cheek.
Six months later
Arthur had passed on only a matter of hours later, free of the pain of the disease that had burdened him later in life.
Having sent for those he knew the king would wish to be by his side, Harry had remained with the man until the very end, had offered his condolences to those that would take a semblance of comfort from them, and taken his leave of Camelot.
Life truly was an odd and fleeting thing.
It seemed not so long ago that he himself had been a naïve and even clueless boy upon arriving here, but much had come and gone since.
He’d seen Rowena, Godric, Helga, and Salazar each go, many men he’d shared the battlefield with, and even the king who was of a similar age.
All served to remind Harry just how precious life was, how fortunate he’d been throughout his own, and how it can all be taken away in little more than an instant.
Arthur Pendragon had been what Britain needed, and though peace remained across the kingdom under rule of the man’s son, there was still much to do to ensure it continued.
For his part, Harry had continued in his capacity of ensuring the peace between muggles and magicals was maintained whilst also fulfilling his duties to Hogwarts.
He’d hired a plethora of the very best instructors from across the continent, and the school was truly thriving.
Morgana had taken Salazar’s place in teaching Potions and the Mind Arts to those that demonstrated the talent for them, and even maintained Helga’s greenhouses, passing on the brilliance of the woman herself.
Harry had taken the reins in teaching Defence, Charms, and Transfiguration, and soon enough, Taran would be following in his footsteps, his own wish to be a part of the staff at the school never having wavered.
For the rest of the subjects, suitable and more qualified men and women had been found, and Hogwarts had begun gaining quite the reputation for itself, seeing the numbers of students joining them swelling with each passing year.
The success was a testament to the tireless work of the Founders, and though not a day went by that Harry questioned whether or not he was ready to continue with their work, the continued to grow under his guidance.
He frowned as he was pulled from his thoughts by a sudden, distinct yet familiar disturbance, and he stood to slowly approach the window, scarcely believing his own eyes as he saw the two figures approaching the family home.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” Morgana asked hopefully as she entered the room.
Harry could only nod in response as he continued to watch the woman he found himself transfixed on.
It had been almost six years since he had last seen his daughter, and now, she was here, as though she had never left.
“Hello, Father, Mother,” Seren greeted them as she entered the house. “This is my son, Sirius.”
The resemblance between the boy and his namesake was quite uncanny, and Harry observed the boy briefly for a moment, doing his utmost not to stare, but unable to ignore him so overtly.
“What’re you doing here, Seren?” Morgana asked hopefully.
Their daughter offered the woman a watery smile.
“It is where I am needed.”
“It is?”
Seren’s smile widened.
“You have a visitor, and I think it is best you take the sword with you,” she added to Harry.
He frowned before making his way to the bedroom, pausing as he noticed the magic pulsating through the usually quite mundane blade. It glowed with an odd bluish tint, and was warm to the touch as Harry grasped the handle.
It was light in his hand, somehow lighter than his own sword, and Harry smiled as he took a moment to ponder the last man to wield it.
Arthur had been an excellent warrior in his own right, and Excalibur had served him well in all he’d achieved on the battlefield but now was not the time to dwell on such any longer.
A sense of concern filled him as he took his leave of the room.
There had not been a single interaction with the Lady of the Lake that had not changed his life to some degree, and though he hoped she had arrived to merely collect the sword, Harry already had his doubts.
He and Morgana said nothing as they made their way through the trees, pausing as they caught sight of the being responsible for many of the strife and changes each had experienced over the years.
As ever, her expression was unreadable, but she nodded approvingly as Harry approached and offered her the glowing sword.
“The king chose wisely. There are those that would not have returned it, but not you.”
“It does not belong to me.”
“No, you have your own gifts that you put to great use, gifts that fill even me with dread. Although I am not beholden to him and his ways, his power is not something I take for granted. You possess that very same power, Harry Potter, and he gave it to you so willingly.”
“At what cost?”
The Lady of the Lake smiled knowingly.
“To you, nothing. Your blood owes no debt.”
“But you wanted me to return Excalibur. Arthur told me of his dream.”
“Indeed,” the Lady of the Lake said gravely. “You have spent your life fighting, Harry Potter, but I am afraid your fight is not quite over yet. If anything, it has only just begun.”
Hary frowned as he shook his head.
“No,” he said flatly. “I have fought my wars, I have vanquished my foes. I have raised my children. Now is my time of peace.”
“You have earned it,” the Lady conceded, “but I have need of you once more, Harry Potter. There is something out there, something you cannot comprehend until you see it for yourself, something that will one day come for you here.”
“Then I will face it when it comes, just as I always have.”
“Then you and everything you have fought for will die and be destroyed. This is not something you can face alone, nor with only the assistance of your wife. You already know that, don’t you?”
Harry flicked his wand into his hand as he turned sharply, the maniacal, haunting laughter he’d heard more than once before ringing out across the forest.
“It’s here?”
“No, but it will come. Already, it has claimed your life in many other places. Come,” she urged. “I will show you both. You have my word that I will return you both here shortly, It will be as though you never left.”
Harry looked towards Morgana who appeared as though it was the last thing she wished to do.
“You must,” a voice sounded from behind her. “You are needed, both of you.”
“You have seen it?”
Seren nodded as she swallowed deeply.
“I have seen what it has done, and you must for yourselves. You can only understand when you do. Please, Father, you must trust me.”
He once more looked towards Morgana, who did not appear to be best pleased, but she knew as well as Harry did that when it came to the Lady of the Lae, there truly was little choice in the matter.
“Very well,” he agreed, “but we will be brought back here.”
“You have my word.”
With a tired nod, Harry took Morgana’s hand, just as they had the night they had been taken to where he’d come from, though this time, they were truly entering the unknown.
“Seren, send for your brothers and sisters,” Harry instructed.
The woman left to do just that, and the Lady of the Lake offered him and Morgana a smile of gratitude.
“It truly will be as though no time has passed at all,” she reiterated, offering her own hand.
Harry accepted it, and though it was something he would never get used to, he felt himself being pulled into a familiar void.
When the odd sense of pressure lifted, the first thing he noticed was the smell of burnt wood, and he and Morgana found themselves on a large expanse of land that had been nothing short of immolated.
It was little more than a field of ash, and yet, there was something familiar about it.
“Hogwarts,” the Lady of the Lake said sadly. “This was once Hogwarts. It is too late to save this place. He took what he wanted from it for himself, and this is all he left behind.”
“Well, shit,” Harry cursed.
The Lady of the Lake nodded severely.
“There are dozens others like this, and I fear there will be many more. He will not rest until he has achieved all he wishes to. I cannot fathom what it is he will do then.”
“Who is he?” Morgana asked. “Is it the thing I saw in my dream when I was pregnant?”
“The very same,” the Lady of the Lake confirmed. “He is something that should never have been, once a boy, once a man, but now something so much more. Not even Death can claim him.”
“So, what hope do I have?” Harry interjected.
“Perhaps you cannot,” the Lady acknowledged. “He has grown to become something like me, something like Death, and something like Fate, but he remains still mortal to some extent.”
Harry could only shake his head.
“Is it Voldemort?” he asked, the pertinent question being one he could not ignore.
“No, Harry Potter, it is not Tom Riddle.”
Before he could press the matter further, the Lady took him by the hand once more, and only a moment later, they were standing in the shallows of their own lake.
“There are things you are not telling me,” Harry said accusingly.
“There are,” the Lady confirmed. “Many, many things, Harry Potter, and you will know them in time. I will not keep you waiting, but there is something else you need to see. Come, I will take you nowhere else after unless you agree.”
Once more, he found himself pulled into the void along with Morgana, and arrived bake at the edge of the lake, only this time, it was not so empty.
Stands had been erected around it where hundreds upon hundreds of people were seated, but it was on a pontoon a short distance away that caught Harry’s focus.
“That’s me,” he whispered. “This is the day I was taken.”
“Yes and no,” the Lady broke in. “That is not you, Harry Potter, but another of you in another world entirely. The thing I spoke about will come here soon, will come for him, and any other that stands in his way. For now, this place is protected, but it is only a matter of time before they fall to him. This world is much like the one you came from, and his life has been yours to this very point.”
“Can’t you take him away from here?”
The Lady offered him a sad smile as she shook her head.
“I saved you from him, Harry Potter. I cannot save them all. The time has come that a stand must be taken, that we must fight back. Come, I shall take you home.”
Harry accepted the offered hand.
He’d not expected to be so touched by what he’d seen, and he did not doubt that the Lady had already known he would.
“This thing, what is it?” he asked.
The Lady of the Lake deflated defeatedly.
“It is you, Harry Potter.”
“Me?”
“Another you from yet another world.”
Harry could only shake his head in disbelief.
“What happened to him?” Morgana asked worriedly.
“He lost his way, took the tools given to him and used them in a way they were never intended to be used. He turned his back on a world that had turned its back on him, and he thrived in the darkness of the soul that he housed. He took on the very worst traits of his foe and went much further than Tom Riddle ever has. It turned him into something quite inhuman, and his only desire is to destroy every world that a prophecy exists. His mind is twisted by all that he endured, and he chose a different path to any other. He is dangerous, Harry Potter, much more dangerous than any other foe you have faced, but you will not face him alone.”
Harry frowned at the Lady questioningly.
“I can say no more unless you agree to join them. It is dangerous knowledge to possess, but know this, he will come for you no matter what decision you make. You can either make your stand here and perish like the others before you, or you can do what you always have and fight when so few others would.”
“It doesn’t sound as though I have a choice,” Harry snorted.
“There is always a choice, Harry Potter. I am merely imploring you to make the right one. You cannot hide from him, and alone, you cannot defeat him.”
“And with help?”
“I cannot say for certain.”
“Well, that’s just fucking great,” Harry muttered.
The Lady had the decency to at least appear apologetic, and Harry once more looked towards his worried wife.
She had seen more of this thing than him, after all, so her demeanour was understanding.
“It is something you must discuss with your family,” the Lady urged. “I will wait for you to do so, but you have my word that should you agree, if you are successful in your efforts, little time will have passed here.”
Harry could only nod in response.
He did not know what to do, and he could not make a decision this very moment. There were too many things he was responsible for, and the thought of simply walking away from the life he and Morgana had built for themselves did not rest easily with him.
(Break)
It wasn’t unusual to find himself summoned by his father.
It happened regularly when the man wished to share a pearl of wisdom with him, to share something he had discovered whilst training, or even to discuss political matters involving the Wizard’s Council, of which he held considerable influence.
It was, however, rather strange to be summoned at such an ungodly hour, and as he entered the home of his parents, he paused at the sight of his entire family gathered, including the sister he had not seen in several years.
Taran was still angry with Seren.
After all she’d done, she’d broken her parent’s hearts by vanishing as she had, but he could sense now was not the time to discuss such a thing.
“What is it?” he asked.
Both his parents were as grave as he’d ever seen them, and both his youngest brother and sister seemed confused.
“We have to leave for a while,” his father announced.
“Leave, why?”
His father shook his head and looked towards his mother, who remained eerily silent.
“There is something that requires out attention, but we should not be gone so long.”
“Where are you going?”
“We cannot say.”
Taran’s gaze flitted between the two of them, and he opened his mouth to protest.
“I will explain it to him,” Seren spoke up before he could. “I will explain everything. He should know. All of us should.”
His father released a deep breath as he nodded and gestured for Taran to follow him.
He did so out in the garden his mother had so lovingly maintained since before he was born, and his father looked just as tired now as he had the night he’d defeated Myrddin.
“I need for you to fill in for me at the school, to watch over the family, and fulfil my responsibilities elsewhere. I have written letters for Owain and the others who need to know.”
“Father, what is happening?”
“Many things, but the one thing you must prepare for…”
He broke off and looked towards the night sky.
“What is it?”
“You must be prepared that we might not return. I cannot explain it to you, I do not have the time, but Seren will. Somehow, she knows everything, my deepest secrets, and how everything you know around you came to be. Taran, I need you to do this for me, to continue my work in my absence, and if we don’t return, to continue on.”
“Bloody hell, you’re not joking, are you?”
His father shook his head and gave Taran’s shoulder a squeeze.
“No, I am not joking.”
Taran swallowed deeply.
He was as confused as his younger siblings had appeared, but he knew his father well enough to know just how serious this was.
“You can rely on me, Father.”
The man offered him a warm smile.
“I never doubted I could. Come, let’s head back. Seren will be able to fill you in on all you need to know.”
Taran followed him once more ins something of a daze and watched as his parents hastily began packing things into several trunks.
“Don’t forget to feed Hedwig. She’s not up to this journey, and, well, you’re the only one she likes.”
Taran chuckled as he nodded and watched as his parents left the family home, perhaps for the final time.
“Will they be back?” he asked Seren.
“If the stars will it.”
Taran cursed under his breath.
“Well, what is it I need to know?” he asked.
Seren smiled sadly and offered her hands.
“It will be easier if I show you.”
Taran frowned but took the woman’s hands, and felt himself plunged into a myriad of memories not his own, things that seemed to be impossible, and others that were already familiar to him.
When he found himself safely back in his own mind, he can only shake his head.
“How?” he gasped.
“Because it was Father’s destiny, as was everything that happened after, and what is to come.”
Taran did not know what to say, and he took a seat as he processed everything he’d learned, confused, exhausted, but more than anything, longing for the return of his mother and father.
(Break)
“Where is this place?” Morgana asked.
Harry remembered it.
It was the stone cavern he had been brought to by the Lady of the Lake when she had taken him from the second task of the tournament so many years prior.
It was here that she had explained the changes that were going to befall him, and what seemed to be only a matter of moments later, he had woken up in the Hospital Wing, looking up at the four Founders of Hogwarts.
“It is a waiting area,” he murmured.
“It is a place in between the many worlds,” a feminine voice corrected. “Here, you are neither in one nor the other, It is a sanctuary of sorts where the passage of time does not exist. For all intents and purposes, you are nowhere.”
“Why are we here?” Harry asked.
“So that you may meet the others that will be assisting you in your task ahead. They too have been briefed and have agreed to assist the young man that will undoubtedly need your assistance soon enough.”
Harry frowned, and his focus suddenly shifted as he became aware of another presence, one that felt familiar, but one he’d not been around before.
He watched as two cloaked figures materialised in front of him and Morgana only a short distance. Both lowered their hoods and he found himself looking upon a man much like himself, and a blonde woman he was certain he’d seen before.
There was an odd raven perched on the man’s shoulder, and he stroked its inky feathers affectionately before it began flapping restlessly.
“DEATH!” it squawked.
“Not today, old friend,” the man murmured, his own eerily white eyes mirroring those of his companion.
The bird took to the air and began flying laps around the large room, and Harry immediately realised that the man that had arrived was him, well, what the Lady of the Lake would refer to as another him.
“You’re me.”
“In a manner of speaking,” the man mused aloud.
“Your raven. I’ve seen it before.”
“Olin has been watching you,” the man chuckled. “You get used to him.”
Harry wasn’t so sure he would, and his eyes widened as he finally recognised the woman accompanying the man.
“Bloody hell, you’re Narcissa Malfoy!”
The woman visibly grimaced before levelling a glare at him.
“Peverell,” she corrected. “My name is Narcissa Peverell.”
Harry could only shake his head in response as her husband grinned.
“It is a very long story,” he said dismissively. “I expect we will all get the opportunity to share our own.”
“Indeed,” the Lady of the Lake broke in gravely, “but now is not the right moment.”
Harry nodded.
“And your wife?” the other man asked curiously.
“Morgana Potter,” Morgana introduced herself, bewildered by the appearance of the other man.
Although they looked quite different, there was no mistaking the similarity between them, after all.
The same, however, could not be said for the next couple that arrived. Both were elderly but still walked well enough. It wasn’t until they got closer that Harry realised the man was yet another iteration of him, but it was the woman he found himself focused on.
“Professor McGonagall?” he choked in disbelief.
“Professor Evans,” the woman corrected, quirking a curious brow at him.
Harry shook his head once more, looking towards the man accompanying her.
“You married Professor McGonagall?”
The man chuckled, but Harry did not miss the lack of warmth in his haunted gaze.
It was clear he had lived a most difficult life, one full of trial and tribulation, and yet, his gaze undeniably warmed as it came to rest on his wife.
“It is a very long story, as I expect yours and this gentleman’s are equally.
“Indeed,” the man who had identified himself as a Peverell agreed.
“Among many others I expect you would all be interested in hearing, but you are all here for the very same reason. Even so, I believe it to be prudent to briefly introduce you all to one another, so that you may understand just why you have been chosen for this most pivotal and arduous of tasks. Firstly, this is Harry Potter whom I recruited during his time as a champion representing Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament. He was taken to a place where he was tutored by the Founders of the school, fought countless wars on behalf of his people, and for King Arthur of Camelot. He defeated Tom Riddle, quelled a goblin rebellion, and emerged victorious in a duel to the death against one Myrddin Emrys.”
The two men and women that had joined them nodded appreciatively. And the Lady of the Lake shifted her focus towards the younger of the men.
“Harry Peverell,” she introduced. “Found himself taken to a place some years before he was even born, fought and killed Tom Riddle twice, and was trained by Death itself.”
“Killing the bastard once was more than enough,” the older man snorted.
“And Harry Evans,” the Lady continued. “Travelled back in time more than six decades where he trained as a Hit-Wizard for the ICW, gaining quite the reputation for himself before leaving the profession to fight in the trenches against Gellert Grindelwald. Known as the Serpent, he defeated both Grindelwald and Voldemort, before going on to live for several centuries with his dedicated wife, Minerva.”
“And now we’re bloody here instead of being dead,” Evans muttered irritably.
Minerva rubbed his shoulder, and Harry could not help but find himself in a state of disbelief at what had happened these past moments.
“If I can manage it, others will join you, but for now, you are the very best I have to fight what is coming. I can offer none of you any promises, but you are all needed to defeat him. You must work together to do so if there is any hope of saving the young boy that will need you so. I cannot stress how dangerous this man is. Nonetheless, I have faith in all of you that you can succeed.”
“But not that we necessary will,” Peverell pointed out.
“It’s not like it has ever been any different,” Evans said with a shrug. “So, where do we begin?”
“With the return of the Dark Lord known as Tom Riddle. When you return, you have around a week before the final task of the tournament. Harry Potter, you are the only one that did not experience this, but I am sure the others will tell you all you need to know.”
“What is going to be different about it?” Evans asked.
“I cannot say, but he draws ever closer to breaching the protections that are keeping him at bay. They will fall soon, and you must be prepared for him. Between each of you, you must keep the boy safe. Fate decrees that he must not die.”
Harry frowned, and the others around him wore matching expressions.
“I am afraid there is little more I can tell you. Not all is set in stone, and the path ahead of you all is not so clear. You each have your own gifts, talents, and tools at your disposal. I would urge you to use them all. You will need them.”
She said nothing else before vanishing, and Harry took a step back as an odd archway appeared in front of them, eliciting a humourless laugh from the Peverell among them.
“You know this thing?” Evans asked.
Peverell nodded.
“This will take us into the Department of Mysteries, through the archway of Death.”
Evans hummed but said nothing, and Harry looked towards Morgana, who nodded encouragingly.
“The sooner we do this, the sooner we can get home, again.”
“Or the sooner we will be bloody killed,” Evans pointed out.
“DEATH!” the raven bellowed as it landed on Peverell’s shoulder.
“Undoubtedly,” the man agreed quietly as he stepped through the archway with his wife, followed by Evans and his own.
Harry hesitated only a moment before taking Morgana by the hand.
“Come Death, come,” he murmured, as the two of them stepped into the unknown, both as perplexed as one another as they set foot on yet another journey on their path of life.