In the Trees
“I am sure you will be pleased to know that Miss Bell is in a stable condition, thanks to you, Harry. Your quick thinking lessened her exposure to the curse, and she is expected to make a full recovery.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
Harry had been worried he’d acted too late.
Although he’d known to be careful whilst transporting Katie, he equally knew that time was of the essence, and had gotten her to Madam Pomfrey, who’d already sent for a specialist from St Mungo’s, where the girl had been transferred to quickly.
“Thank Merlin for that.”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said with a relieved smile of her own.
“Do you know what happened to her? What was that necklace?”
“It is something that Professor Snape is investigating,” Dumbledore said dismissively. “All we know thus far is that the necklace had been enchanted with a most unpleasant, lethal curse. I expect it will take some time to work out exactly what it was. Fo now, my priority is the welfare of Miss Bell.”
He wasn’t telling Harry everything, but he would not press the matter, not yet, at least. As long as Katie was okay, that was all he could ask for.
“I really thought she was dead.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“You have endured more than your fair share of it, Harry.”
“My parents, Cedric, Sirius, you… There will be more before all of this is over.”
“As is the way of war, I’m afraid. I once heard a pearl of wisdom pertain to death, and it is that we truly die twice.”
“Twice?”
“Once when breathe our last, and again the very last time our name pass the lips of the living.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully but frowned.
“It’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn’t help with the loss so much in some circumstances. With my parents, there was nothing I could do to change the outcome. With Cedric, maybe if I had been quicker, Pettigrew would not have killed him, and with Sirius…”
He swallowed deeply as he broke off.
“Unfortunately, the guilt of our actions or inaction is something we must carry.”
The man had deflated, and his expression became haunted.
“Do you mean your sister, Professor?”
He certainly felt a little guilty for manipulating the conversation for his own gain, but if Dumbledore knew his reasoning for doing so, Harry did not believe he would hold it against him.
“Yes, but it wasn’t just her death,” he sighed. “That is a terrible burden to bear, as are her circumstances.”
“Circumstances?”
Dumbledore smiled sadly.
“Ariana was sick for several years before she died, Harry. There was a most unpleasant incident that triggered it where she was set upon by a group of local boys. She became fearful of her magic, and I suppose it turned against her in a most volatile manner. I was younger than you are now when she was first afflicted, and not much older when…”
He took a deep breath to calm himself.
“I did not know how to help her then. She was taken to every conceivable specialist, and none could.”
“But you have an idea now.”
“I believe the Mind Arts certainly would’ve helped, but I did not discover them until sometime after I left Hogwarts. She needed to experience truly positive magic and learn how to accept it once more. It wasn’t until many years later that I realised that she could’ve perhaps been saved form what ailed her.”
He fell silent, and though Harry was grateful for some guidance on how he might be able to make a difference, reliving the memories of his sister had evidently been traumatic for the man.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry offered sincerely. “I didn’t mean to…”
The headmaster waved him off and even smiled.
“It is as I said, we all have our regrets and guilt we carry. She lives on when I speak of her, and I do not do it often enough. Soon enough, I expect I will see her again.”
“Do you believe in an afterlife?”
“Don’t you, Harry? After what happened in the graveyard that night, I would think you above anyone else would believe that at least a part of us lives on.”
He vividly remembered his parents, Cedric, and Bertha Jorkins emerging from Voldemort’s wand, and given what he’d experienced since he’d lost Sirius, he could not deny that he knew there was much more to life and magic than what most could begin to understand.
“I do, Professor.”
“Then even when I am gone, I expect we will see each other again one day, though not so soon, I hope.”
“Not so soon,” Harry agreed.
Although the snow had travelled south with them, it wasn’t falling as heavily in London as it was at the castle, but it still blanket the passing houses and cars park at the side of each road.
“You are coming for Christmas?” Ron asked for the dozenth time since they’d boarded the Hogwarts’ Express.
“I will be there,” Harry promised. “I need to check on Kreacher, and there are a few things I need to do, and then I will come to the Burrow.”
“A few things?” Hermione pressed.
“Nothing that will get me into trouble.”
Well, Harry hoped that was so.
Since he’d had the rather unpleasant conversation, the very same he expected would’ve been even less pleasant had he broached the subject of Horcruxes, he’d been pondering the likelihood of being able to help Ariana.
Perhaps Dumbledore had been wrong in his assessment, even if it did somewhat make sense. Still, magic was a strange mistress, and one that did not always adhere to logic.
Even so, he knew he had to try to help the girl as much as he could before it was too late.
He did not wish to have another death on his conscience, after all.
“Oh, Harry dear, I am so pleased to see you!” Mrs Weasley gushed as they exited the train.
Although she hadn’t spoken so loudly, most others on the platform were waiting in silence, much like they had back in September, and even now, were not socialising with the other parents around them.
What they did do, however, was look at him with a mixture of interest and curiosity, which Harry pointedly ignored. He’d not forgotten how he’d been vilified and slandered in the media the year before, and that most of the people here had believed him to be a liar.
“And you, Mrs Weasley,” he replied fondly, allowing the woman to pull him into a tight embrace.
When she realised him, she inspected him closely.
“You look well. Did you do something with your hair?”
“Kreacher makes me get it cut,” Harry chuckled.
Mrs Weasley pursed her lips disapprovingly at the mention of the elf.
“Well, it suits you. You look…”
“Like one of those pureblood gits,” one of the twins interjected, ruffling Harry’s hair.
“But quite handsome with it,” the other declared. “Rather spiffing, wouldn’t you say Fred?”
“Oh, quite gorgeous some would say, but not me. He is still the same specky little toerag we have come to know so well.”
“It’s nice to see you two too,” Harry chuckled, “and yes, I read your letter, so there is no need to threaten me anymore.”
“Threaten?” Mrs Weasley huffed, eliciting a triumphant grin from Harry. “I do hope you boys have not been threatening Harry!”
The twins glared at him but nodded respectfully.
“Touché, Harry,” Fred sighed. “You know our one weakness.”
Mrs Weasley shook her head at the them.
“You will never be too big to be put over my knee,” she warned. “Now, will you be coming with us, Harry?”
“Not just yet, Mrs Weasley. I have a few things to do, but I will come to the Burrow soon.”
The woman hummed but nodded her understanding.
“Well, then Fred and George will assure you get home safely…”
“There’s no need. Kreacher will be here in a moment, but I will see you all in a week at most.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs Weasley replied as Hermione pulled him into a hug.
“Whatever it is you are doing, be careful, Harry,” she whispered.
He nodded, but said nothing else, offering the group a wave as Kreacher arrived to take him back to Grimmauld Place, which he immediately noticed was rather different than when he’d left a few months prior.
He looked at Kreacher questioningly, and the elf was rather abashed by the attention on him.
“Kreacher thought Master would like a change.”
Harry nodded appreciatively at just how much cosier and lighter the house felt.
There was no longer the dank walls and unpleasant musty odour. Kreacher had painted the kitchen in much warmer tones, brightening the space considerably.
“Kreacher painted all of the rooms in the house,” the elf explained, “except for Master Regulus’s and Master’s room. Kreacher thought Master would like to change it himself.”
“Wy not Regulus’s room?”
The elf swallowed deeply.
“Kreacher didn’t want to change it.”
“You liked Master Regulus.”
“Master Regulus was always kind to Kreacher, and…”
“And?”
“He died saving Kreacher’s life.”
“He did?”
Sirius had mentioned that Regulus had simply vanished one day without a trace, but suspected he’d been killed during a Death Eater raid. His godfather had certainly not believed he had under any other circumstances.
“Kreacher was to help him, Master. He asked Master Regulus if Kreacher could help. Kreacher didn’t want to, but he made Kreacher go into the cave with all the dead ones. He made Kreacher drink the nasty potion. Master Regulus came for Kreacher, and he told Kreacher to leave when he could not get away from the dead ones. Kreacher was too weak to take Master Regulus.”
By now, the elf was sobbing, and although Harry did not know what to do, he wrapped an arm around Kreacher’s shoulder to comfort him.
“That means Master Regulus really cared about you.”
Kreacher nodded as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
“And Kreacher failed him.”
“No, you did exactly what he told you to.”
“No, Kreacher didn’t, Kreacher couldn’t. Master Regulus told Kreacher to destroy it. Kreacher doesn’t know how!”
He broke down into another fit of sobbing and it took him several moments to compose himself.
“What did he want you to destroy, Kreacher?”
The elf whimpered before vanishing, returning a moment later holding a familiar locket.
Harry had seen it three times before now in memories that Dumbledore had given him. Merope Gaunt had been in possession of it when Bob Ogden had visited the family, and again when she had sold it to Burke for a pittance.
After that, it had belonged to Hepzibah Smith, who had parted with quite the sum for it, and she in turn had shown it to a young Tom Riddle.
How it came to be in Kreacher’s possession, Harry could not quite fathom, but here it was, and more worryingly was the magic permeated from the locket that had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin.
It was familiar to him, troublingly so, and although he wasn’t certain what it was, he knew that it was important enough for Voldemort to go to evidently great lengths to hide.
“Voldemort was trying to hide it, wasn’t he, Kreacher?”
The elf nodded.
“Master Regulus took it and replaced it with a fake. He gave this one to Kreacher. It is nasty magic, Master, like the magic that was in you.”
“In me?”
Kreacher pointed towards the faded scar on his brow, and Harry ran a finger down the length of it.
“Master does not have that magic anymore.”
“But it is in the locket.”
Kreacher nodded once more, and Harry cast the same purple charm around it he had the locket. Immediately, he felt better for doing so.
“I will find a way to destroy it, Kreacher,” he promised. “I must speak with Dumbledore about it first.”
Kreacher nodded gratefully, and it was as though an exceptional burden was lifted from his shoulders. With a relieved smile, he vanished once more, leaving Harry alone with his racing thoughts.
This must be what a Horcrux was.
Although the memory Slughorn had reluctantly given Dumbledore had been corrupted in some way, Harry had gleaned enough from his demeanour to know that whatever it was, was the vilest of magic.
Even so, without a full explanation of what it was in his possession, there was little he could do until he discussed it with Dumbledore, and with that in mind, he placed the locket in an empty trunk before making his way towards the study to do just that.
It was not something he felt could be delayed.
(Break)
The necklace on his desk seemed ominous enough. It was a rather ornate piece and would’ve undoubtedly cost a considerable sum when it had been purchased, and unless the owner imbued it with the magic itself, the additions would certainly have come at a premium.
Although not strictly illegal to own, the aurors would certainly take note of any who possessed it, and such an example was not one many could afford to part with so much gold for.
“The girl is incredibly lucky to be alive,” Severus said gravely. “She must’ve only grazed it with her skin. If she would’ve grasped it…”
He broke off, and Albus swallowed deeply.
“What have you managed to discern from it?”
“It is old, Headmaster, and tracing who owned it would be all but impossible. It is likely it was purchased from Borgin, not that he would admit to having such a thing. Whoever created it knew exactly what they were doing. They enchanted the opals, an excellent medium for storing magic over a prolonged period, and for the most part, it would be quite benign, unless someone wished it to be no longer. There are some clever charms in place to activate the curse.”
Albus could only imagine why anyone would wish to purchase such a thing.
“A husband,” Severus spoke once more. “I expect it was purchased by a rather dissatisfied husband who wished to be rid of his wife. It could be given as a gift, and when the time was right, the curse could be activated. Death would occur too quickly for it to be prevented. I expect things like this were or are common among purebloods who want an escape from their marriage. When the necklace has done its job, it needs to only be removed. Any death would likely be treated as suspicious, but nothing would come of it without enough proof.”
It was a rather ghastly thought, though Albus could not deny such a possibility.
“Headmaster, you cannot allow him to continue with his efforts. Let us not pretend that we do not know who was behind this. If the girl had died…”
“I know, Severus,” Albus assured the man. “The problem we have is that there is no proof of his involvement. I have already looked into the matter. Mr Malfoy was already back within the castle when Miss Bell fell victim to the curse, and I expect you found no trace of him on it.”
Severus shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“Then, as much as it pains me to admit it, there is little to be done, but I am urging you to watch him closely. I would avoid any further incidents like this.”
Severus appeared to be as unhappy as Albus.
The headmaster knew, however, that any attempt to bring Draco to justice for what he’d done would amount to nothing. Lucius may have fallen from grace in the public eye, but few would believe that a student, even one who was the son of a known Death Eater would do such a thing. Worse yet, his own assessment would prove to be correct.
There was no evidence to prove the boys’ involvement.
“I will,” Severus replied. “Should I dispose of this?”
“Please do,” Albus sighed.
With only a nod, Severus levitated the necklace and left the office, but before Albus could ponder the predicament he found himself in, the floo chimed.
“Ah, Harry, is there something I can help you with?”
“Something important has come up.”
“Then you had best come through.”
He did so, and the expression he sported was as grave as Severus’s had been when he’d explained the nature of the necklace Miss Bell had unwittingly fallen victim to.
Without saying a word, he removed a trunk from within his pocket, resized it, and levitated the second necklace Albus would be discussing this evening, though this one was perhaps more concerning than the first.
He could only look on in astonishment as yet another of Tom’s Horcruxes dangled between him and Harry, who’d had the sense to encase in a protective bubble of magic.
“How?” Albus asked dumbly.
“Regulus Black,” Harry answered tiredly. “From what Kreacher could tell me, Tom used him to hide this in a cave, and Regulus arrived to rescue him before he could be killed by inferi. Regulus wasn’t able to escape, and he made Kreacher promise to destroy it. He’s been holding onto it for the better part of fifteen years.”
It wasn’t often that Albus found himself in such a state of shock, but he was almost speechless at the revelation, and much-needed fortune.
“I was a Horcrux, wasn’t I?”
The question left Albus taken aback.
They’d not discussed Tom’s creations, and until now, Alus had not considered that Harry knew what it was he was holding, or had an idea, at the very least.
“Not as such,” Albus said sadly. “I do not doubt that you were somewhat housing a fragment of Tom’s soul, which was given to you unintentionally, of course, but I do not believe that is so any longer.”
Harry nodded and frowned thoughtfully, though he did not share his musings.
“I need to speak with Slughorn about the memory he gave you,” he murmured. “He knows more than he thinks he knows. So, a Horcrux is something someone stores a part of their soul in?”
“Yes, Harry. It is a most unpleasant magic to delve into, but I think we both know Tom well enough to know there isn’t anything he would not do to achieve his goals.”
“He broke into Gringotts to steal Flamel’s stone,” the boy snorted.
“Indeed, and this isn’t the first one you have crossed paths with.”
“It isn’t?”
Albus shook his head as he opened the top drawer of his desk, removing the diary he’d been handed more than three years prior.
“When you explained what happened, I began looking into it urgently,” he explained. “I only became certain of what this was at the end of your fourth year. Ever since, I have been looking for them, and was seeking out the cave I believe the necklace was hidden. It appears that Regulus Black beat us to it.”
“But you have found another one, haven’t you?” Harry pressed, nodding towards Albus’s gloved hand.
“I found another one,” he confirmed, removing it and exposing his blackened flesh.
On his index finger sat the ring, and Harry’s gaze drifted towards it. Albus wondered if he knew that the stone within was a significant part of his lineage. If he did, he showed no sign of recognition, however.
“Basilisk venom,” he whispered.
“Basilisk venom?”
“I used a fang to destroy the diary, so, it can be used to destroy the Horcruxes!”
Albus smiled proudly.
“As ever, you prove to be rather astute, Harry. Yes, from what I have managed to learn of them, basilisk venom is one of few ways that can destroy them.”
“So, I will have to go into the Chamber of Secrets again to get more.”
“That will not be necessary,” Albus assured him, opening up another drawer and retrieving the sword that had belonged to Godric Gryffindor. “This will suffice.”
Harry frowned at the blade.
“It will absorb any magic that makes it stronger,” Albus reminded him. “As you used it to slay the basilisk…”
“It absorbed the properties of the venom.”
“Exactly,” Albus confirmed. “It is quite the alchemical brilliance, but it makes the sword incredibly dangerous. With only a scratch…”
“It will kill anyone or anything.”
Albus nodded severely.
“And that is without accounting for anything else it absorbed whilst in Gryffindor’s possession. By all accounts, he was not adverse to finding himself in more than his fair share of scuffles.”
Harry snorted amusedly before sobering.
“Should we destroy it?” he asked, gesturing towards the locket.
“I think that would be for the best. Would you do the honours?”
Harry accepted the offered blade, and Albus breathed a sigh of relief as he swung it, cleaving the piece of jewellery in two, resulting in a scream of rage and agony renting the air.
“Do you think he felt it?”
Albus shook his head.
“No. Someone who has lost touch with humanity as much as Tom would not notice a part of his torn soul being destroyed.”
“That’s a shame,” Harry grumbled. “I was hoping it would make the git suffer.”
(Break)
“It wasn’t so bad being here during the summer,” Crabbe muttered irritably. “It’s bloody freezing!”
Goyle nodded his agreement as he buried his head into the depths of his coat.
They had been warned not to cast any magic in the area to avoid being detected. Potter had done so to his detriment and found himself hauled in front of the Wizengamot.
“They’re not even in there! No one has been there for months.”
Crabbe held a finger to his lips as an elderly woman walked passed. She paused and looked int their direction for a moment, and as he reached for his wand, she moved along.
It wasn’t the first time they’d seen her throughout their many nights here. She often walked down Privet Drive, seemingly for no reason.
“Nosy old cow,” Crabbe grumbled.
Goyle nodded once more before his gaze shifted towards the home Potter had grown up in. The ‘For Sale’ sign was still there, and although they had seen several people come and go to view the property, none had evidently purchased it.
Why they were here when Potter’s muggle family had vanished long ago, Goyle did not know, but he’d grown tired of the vigil. The Dark Lord had said several times that it was out of precaution, just in case the muggles returned.
Thus far, however, they had not, and likely never would again.
According to one of the neighbours he’d spoken to, they had moved away quite suddenly, but they’d received a postcard from somewhere in Gibraltar from the Dursleys.
Whether they were there or not, Gregory did not know, but the Dark Lord had undoubtedly looked into the matter.
“Bugger this,” Crabbe huffed as he drew his wand and walked towards number 4. “They might be in there. Dumbledore could hide them well enough.”
“Don’t be bloody stupid!”
“Well, I’m tired of this, aren’t you? If we can prove that they’re not there, we can go home and be done with it!”
He could not deny that he liked the sound of not spending any more cold nights here, and with that in mind, Gregory followed, drawing his own wand.
Carefully, he stepped onto the overgrown lawn, and held his breath in anticipation, chuckling to himself when nothing happened.
“There’s nothing here,” he sighed, walking towards the front door. “Look.”
With one swift kick of his size thirteen boot, it crashed open, and the sounds of splintering wood and the lock clattering to the floor filled the street.
“You bloody idiot, they all would’ve heard it!” Crabbe hissed as he approached.
Goyle, however, barely heard the words of his friend as he suddenly felt a disturbance from within the house, his eyes widening as a gout of green fire tore through it.
The explosion that followed exploded his eardrums, and as he found himself looking up towards the sky, wondering what had happened, he choked on the blood polling into his throat.
Sheer agony ripped at every fibre of his being, and as he managed to turn and vomit some of the blood free, he caught sight of the lifeless eyes of Vincent Crabbe, who’s head had been torn from his shoulders from the force of the explosion.
It was the last thing he would see as he once more found himself fighting just to breathe, only for the world around him to fade to darkness when he realised the blood in his throat had already choked the life out of him.
(Break)
He would not deny that he had been fearful the first time he’d arrived here. Now, the coldness served as something of a comfort for Harry. Throughout the months it had been with him, he had grown accustomed to the presence, and it had begun to feel as though it was a part of him.
Perhaps it was due to the vow he’d given the voice, that he had accepted it for what it was, and Harry certainly would not say that he hadn’t benefited from it thus far.
The magic, his own according to Tullius, was not what it had once been. Somehow, it was more.
“I have been calling for you.”
“I told you I would be at Hogwarts.”
“Your excuses mean nothing to me.”
The words were not offered with any malice but were spoken matter-of-factly.
“I think I may be able to help her.”
“That remains to be seen, Peverell, but the girl is only one facet of what you may or may not be able to change. The world you live in, your world, would undoubtedly have been different if certain things did not come to pass. Your other world, the fate is not yet decided. What happens there may very well be in your hands. I did warn you; you have already changed things.”
“In just a little over a day?”
“Yes, but there is much more to come, many other things for you to shape.”
“And this is supposed to help me defeat Voldemort?”
“That depends on you, but know this, when the time comes for the two of you to meet, I would see that you are ready.”
“So I can make sure you get all of his soul pieces. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, but there is much more to it than that, Peverell. I do not like Fate intervening in my affairs, and certainly not with one destined to be my chosen.”
“But couldn’t you argue that it was Fate that made me your chosen.”
“Oh, she had a hand in it, but she did not intend for it to be so. She had no influence on the decisions of your ancestors, nor that what they would do would lead to the prophecy that exists between you and him. No, she merely took advantage of what was already so.”
“Isn’t that what you are doing?”
“Yes,” the voice answered unashamedly. “When it comes to the matter of gathering souls, I will do what is necessary.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
“But a part of his soul was in me.”
“Was is the important factor. It is now a part of your own, which made all of this possible. He too hails from the Peverell line, so, him unintentionally giving you a part of his soul strengthened the connection to your lineage, allowing our coming together.”
Oddly, it made sense, but it was still the strangest of what seemed to be coincidences and manipulations that had brought him here.
“Now, Peverell, it is time for you to return. What you choose to do with your time is your prerogative. I only urge you to not be so dismissive of anything or anyone else you might encounter.”
What that meant, Harry did not know, but as the archway appeared, he took comfort knowing that he was just a little more prepared this time around.
He had his cloak, plenty of gold, and yet, as he stepped through to the other side, he quickly realised that things might just be a little different this time.
There was no churchyard, and no Godric’s Hollow.
Where he found himself this time was in an unfamiliar wooded area with screaming filling the air around him, jets of various colours of light, and thudding footsteps as people fled from the witches and wizards pursuing them.
Concealing himself within his cloak, he drew his wand, wondering what it was he had been injected into, yet determined to help those running for their lives as best he could.
(Break- Aug 1896)
“He must be exactly five-foot-ten and weigh no more than fourteen stone. Blond is preferable, but light brown will be acceptable. His eyes must be blue.”
“Anything else?”
“No, that is all. You know what to do.”
A part of the fun was selecting the muggle for the hunt.
Each competitor would be given a strict set of criteria from the organisers, and only a day to find their prey. Once found, they would be taken to a pre-arranged location, and when the time for the hunt to begin arrived. They were released and given a ten-minute head start before the pursuit would begin.
Of course, there would be those attempting to cheat, but they never got away with it, and Marius Black simply could not understand why.
Most of the enjoyment came from the anticipation of pursuing their chosen target, much as it did when one was pursuing a new potential lover. The thrill of the chase often became a fonder memory than the prize at the end.
Still, he liked to receive what he’d earned, and though it was not as easy as it should be, given they were not allowed to use charms or other means to gain an advantage, it was always worth it.
As such, he found himself sprinting through the trees, attempting to catch up with his chosen muggle for the evening.
It was rather remarkable how quickly and for how long someone was able to run when their life was in danger, and this muggle in particular was making him earn his reward.
Much to his chagrin, however, this group had decided to stay close to one another instead of splitting up, which meant there were nine muggles being chased by nine magicals, all in the same direction.
Nonetheless, when all was said and done, he would have nine victims to dispose of in any way he saw fit, and thought alone spurred him on.
With a flick of his wand, a jet of red light careened towards his prey, and Marius chuckled amusedly as the man threw himself to the ground to avoid it, allowing the distance to be closed.
Still, he remained fast and desperate to get away, and was on his feet immediately, once more sprinting through the trees.
Marius growled as the other competitors followed his example, and the woods were illuminated by a myriad of colours.
It was a sudden scream that stilled him, and his blood ran cold in veins at the familiarity of it.
“Cassandra!” he whispered, forgetting his pursuit of the muggle as he hurtled towards where it had come from, and Marius was praying that his wife was not hurt.
He would never forgive himself if she was to come to any harm, and he could not even begin to envision how he would explain it to the rest of his family.
“CASSANDRA!” he called, stilling and straining his ears, but all he was met with was another scream, though this one came from a man.
Marius scoffed as a limp form thudded to the ground just a short distance away from him, and he could only look on as Balder Belby fought for air.
“My wife, where is she?” Marius demanded to know.
Unable to speak, Belby pointed ahead of where he’d been flung from, and Marius rushed forward once more, shuddering from the cold that washed over him. For a moment, he believed that they’d perhaps been set upon by the dementors, that the Ministry had somehow gotten wind of what they were doing and unleashed the Azkaban guards upon them.
That thought alone made him want to flee, but he could not.
“Marius!”
“Thank Merlin,” he sighed as he spotted the pale woman hobbling towards him, only noticing now just how eerily silent the forest had become.
Only the coldness remained, and as he pulled Cassandra into his arms, he was pleased to see that she was sporting minor wounds that could be fixed easily enough.
Orion would never even know she was here.
“I saw him, Marius.”
“Him? Who?”
“A boy,” Cassandra answered. “Well, I saw his eyes. They were green, really bright green, and everything became really cold.”
The woman was shivering uncontrollably, though she was doing her utmost to maintain her composure.
“A mere boy?”
The woman nodded, and Marius could only shake his head.
Perhaps his wife had been mistaken, her eyes playing tricks on her in the heat of the moment. What he did know, however, was that this hunt was over.
Someone or something had interrupted them, and the muggles had gotten away.
“We’d best check on the others before getting your wounds looked at,” he urged, his gaze flitting about the trees, looking for any sign of the other competitors, who were either hurt, or had fled when they’d been set upon.
Who would dare do such a thing, he did not know, but he would be looking into the matter personally, and when he inevitably discovered the truth of the matter, they would pay dearly for stealing his joy and harming his wife.
(Break)
Dear Albus,
Before I explain what has happened, I want to assure you that Ariana and I are both well.
Unfortunately, she had a rather volatile outburst with her magic, resulting in the house being damaged, and were it not for that wonderful shield spell your friend taught you, I fear it could’ve been much worse.
I do hope you are enjoying your school year as much as you possibly can and continue not allowing the rumours and whispers of others to get you down.
For now, Ariana is as well as she can be, as am I.
Love always,
Mother
He remember that April morning he’d received the missive, and assumed something terrible had happened before he’d even opened it. The relief that flooded him had been palpable, but the entire stint away from home had been spent worrying for Albus.
What would’ve happened had Hary not shown him that spell?
Harry.
It had been almost a year to the day that he had last seen the boy. It was as though he’d suddenly appeared for little more than a day and then vanished.
During the Christmas break, Albus had sought him out, asked everyone in the village if they had seen him, but none had even heard of the boy, and even shot him a look of suspicion at the mention of his surname.
Peverell.
After hearing Bathilda Bagshot speak of the family, he had researched them as much as he could, though he’d been unable to find much other than rumours, some rather troubling stories, but they had once been held in the highest esteem, especially among the villagers in Godric’s Hollow.
Some centuries prior, the last Peverell daughter had married a Potter, and the line had vanished, which made Albus believe that Harry, or whomever it was he’d met, was no Peverell at all.
Still, he often thought about that boy, how he’d helped him, and just how the brief encounters they’d shared had made such a difference to the Dumbledores.
“That bad, is it?”
Albus’s eyes widened in surprise at the boy who had seemingly appeared in front of him in the local park, and he even fought the urge to reach out to ensure he wasn’t seeing things.
“Harry, where did you go?” he asked.
He could not deny that his sudden absence had hurt, and evidently, Harry felt guilty for it.
“There was somewhere I was needed, Albus,” he replied apologetically. “How is Abe?”
“He’s not so bad,” Albus sighed. “I don’t think being my younger brother is easy for him. He’s so brilliant, Harry, really, such a brilliant little wizard, but already people have expectations of him because of me. It’s not fair on him.”
“It isn’t,” Harry agreed, “but that is something he will have to deal with. He has to find a way to not live in your shadow. I can speak with him if you like.”
Albus frowned as his gaze swept over the boy.
“Bathilda says that you cannot be a Peverell. She says they died out centuries ago.”
“For the most part, but my history is very complicated, Albus. Maybe one day I will be able to share it with you, but I promise, I am not lying to you.”
Albus had become rather good at telling when someone was being dishonest with him. It was as though he had a natural proclivity for it, and as he met Harry’s unflinching gaze, he saw nothing but the truth.
He merely nodded in response, deciding that if the boy was somehow lying, the truth would come out eventually.
“Your spell saved my mother’s life.”
“Then teaching it to you was the right thing to do.”
Albus smiled appreciatively before it fell.
“Ariana is not so well. Her condition is only getting worse, and I am terrified we might lose her. The healers have all but given up, and I don’t know what to do, Harry. I’m trying to ensure Abe she will get better, but both me and my mother…”
He broke off as a hand came to rest on his shoulder.
“I know, Albus. You’re trying to hold it all together when you yourself have no idea what you can do. I’ve been there myself, more than once.”
His haunted expression spoke of his own experiences, though he did not put them into words.
“How do you cope with it?”
“You weather the storm and hope that you do not get swept away in it, and sometimes, you just need a little help. Would you let me meet her?”
“Ariana?”
“And your mother. I think I probably owe her an apology for upsetting her son.”
Albus chuckled as he shook his head and stood from the swing he’d been sitting on.
“You don’t have to apologise, Harry. I just wondered what happened to you. My mother will be pleased to meet you, but Ariana…”
“Is delicate. I know. I have no intention of making anything worse for her. I hope I can help. I discussed what you’ve told me about her with the very best man I know, and he was quite sure there is much that can be done for her. It will take time, and it will not be easy, but he believes that all is not lost, and so do I.”
“You really do, don’t you?”
Harry offered him an encouraging smile and nodded, and somehow, Albus found that he believed him. He even allowed just a little glimmer of hope back in his heart as he led the other boy towards the Dumbledore home.
“Will you be staying around?”
Albus found it odd that Harry looked towards the sky for a moment before answering.
“I have enough time to do what is needed,” he assured him, “but, I will be needed elsewhere again.”
What that even meant, Albus would not pretend to know, but here and now, he was simply glad to have the boy back, even if it would be for a short while.
Where he would go after, he could not even begin to fathom, nor what it was that had dragged him away for so long in the first place.
Still, he was here now, and although Albus had his reservations, there was something about Harry that told him he could be trusted, that maybe, just maybe, he could help his family once more.