Avalon - Epilogue - Part Two

Epilogue – Part Two (3 Years Later)

“It was a beautiful service, Harry. Thank you for making the arrangements, and even paying for it,” Salazar added with an insincere glare.

He gave Harry’s forearm a squeeze, and he could not ignore how feeble it was.

In the past years, Salazar had only seemed to age so much more than Harry had anticipated, and he suspected the man had only held on in anticipation of Taran and Selina getting married.

The two had certainly taken their time doing so, but Harry, much like Salazar, had not doubted it would happen.

“Well, you’re intent on giving them a house and leaving them whatever gold you have. The least I could do was pay for their wedding. It was worth every piece of gold.”

Salazar nodded.

“It was,” he agreed fondly. “They will give you and me the very best of themselves in their children. If we are fortunate, there will be no Tom Riddle in the future.”

“Perhaps not, but there will be others like him. That is unavoidable.”

“You are referring to the man your daughter seems to be quite enamoured with.”

Harry frowned at the thought of Seren, something that was not missed by Salazar.

“Why does he still breathe? I know you, Harry Potter. You would’ve killed him long ago were it not for her, so, what is it? Come on, humour an old man who is not long for this world.”

Harry deflated as he shook his head, unsure on whether he could answer the question to his own satisfaction, let alone Salazar’s.

Flashback

“I know what I am doing, Father.”

“No, you do not! You think you do, but this man is as unpredictable as his damned mother! If she truly is still alive as you believe, and if she has trained him, you have no idea how much of a threat he is.”

“Like Voldemort was to you.”

Of all the things he may have expected as a reply, a sassy comment or even an angry outburst from the temper she had inherited from her mother, Harry had not anticipated her mentioning Tom Riddle’s moniker.

“What is it you think you know?” he asked, folding his arms expectantly.

“He murdered your mother and father, and tried to kill you,” Seren answered. “You killed him, just as you did many others that followed him. Fyren is not him, Father, and he never will be.”

“He wishes to be just like him, even if he doesn’t know who he is.”

“He wants his kingdom back, the one that you took from him.”

“The one his own father squandered by aligning himself with those two witches! They raised an army of the dead that ran rampant across the country until your mother and I stopped them!”

“That will not happen again. Do you truly believe I will allow it?”

“I don’t want to.”

That was the most honest answer he could give, and he did not miss the look of hurt his daughter wore.

He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her.

These past years had not been easy, and Seren had only become more distant with him and Morgana whilst she pursued whatever it is she wanted. She’d always been rather vague on what that was, and now, she was downright silent on the matter for the most part.

“Then you do not know me, Father. You do not understand the path that is laid out before me. You will not agree with much of what I must do, but it is my destiny to fulfil. I will do that, even if you cannot find it within yourself to understand.”

End Flashback

She had placed a kiss on his cheek before leaving, and though Seren continued to visit often, she scarcely spoke more than a few words to him. It broke Harry’s heart to see her pushing him even further away, and for the most part, it felt as though he had lost his daughter.

Even the reassuring smile she had offered him during the wedding ceremony was lost on him as he pondered what it was she thought she was doing.

“She is as difficult as her mother,” Salazar sighed. “I knew her as a young, stubborn girl, and you know her as your wife. They are similar, and unfortunately, I know exactly the response I would’ve gotten from Morgana had I tried to forbid her from seeing you. She would’ve been more insistent on it just out of principle.”

“She would have,” Harry agreed. “I mean, I could kill him, but it would all but end any chance I have at making amends with her. As hard as it, I have to trust her in this.”

“Even if she is making a mistake?”

“As a father, sometimes, all I can do is be there to pick up the pieces of the mistakes she make.”

Salazar hummed as she nodded.

“There is a part of you that believes she knows what she is doing.”

“There is,” Harry sighed. “As much as I just want to handle it, I know something of the magic she possesses, and what it is to be the subject of a prophecy. I do not like it, Salazar, but I learned long ago that if a prophecy is to be fulfilled, it will happen no matter is done in spite of it.”

“Indeed,” the man murmured unhappily. “That does not mean we have to like it, Harry.”

“I do not like it,” Harry assured the man, once more questioning his own decision to continue to trust his daughter when what she was doing was so dangerous.

“You are one to talk, Harry.”

He snorted as the sound of his wife’s voice played over in his mind.

Although he wanted nothing more than to protect Seren, she truly was his daughter, even if she was more like Morgana than him, for the most part.

“I will continue to watch her closely, Salazar,” he promised.

“I would expect nothing less from you. Now, help me to my chambers. The excitement of the wedding has left me quite exhausted, and if you make a joke about how exhausted your son and my granddaughter will be, I will curse.”

“Would I do that?”

“Yes, you would,” Salazar grumbled, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as Harry wheeled him towards the dungeons where he insisted on remaining to board.

The man truly was happy.

Harry remembered him mentioning the girl coming to Hogwarts shortly after Taran was born, and that the two of them would do so around the same time.

He was no fool.

Salazar had long hoped the two of them would marry one another, and he had certainly gotten his wish.

Not that Harry was opposed to it.

Selina was a wonderful girl, and Taran was lucky to have her, just as she was lucky to have him.

(Break)

He continued to cut his Mandrake leaves, doing his utmost to ignore the girl that was watching him as closely as his mother would were she here supervising him.

“You really know what you’re doing,” the girl commented.

Taran nodded, keeping his eye on his work.

It was his first official potions lesson at Hogwarts, and he was nervous enough being under Salazar’s scrutiny, let alone from a fellow student.

“In the words of my mother, I am not to be as incompetent as my father when it comes to potions. It’s not even like he is so bad at them, just not as good as her.”

The girl nodded and picked up one of the cuttings, nodding appreciatively as she inspected it.

“This is really good.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

Taran swallowed deeply as Professor Slytherin peered down at his work, narrowing his eyes to take in every detail of his cuts. After a moment, he nodded. High praise from the man.

“It will suffice,” he declared before moving along, scolding one of the other boys for brandishing his knife like a dagger.

“My father says he is an excellent teacher.”

“Your father came here?”

“It would be bad form is Professor Slytherin didn’t enrol his own children here. They were among the first.”

Taran frowned, his eyes widening as he realised what the girl had told him without telling him so openly.

“He’s your grandfather.”

“He is.”

“Well, I know Sal. He was there for my birth, well, not in the room. He’s always been around. My father came here. We live in the forest.”

“You live in the forest? Why would you live in the forest?”

Taran shrugged.

“I’ve never really thought about it, but I think it has something to do with my mother’s magic. She feels closer to it among the trees.”

“How strange,” the girl said thoughtfully. “I’m Selina, by the way. Selina Slytherin.”

Taran accepted the offered hand.

“Taran Potter.”

Her eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline.

“As in Harry Potter?”

“My father.”

“And your mother is Morgana,” Selina whispered. “My grandfather sent me some of her notes on potions before I came here, and your father is the man who defeated the goblins, and Guthrum, and Eadwulf, and..”

“Breathe,” Taran urged. “That’s all true, but they’re just my mother and father,” he added with a shrug. “My earliest memory is of my mother reading me a story by the fire, and my father being chased by our old bull.”

“Chased by a bull?” Selina giggled.

“Terry. I miss that bugger. He died a few years ago, and even though he says he hated him, my father was really sad about it.”

Selina laughed once more.

“They sound fun.”

Taran snorted as he shook his head.

“They are,” he agreed, “just when you’re not in trouble with them. My mother is the one to watch out for. My father, well, he’s just my father. He will tell us off and then feel bad for it. I want to be just like him.”

“So, Taran Potter, you plan on killing dragons and fighting goblins?”

“Maybe I will.”

Selina quirked an eyebrow at him.

“That is just stupid and dangerous.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He remembered their first meeting fondly, but he never would’ve guessed the two of them would one day be married. He should’ve seen it sooner, and been savvy to Salazar’s part in them finding themselves where they were now.

The man often insisted they worked together, even set them projects that would require them both to complete and often had them to dinner under the guise of spending time with them.

It wasn’t until they were most of the way through their time at Hogwarts that they realised the machinations, but Taran found he didn’t mind.

He’d already fallen in love with Selina, much like his father had with his mother at a similar age.

Even so, that did not stop them from having their own fun with the interfering man and had staged quite the spectacular fallout.

Salazar had been frantic, and Taran had not seen the man move so quickly in all the years he’d known him when he thought his plan had been scuppered.

He’d been quite wroth when he’d learned of their subterfuge, had made his usual threats when angered, but had been more relieved Taran and Selina had not truly found themselves at odds with one another.

Not that their path to marriage had been so straight forward.

Selina, even now, believed Taran could be a reckless fool, and Taran believed his now wife could use a little more fun from time to time. Neither would pretend to be perfect people, but they balanced one another.

Taran would consider his actions a little more, and Selina would allow him to distract her from the work she was so dedicated to.

Much like her mother and grandfather, she was a potioneer through and through, and spent many hours surrounded by bubbling cauldrons with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

Taran found it to be endearing, but not the expression she wore as she entered the kitchen clutching a piece of parchment.

Her complexion was pale, concerned, and Taran knew he would need to do his utmost to remain calm and keep his temper in check.

Selina said nothing as she handed him the letter, and he immediately recognised the neat scrawl of his sister.

Selina,

I will not insult you by asking you not to show this to my brother, so, by the time you read this, it will be too late for him to act.

I will already be married to Fyren.

There is nothing that can be done to stop this. Already, I carry his child, as was foretold by the stars.

Taran will be furious, but he must not come for me. I cannot tell you how important it is that he does not seek me out.

Seren

His knuckles had turned white from how tightly he was clutching the parchment, and though Taran was doing his best to maintain his composure, the anger he felt was boiling his blood.

In almost every way, he was like his father, but the temper he had inherited was all Morgana.

“Taran?” Selina whispered, taking him by the hand. “What are you going to do?”

He released a deep breath but already knew what must be done.

“My father,” he murmured. “I must tell my father.”

Selina swallowed deeply as she nodded, knowing that is was all but inevitable that Harry Potter would march directly into the East of England, and tear it apart tree by tree if necessary.

(Break)

“You truly are a beauty, Seren,” Fyren murmured in her ear before pressing his lips to her cheek, “but your father would never allow it.”

“He would not,” Seren agreed.

“Does that matter?”

She eyed him curiously, searching his gaze for the meaning behind his words.

“I do not fear him, Seren, not like the others do. If you wish to marry me, not even your father can stop us. I give you my word I would keep you safe from him.”

Seren laughed as she shook her head.

“It is not me that should be worried. It is you he will come for.”

Fyren laughed almost mockingly, but Seren did not miss the tinge of caution to it.

Only a fool would not fear her father, and though Fyren often was not such, he had his moments that proved otherwise, and like many others, Seren suspected his arrogance would be his downfall.

“Take a look around us,” he urged. “Men have fought and died over this land, and many more over a woman they love. I am willing to do that for you, but I do not believe it will be necessary. These lands may be Arthur’s in name, but the people do not follow him. They will follow me, just as they did my father.”

“And what of his other sons?”

Fyren grinned as he waved his hand, revealing an unfamiliar head mounted on a pike. Seren was unmoved by it. Her dreams had shown her much worse atrocities, but she did not miss the slight resemblance to Fyren.

“My half-brother, the one my father went to great lengths to hide from the world. He served his purpose behind the foolish god he followed.”

Seren nodded as she eyed the severed head.

Fyren’s brother had suffered in his final moments, and as she reached out to run a finger along his cheek, she suspected the man that had killed him would only experience a worse fate.

“You see. I told you they would come if I called on them.”

Seren watched as hundreds of men emerged from within the trees and stood before Fyren, eyeing him as though he were the second coming of the son of the god the muggles followed so ardently.

It was odd to see, and even more so, the array of runes etched into their faces.

At first, Seren believed them to be clusters to control them, but upon closer inspection, they were merely markings with no magical input in them.

Not yet, at least.

The same, however, could not be said for the very trees that surrounded them.

They were plagued with the very same magic of Fyren; a vile darkness, much unlike the comforting power her father possessed. Fyren’s felt as though it went against nature itself, and the trees he was subjugating to it protested, their leaves dead and trunks sagging despite it being the height of spring.

“To what end?” she asked curiously.

“A future for you, for me, and our child,” Fyren answered with a smile.

He was certainly charming in his own way, and powerful to boot, but it wasn’t meant to last. Seren had seen it for herself, amongst the other frightening things her mind seemed to conjure when she was at her most vulnerable.

Even so, Seren would play her part.

The stars had led her to this very moment, a dark one for her and for her family, but a pivotal moment that would shape the world ahead of them. She did not like it, but Seren could not go against what she so firmly believed in.

Perhaps her father would be made to understand, but not until he did what was necessary.

In a way, she felt as though she was using him, but she wasn’t, not really.

Regardless of what she did next, what was to come soon enough would’ve happened. It was just that this way, Seren was certain of the outcome.

What it would lead to in all aspects of her life and the country at large, she did not know, but this was the very of many terrible scenarios, even if she did not like the connotations the stars had spoken of.

“So, this will become our own kingdom?”

“It will,” Fyren assured her, placing a hand on her stomach. “But first, we must take control of it from those that would still swear to a king that is not ours.”

With little more than a nod, his apparent followers turned and left the clearing; some with wands, some with mundane weapons, and others with both.

“Mars is bright,” Seren murmured.

Blood would inevitably be spilled, likely lots of it, but that was unavoidable now, and always had been, unbeknownst to those not privy to the whispering of the stars.

(Break)

She watched as he read the letter, doing her utmost to keep her own temper under control. Much to her surprise, Harry did not appear to be angry as he finished, but she could feel it, that dark, cold magic being barely held at bay by his iron will.

Morgana had known the moment she had read it for herself what her husband would do, yet, as he stood and marched towards the bedroom, his face remained quite unreadable.

She could not deny that when he emerged with his sword in hand she felt more than a little excited by the sight of it, but for now, she ignored her own needs as she placed a hand on his forearm.

“Harry?”

He simply shook his head before turning his attention back to the waiting Taran.

“Take the letter to Owain. He will know what to do.”

“You’re going to get her.”

Harry nodded once more and Taran took the note before hurrying from the room.

“She planned this.”

“Seren planned this?”

“Maybe not this far, but she knew this would happen. I do not know what the hell she is playing at marrying the shit let alone…”

He broke off, his nostrils flaring in irritation.

“Harry, she’s barely a woman…”

“But she is your daughter, our daughter,” Harry snorted. “We did not raise a fool. She knew it would come to this, I just need to know why.”

“But you’re certain he is her son?”

“Undoubtedly,” Harry murmured. “I knew I could sense her presence in London when it was occupied by Dark-Eye. It was faint, but it was there. I thought that the goblins might have been toying with the idea of raising their own army of the dead.”

“I wouldn’t have put it past Dark-Eye, but he is not what is important here, Harry. Seren…”

“Follows what she believes is right and is not so different from you. Believe me, I hate it just as much as you do, and now it is my time to act. I’m certain she planned this.”

“To what end?”

Harry shrugged.

“I suppose there is only one way to find out.”

“You’re going to march.”

“It’s been a while but I think I’ve still got it.”

Morgana rolled her eyes at him.

“Are you trying to tell me that these past years you haven’t still been training the way Godric tortured you?”

Harry smirked in response as he fastened his sword belt around his waist.

“I don’t know anything else,” he answered as he followed in Taran’s footsteps, whistling for his mount.

(Break)

“You are making a mistake.”

“Am I? I have learned from the mistakes of others, Mother. The goblins allowed Potter to seize an advantage, and father did the same by foolishly attacking a place he had no control over. He put too much faith in you and in grandmother. Our rmagic is exceptional, great even, but it is not infallible.”

She bristled at his words and he had the audacity to smirk as he realised he was getting to her.

Fyren had always been naturally ambitious, but had always listened to her advice, paid rapt attention to her lessons, but that had changed these past few years.

His involvement with Potter’s daughter was quite the stroke of genius in itself, but having met the girl, she presented more problems than Fyren could possibly account for.

She was dangerous to them, perhaps not as magically as her father in an overtly traditional sense, but she possessed a power of her own.

Fyren, however, seemed to be quite oblivious to it, and was even quite taken with his new bride.

She, however, had learned from her errors; the reminder of which she saw every morning as she gazed upon her own body. It had been nothing short of miraculous that she had escaped the cursed flames, that she had lived to see the birth of her son, but Fyren had seemingly learned nothing of her own plight.

The boy she had raised was now a man, a stubborn, arrogant, and impetuous man that was not ready to face the storm coming for them.

Oh, he was powerful, incredibly gifted, but Harry Potter was no mere mortal.

She had seen for herself what he was capable of, and nothing good could come from Fyren acting so soon.

“My son,” she pleaded. “I cannot…”

“You need not do anything, Mother,” Fyren cut in. “My own plans are already unfolding, and I have the most valuable of weapons to use against him. Harry Potter will suffer for what he has done, and when he is dead, there will be no other that can take these lands from me.”

He left the room before she could speak again, and she glided her fingertips over the scars that littered half of her face.

Her son had become too arrogant for his own good, had taken risks neither she nor Guthrum would have, and now, those risks would bring the wrath of Harry Potter down upon these lands.

Fyren may believe he was ready for it, may see his success here of slaughtering those that would oppose him as quite the stepping stone to what was to come, but it was merely a drop in the bucket.

Taking her leave of the cave she had lived in these past many years, she looked towards the sky as a rumble of thunder sounded, almost laughing at her mockingly, and released a deep breath.

He was coming.

Harry Potter was not here now, but she could already feel his approach, and her son would soon be humbled, though his humility would inevitably come at the price of his life.

He was not ready for the storm, perhaps never truly would’ve been, but certainly not now, despite all he’d done in preparation.

“Oh, my dear boy,” she sighed. “You have no idea what it is that comes for us.”

(Break)

“He’s marching?” Arthur asked, a frown marring his features.

“He is,” Hook confirmed. “We have close to three thousand men heading east. This will not be a lasting war, Arthur. Harry is going to tear through the land quickly and violently. This is his daughter.”

Arthur nodded but wondered why he was not being included. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Hook did so once more.

“This is a wizarding matter, but as always, Harry will be carrying out your justice. You remember the army of the dead. We’re not expecting anything of the sort from this man, but it is still possible, especially if she yet lives.”

Arthur released a deep breath.

“Will Harry visit after?”

It had been too many years since he’d last seen his friend, and he missed him; his dry wit, his advice, and Harry had been just about the only person he’d met that had treated him as nothing more than a man.

“He might,” Hook replied non-committedly. “I will pass on the message that you wish to see him.”

“And Maxim?”

“Remains on the continent. He will not be riding into battle.”

Arthur nodded.

It was still odd to think that he’d had a son all these years, one he had not had a hand in raising, but Maxim had done more than well enough with the man that been his father.

Hook was one of the few Arthur could count amongst those he trusted fully.

In his own way, he had proven himself beyond any other.

It had been three days of silence from Harry’s army, but not from the rumours circulating what was transpiring in the east of his kingdom. News of a mass slaughter and of marauding magicals had reached him, but nothing else, though Arthur suspected that would not remain so for long.

No, something was brewing in East Anglia, and soon enough, it would erupt into something quite spectacular and equally devastating.

Still, whomever this Fyren was had not only taken liberties with Arthur’s reign, but he had also provoked the most dangerous man in the country whilst doing so.

There was a part of Arthur that felt a little sorry for him, but that sorrow only went so far.

Fyren had brought what was coming to him on himself in the form of Harry Potter.

(Break)

“You are allowing me to ride with you,” Taran chuckled.

“Would you rather be left behind?”

“Of course not, I’m just surprised. You may have trained me, Father, but you spent most of my life protecting me.”

“That was my duty, but you are a man now. You have a wife of your own and may need to protect her and any children you have. This is an opportunity for me to see that you are ready for that responsibility.”

Taran rolled his eyes.

“I have fought and killed before.”

“Not like this,” his father said darkly. “This is no fight in a tavern or a scuffle between two small groups of men, but you will learn that for yourself. Do not seek glory, Son, there is none to be had when it comes to war.”

Taran nodded soberly.

His father rarely spoke of the many battles he had fought in, the loss of the men he’d led into them, and certainly not of the adulation and plaudits he’d received.

To Harry Potter, his greatest achievement had been the family he had built; his wife, two sons, and two daughters, even if one of them had been much more problematic than the rest.

Seren had always been troubled, plagued by nightmares and prone to bouts of melancholy.

Taran would not pretend to understand her magic, but growing up, he had seen the sheer brilliance of it for himself just as much as he had witnessed the horror it could exact upon her.

What would happen in the coming moments, he did not know, but he hoped beyond hope that when all was said and done, his sister may be granted a semblance of peace from all that led her to where she found herself now.

(Break)

“Word has reached me that your father is marching.”

“You expected he would.”

“I did, and I expect him to die shortly after he arrives.”

Seren shrugged as her husband watched her.

“You do not care for him?”

“I care for the stars, and it is them that will decide what will happen when he arrives.”

Fyren laughed uproariously before he threw his ale into the fire.

He was nervous, twitchy, but doing his utmost to hide it. He should be nervous, well, Seren knew he should be truly terrified. She’d heard tales of what her father had accomplished throughout his life.

Better still, she had seen it for herself, had lived many of the harrowing experiences of the man since he’d been but a boy.

Many made little sense to her, but she felt them now so vividly.

Fyren was a fool if he thought he was a match for her father, but as he approached with a smug, rather ugly grin twisting his features, she suspected he had a plan of his own.

Seren gasped as he snatched her arm and ran a blackened dagger down the length of her bicep, collecting the blood in a phial before he shoved her aside.

She listened as he began murmuring a curse, and the more he spoke, the more her vision swam. After a few moments of his efforts, she could feel him occupying her mind, seemingly taking control of it.

Try as she might, Seren could not move, but she could still think for herself.

It seemed that she had indeed inherited her father’s stubbornness and ability to avoid succumbing to the will of others.

Not that she made such known.

No, instead, she allowed Fyren to believe he had achieved much more than he had and remained silent as she spoke his threats towards her father, though she suspected he would be granted so little time to say them to the man himself, let alone follow through with them.

Still, despite her beliefs, it would be the stars who decided their fate, and hers too when the man that sired her rode through the lands Fyren wished to lay claim to.

“Ah, I believe he is arriving.”

Seren strained her ears to listen, and only a moment later, the sound of galloping hooves could be heard approaching, but it wasn’t the sound of an impending clash that caught her attention, it was the ambient magic she had grown up with, though now, it wasn’t so ambient but was pulsing through the trees as a stark warning of inevitable death.

She shuddered as it washed over her, and yet, her husband appeared to be unfazed.

He stepped forward in front of his ranks of men, dragging her along with him, holding the phial of blood aloft that he had attached to a gold chain.

Fyren was grinning, but Seren did not miss it falter as his gaze fell upon her charging father and his own men, along with both Taran and Owain Peverell either side of Harry Potter, who had chosen a Thestral for his steed.

He certainly cut quite the imposing figure, even as he halted at the sight of her and his mount reared up menacingly

Fyren’s grin widened, but once more, her father was unmoved.

“She is my wife, she carries my child and does so willingly. Her blood is now my protection. As I am now your son through marriage and legacy, I am under your protection.”

It was dangerous magic to play with, unpredictable, yet incredibly powerful.

Her father eyed Fyren before shaking his head.

“You are as damned foolish as your mother, only less knowledgeable. You have made a grave error trying to play with my blood.”

With merely a gesture of his hand, the phial exploded, and Fyren screamed in a mixture of shock and agony as it burned through his armour and his flesh.

“KILL THEM!” he roared, bidding a hasty retreat. “KILL THEM!”

Once more, Seren found herself being dragged by her husband, though now, her mind was considerably clearer, only made more so by the sound of clashing steel and screams of men as they were cut down in the heat of battle.

(Break)

“Kill THEM! KILL THEM!”

His father was right.

Being in a battle such as the one he found himself in now was not like a small skirmish, or even a duel to settle a dispute.

The moment Fyren gave the command, his men acted, hurling spells and even themselves towards the ranks of men from Godric’s Hollow.

What he noticed immediately, however, was his father’s reaction, and though Taran had trained with the man since he was old enough to hold a sword and then his wand, he had never seen any wield both in such a way.

With a single spell, the man blew a hole in the ground that an entire house could fit in, and when the dust settled, Taran could see the remains of dozens of men, smears of blood, fragments of bone, and torn flesh in a morbid, bubbling pool.

Instinctively, he felt himself wretch at the sight and scent that wafted from it, but a shake of his shoulder from Owain was enough to prevent him from emptying the contents of his stomach.

“Best give him space, lad. You don’t want to be caught up in what your father can do.”

Taran nodded and followed the man he considered to be an uncle, and the two of them threw themselves into the fray, their swords singing, and spells cutting down the men with the odd markings etched into their faces.

Much of what came to pass was a blur of screams and frantic violence, but Taran would never forget how it felt when the blade of his sword scraped along the bones of his enemies, or how they pleaded for their lives upon being cursed.

He would not forget the bite of another blade cutting into his flesh, nor the feeling of desperation at being surrounded by his foes.

It was almost as though he was experiencing an odd dream where he was relying on nothing but the instincts and skills he honed over the years. Fortunately for Taran, his training had been as arduous as it had been meticulous, and though he didn’t tire, his father’s earlier words rang true.

There was no glory here, only survival.

That was what he fought for, and as he parried another blade and dispatched the attacker with a cleaning blow of his own, he was able to breathe a sigh of relief as the few that remained of Fyren’s men fled into the trees.

“You did well, lad,” Owain praised, clapping him smartly on the shoulder, and Taran winced, eliciting a bout of laughter from the man. “Your first scar. Come, we’d best start clearing up.”

“My father?”

Owain merely nodded towards a strip of land where there were no longer any trees, a path of destruction leading in the direction that Fyren had retreated.

“Hell, that is a mess,” Taran murmured.

“Aye, and it will only get messier when he catches up to them.”

“Shouldn’t we…”

“No, we shouldn’t. Believe me, Taran, you do not want to be within a league or so of your father when he is fighting. It’s not safe.”

Taran nodded his understanding, but that did not stop him worrying for the man, and his sister.

Fyren was a cornered animal, and just as his father had taught him, cornered animals were at their most dangerous.

(Break)

It was as though he’d never left the battlefield.

After he’d defeated Myrddin, there were so few willing to cross blades or wands with him, not any who were bright enough to realise it was a bad idea to do so, at least.

Those that did had all been fools and reminded quickly that Harry Potter had earned his reputation with good reason.

Fyren was just another one who had used the loyalty of his men to his father to become what he was, but it wasn’t enough.

Just like most other would-be magical conquerors, he was egotistical, arrogant, and with an inflated sense of self-importance, only this time, he had chosen the wrong man to provoke.

Harry could not remember the last time he had been so furious.

Perhaps it was during his fight with Myrddin, or one of the many other times his daughter had complicated the lives of the rest of the family, but for Fyren to attempt to use his own blood against him for his own gain provoked something quite biblical within him.

Not that it had worked.

Harry’s blood was like no other, and that very blood flowed through the veins of his children.

Fyren could not have possibly accounted for the basilisk venom or phoenix tears that protected it, and already, he had played his hand, had been to cocksure of himself.

Evidently, he had learned nothing of worth from his mother, who Harry could feel nearby.

It did not take him long to track the magic to a cave.

T most, it would be well-hidden, but there was something undeniably familiar about the magic protecting it.

Before he could ponder it, however, a figure emerged from within, removing a hood that hid their face.

“You do not seem surprised to see me, Harry Potter.”

Half of the woman’s face was burnt beyond recognition, but the other side that was unmarred by the grotesque skin was nothing short of looking upon a ghost from the past.

How she had done it, Harry didn’t know, but she’d managed to escape the clutches of the Fiendfyre and birthed Guthrum’s son.

“I’m not, and you already know why I am here.”

“For your daughter.”

Harry nodded.

“If you have any desire to live to live, you will not attempt to hinder me.”

The woman laughed as she drew her wand, and Harry wasted no time.

Before she could cast a single spell, he unleashed a plethora of his own, forcing her to attempt to defend herself, which she managed to do well enough for a moment or so.

Harry did not doubt that she had known she could not hope to stand against him, and even as she managed to get off a few offerings of her own, it was done with the acceptance that her fate was inevitable.

She screamed as a rupturing curse caught her in the midriff, sending her crashing to the ground bereft of her wand.

He approached cautiously with his own trained on her, and she coughed, a gout of blood spewing from her mouth as she did so.

“I told him he was not ready to face you, Harry Potter,” she gasped. “He did not listen.”

“I suppose that is something both of our children have in common,” he sighed.

“They do not know our struggles, the world we grew up in. They believe they do, but they do not.”

“No, they do not,” Harry agreed.

“But she will have his child, my family will live on. Promise me you will care for them.”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

The woman nodded.

“I would.”

Harry said nothing for a moment.

He wanted to deny her, to allow her to die unhappily and believing that this was the very end of the family she had come from.

“The child will be of my blood too.”

“That is all I needed to know.”

Her final words were given in little more than a whisper before she fell still, and despite the promise he’d made, that was as far as Harry’s courtesy extended.

Having ridden himself of quite the burden of the past, it was time to shift his attention to the pressing one of now.

“Mother?”

The man that emerged from the cave was pale, his recently burned skin undoubtedly quite raw, but he paid it no mind. Instead, a gaze of fury came to rest on Harry, and he found himself peering into a pair of black eyes with a reddish tint; a testament to the magic this man had been raised practicing.

Raising his wand, his expression formed into something quite ugly, but before Harry could respond, the man’s eyes widened in shock.

Fyren stumbled forward before turning, exposing the dagger that had been rammed into his spine.

Harry knew it well.

He had gifted it to his daughter when she was on the cusp of womanhood to protect her innocence when he was not there to do so.

Nonetheless, he had not expected this, and as Fyren began to scream agonisingly and collapsed to the floor, Seren watched him suffer, her expression as unreadable as ever.

When he had finished writhing and finally succumbed to organ-liquefying curse Harry had imbued into the dagger, she simply retrieved it, wiping the blood on Fyren’s tunic before placing it back on her belt.

“Why?” Harry asked confusedly.

Seren shot him a look of sadness and swallowed deeply.

“Because it was meant to be, Father,” she murmured, saying nothing else as she stepped away from her husband, cradling her already-swollen stomach.