The Abandoned Home
I do not like Dumbledore. He is too righteous for his own good. His reluctance will lead to our failure.
- The Diary of Cassiopeia Black
He had checked on her the night before only to find that Ariana was sleeping soundly. Albus could not remember the last time he had seen the girl resting.
No matter what hour of the day it was, he would inevitably find her sitting on the edge of her bed, staring into the candle she kept burning. Worse yet, she had gotten to a stage where she would not always acknowledge his presence, almost as though she didn’t know he was there at all.
Not wanting to disturb her, he’d left her be, and he’d fought the urge to check on her the moment he’d woken up.
“She was still sleeping when I took her breakfast,’ his mother spoke. “I do not think she has slept so much in several weeks as she has since Harry left yesterday.”
That had been late in the afternoon, and with it being close to 9am, Ariana had slept for more than a dozen hours.
“I will see if she is awake,” he declared, gesturing for Aberforth to remain at the table.
Ascending the stairs, he paused only briefly before knocking on the door, opening it to find his sister seated at her vanity table, brushing her hair, the room illuminated by the charmed light Harry had created for her.
The curtains remained firmly closed, but Ariana immediately offered him a smile, something that had vanished some years prior now and not seen since.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
“Tired, scared, but different too,” she answered thoughtfully.
“Different?”
Ariana shrugged.
“It’s all there, Albie. I still feel awful about what happened to father, and I can’t say that I feel much better, but..”
She broke off and shook her head.
“But?” Albus pressed gently.
“But I feel like I can. I hope I can, Albie. Yesterday, I didn’t even want to.”
It broke his heart to hear her speak in such a way, and yet, although she was still plagued by whatever it was ailing her, he considered what he saw already to be a vast improvement.
“He really wants to help me, Albie. I can feel it.”
Albus nodded.
“He does,” he assured her, “and we all hope he can.”
“I know,” Ariana murmured, looking towards the light as she shuddered in discomfort, relaxing somewhat after she changed the colour to a warm glow from a muted teal.
It was a start, at the very least, and Albus too allowed himself to feel a semblance of hope filling him that Ariana might just be okay. Perhaps she would never fully recover from the trauma, but if she could function well enough and control her magic, he could absolutely settle for that.
“He’s coming back today. He promised he would.”
“He did.”
Harry had not remained within the home long after leaving Ariana’s room, but Albus managed to have a brief conversation with the boy before bidding him farewell.
“Mother said you used a patronus charm.”
“Only because of the positivity it takes to conjure one. It will help her to have that kind of positive magic surrounding her.”
“Will you teach me how to do it?”
“Of course. It will help if your mother learns it too.”
“It’s not an easy spell…”
“No, but you and your mother will be able to do it, and Abe when he is a little older.”
“And Ariana…?”
“I hope so,” Harry said sincerely. “The day she can cast a corporeal patronus is the day you no longer need to be worried about her, Albus. Such a spell requires the ability to truly call upon a happiness so vividly that it fills every fibre of your being. If she can do that, there is nothing she can’t do.”
“Do you think she might?” Albus asked nervously.
“I don’t know, but she is not a lost cause yet, Albus. I will do everything I can to help her. Most of the work will be up to Ariana. If she wants to get better, I think she just might manage it.”
It was a rather bittersweet ending to the conversation, but here and now, Albus believed there was at least a part of his sister that wished to be better, to not be so haunted by her experiences that the rest of her days would be spent within these four walls living in abject misery.
Even so, although Harry had been quite positive, he had made no promises, only that he would do all he could to guide Ariana to where she needed to be.
“You look well,” he said with a smile as the girl continued brushing her hair.
She offered him a guarded smile.
“I don’t think I have ever slept so well.”
“No bad dreams?”
“No, I dreamt of Harry’s thestral. It was like it was watching over me, keeping all the bad things away.”
“It’s like a protector for you.”
Ariana nodded and continued brushing her hair, and Albus left her to it, shooting another glance at the mesmerising light illuminating the room.
Yes, he did not doubt that the road ahead of her would be a long and difficult one, but already, he was truly hopeful that all might just be well after so many years of worrying about the girl.
“Is she awake?” his mother asked as he entered the kitchen once more.
“She is brushing her hair.”
“Brushing her hair?” his mother gasped.
Albus nodded as he took his seat at the table and helped himself to a slice of toast whilst she went to check on Ariana for herself.
She returned only a few moments later, still smiling, but in something of a state of shock.
“I think I’m going to take a turn or two around the village,” she announced. “Will you be okay here, for a little while, Albus?”
Before he could even answer, she was putting her coat on and said nothing else as she exited through the back door of home, and then the rear gate, evidently to come to terms with what she had seen.
Such a simple thing was indeed quite the breakthrough, after all, and although Albus knew his mother would not get her hopes up for a while yet, he did not doubt that she was just as pleased as he was to see Ariana doing something other than staring into the candlelight.
(Break)
Hardwin had his reservations about giving the cloak to Henry before we took him to Hogwarts to attend his first year of school, as did I, but my father was very specific that when my son first ventured out into the world alone, he should not be without it.
Hardwin does not doubt that the boy will get himself into trouble using it, and I agree, but really, how much trouble can he possibly cause?
I will likely regret contemplating such a question, but I feel better for him having it. A Potter he may be by name, but he is still a Peverell through and through.
That is something that must not be forgotten, especially as he seems to have a relationship with the cloaked figure my father spoke of so candidly.
Henry has not mentioned it so much these past moons, but whenever we walk by the church, I hear him saying a silent prayer to the figure he believes watches over him.
Were it not for my father telling me his tale, I might think my son to be mad in his own way. No, he is not mad, and I should no longer dismiss what he claims to be there.
I still feel it lingering on the edge of my very consciousness, and even find comfort in the presence, even if the story my father shared was as unbelievable as it was unsettling.
No, Death is among us here in the village, and with my son more than any other.
Maybe Henry is right to offer his words.
Perhaps against his better judgement, Harry had opted to once more brave a trip on what was The Knight Bus of this time to visit Diagon Alley.
Knowing it was likely he would find himself here for prolonged periods of time, he wanted to familiarise himself with his surroundings, and visiting the most popular magical area in Britain seemed to be a good place to start.
Having alighted the carriage, still driven by the rather eerie man, he’d passed through The Leaky Cauldron and entered the alley itself. Much to his relief, the layout was as familiar to him as it was from his own time, place, or whatever these odd experiences were.
Many of the shops he came upon were the very same he knew well enough, with only a few differences of note. Florean Fortescue’s did not yet exist, and nor did Eeylop’s Owl Emporium with one being an apothecary, and the latter a shop selling a selection of exotic meats.
All else appeared to be as Harry remembered, down to Ollivander’s which had been in the very same spot for centuries.
Even so, he was glad he came, if only to experience something familiar here, but if Harry was honest with himself, he needed space from Godric’s Hollow to clear his mind.
It had been a rather trying day that had led him here.
He was glad he was able to work with Ariana Dumbledore. Merlin knew the girl needed all the help she could get and were it not for his own Dumbledore’s certainty that she could’ve been helped, he might think his efforts to be for nothing. However, even now, he was taken aback by just how much he had managed to get through to her in such a short amount of time.
Maybe it would prove to only be a temporary relief for the girl, but he was hopeful that was not so, so long as their work continued.
More than the sobering experience of feeling the chaotic, volatile nature of his magic was yet another change of his own that had given him pause.
Over the past few years, he’d become fond of his stag patronus. It had felt as though he had yet another precious thing of his parents with them, something he had so little of either James or Lily Potter.
The thestral appearing had been quite the surprise; one he did not doubt came courtesy from Death itself, perhaps as reminder of the vow he’d given, or maybe even a gift from the disembodied voice that was now watching over him.
Truthfully, Harry didn’t know what to make of it, but he would mourn the loss of his stag whilst he continued to try to embrace all of the changes he’d endured these past months.
“Sorry,” he murmured as he inadvertently bumped into a man exiting Gringotts.
The man glared at him, though his eyes widened as Harry met his gaze, almost in recognition.
What was more troubling, however, was that Harry felt as though he had seen him before, and the name of his godfather died on his lips before he could utter it.
This man may resemble Sirius in many ways, but it wasn’t him.
“You boy, have you ever been near Sherwood Forest?”
Harry immediately shook his head, a little too quickly for the man’s liking judging by the suspicious expression he adopted.
“I’m from just outside of London. Why would I go to Sherwood Forest?” Harry asked, his accent leaving no mistake as to where he hailed from.
Had his life been different, and he’d grown up in Godric’s Hollow, he’d likely have a Welsh dialect, but as with many things in his life, it had not been because of Voldemort.
“You have no idea who I am, do you?”
“Should I?”
Harry didn’t doubt this man was a Black, and judging by the rather gawdy ring he wore on his right hand, the very same he’d seen in various portraits around Grimmauld Place, the current lord, though the name of this one eluded him.
“Lord Orion Sirius Black. Ah, the name is familiar to you.”
“I think everyone has heard of your family, Lord Black,” Harry snorted.
“Indeed, but you have me at a loss. You are?”
“No one,” Harry answered with a shrug. “Just a boy looking for some potion ingredients. Wow, is that Stubby Boardman over there?”
“Stubby Boardman?”
Orion Black turned away, and Harry used the very brief distraction to vanish within the folds of his cloak, much to the surprise of the man he’d unwittingly found himself conversing with.
“Boy, where did you go?” he asked confusedly, his gaze sweeping up and down the length of the alleyway.
Harry knew it probably hadn’t been wise to do what he’d done, but Orion Black had caught him off guard, and he didn’t know what to say to the man, how to answer his questions, especially when he already seemed to be suspicious of him.
Had he been one of the men he’d confronted in the woods?
It made sense.
He’d mentioned Sherwood Forest, and Harry once more cursed himself for being glimpsed by the woman he’d come across during the excursion.
She had seen him, just as he’d thought, had told the others of him, and now, he’d drawn some unwanted attention to himself. He would need to be careful now, avoid running into Orion Black again in the hope the man had other things to occupy his mind other than a boy who’d seemingly vanished before his very eyes.
With that in mind, he carefully made his way back towards The Leaky Cauldron where he would be a willing passenger on the damned carriage that would get him out of here.
Besides, there was somewhere else he needed to be, and not knowing when the call to return would come, he had no time to waste in his efforts to help Ariana Dumbledore as much as he could whilst he was here.
(Break)
It was in a state of shock that she found herself wandering through the village.
Kendra could not remember the last time she had seen anything from her daughter resembling a smile, let alone her going to the trouble of brushing her hair. It was such a simple yet incredible thing to be greeted by upon opening the door to her bedroom, and yet, she could scarcely believe her own eyes.
What countless healers had failed to do these past years, Harry Peverell, if that was indeed who he truly was, had gotten through to the girl.
Kendra had witnessed and felt it for herself, the magic he had cast and just how calm and patient he had been, and it seemed to be almost effortless on his part.
His patronus charm alone had truly been exceptional, and even Ariana had been enraptured by the ethereal creature. The entire room had filled with a warmth the girl had been lacking all this time, and even now, it seemed to linger in the light the boy had conjured.
Truthfully, it was nothing short of a miracle.
“Mrs Dumbledore, are you quite alright? You look as though you’ve had quite the scare,” Bathilda Bagshot greeted her as she was passing the church. “Oh, come along. I think a cup of tea might do you some good.”
Kendra did not know what to say and allowed herself to be led towards a home a short distance away, where she was quickly assisted into a chair at a kitchen table ladened with parchment.
“My apologies for the mess,” Bathilda offered. “I’m in the middle of some important research for my next project. Here, drink.”
She placed a large cup of tea into Kendra’s hand before joining her, moving some of her notes aside.
“She was brushing her hair.”
Bathilda shot her a questioning look.
“Ariana, she was brushing her hair, and she even smiled at me.”
“Oh, that is good news.”
Kendra nodded.
“I don’t know how he did it. I saw what he did, but he got through to her. He really got through to her. She even let him hold her hand.”
Bathilda’s expression of joy became one of confusion.
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
“Harry,” Kendra whispered. “He came to the house yesterday, and…he was incredible.”
“The boy claiming to be a Peverell?”
Kendra frowned.
Whether he was a Peverell or not did not matter. He had found a way to help her daughter much more than any other had done thus far.
“I don’t know if he is a Peverell or not. I haven’t forgotten what you have told me of them, but what he did…”
“What did he do?”
“He sat with her, spoke with her, and cast a patronus charm. Ariana said that his magic was cold, was dangerous to his enemies, but when he used the spell, the entire house changed. I could feel it too, Bathilda, the warmth and love of the spell and even how it calmed Ariana.”
“A patronus charm, from a boy so young?”
“I wouldn’t believe it too if I hadn’t seen it for myself. It was a thestral.”
“A thestral?” Bathilda gasped. “An omen of Death.”
Kendra shook her head.
“I know it is difficult to believe, Bathilda, but I know what I saw and felt. He says that he is going to teach her Occlumency to help her overcome her struggles, and this morning, she wasn’t just sitting in the dark. She slept all night for the first time in years and even smiled.”
Bathilda still seemed to be rather reticent.
“My dear, if he truly is a Peverell, then it will be nothing short of a miracle, and even more so if he is able to help your daughter, but…”
“But what?”
“I cannot fathom how he is what he claims to be. There is nothing to suggest the Peverell line continued. None have been seen nor heard of in centuries, and for one to emerge from nowhere is quite impossible. I mean, two of the three traceable lines merged with the Potters and Gaunts.”
“What of the third?”
“Abruptly ended before that happened, but I cannot even begin to imagine why someone would attempt to use such a name. The Peverells were held in the highest of esteem here in the village, but outside of it…”
“Go on,” Kendra urged.
Bathilda released a deep sigh.
“They were the family others spoke of the same way we think of the Blacks, perhaps with a more troubling reputation. The tales of what they did to their enemies…Of course, most of it is likely hearsay we cannot hope to prove or disprove. All I am saying is that I find it difficult to believe he is a Peverell, and even if he is, he should be treated cautiously. We may not be able to prove anything, but so many stories and such a reputation are scarcely born from nothing.”
Kendra nodded her understanding.
“Would you like to meet him to see for yourself? He will be arriving at the house shortly to see the children. Maybe it will set your mind at ease.”
“I think that would be an excellent idea, and do not worry, I have no intention of asking him anything untoward. I would merely like to meet him so that I might get a measure of the boy who makes such a bold claim. Perhaps there might even be a way of proving who he truly is,” she added thoughtfully.
(Break)
He was undoubtedly in the right place.
He could even see the several pairs of footsteps that had stomped through the forest the previous evening. The issue he had was that there was so many belonging to both the wizards and muggles that it was impossible to figure out who each had belonged to.
Worse still, there appeared to be no trace of the boy that had interrupted them, no residual magic, no unintentionally dropped items, and were it not for what he’d witnessed himself and the memory of his wife, Marius wouldn’t struggle to believe he’d not been here at all.
Even so, he was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, and though his efforts here had been for nothing, it was not in his nature to give up so easily. No, he would discover who had dared interject themselves into the pursuit, and they would pay for the transgression against him.
“Nothing?” Belby asked.
“Not a damned thing,” Marius grumbled, swirling the single malt around his glass.
“But you wife saw him,” Rosier asked for the third time.
“I saw the memory myself. He was there.”
“I don’t doubt you or your wife, Black,” Belby assured him. “The little sod threw me halfway across the damned woods.”
Marius frowned as he nodded.
He had his own personal vendetta against him.
Cassandra had taken rather ill this morning and was currently plagued by an unforgiving bout of nausea courtesy of the curse she had fallen victim to. Fortunately, the healer he’d sent for had assured him it would pass on its own, but Marius was only more motivated to identify the boy.
“And Alphard does not know him.”
“No, he says there is no such boy at Hogwarts.”
“Couldn’t he be lying?”
“I wouldn’t put it past the little shit,” Marius sighed, “but I do not think so. He pointed out that the boy is certainly not a Potter, even if there is something of a resemblance to them.”
“Then who the devil is he?” Gaunt snapped irritably. “If his eyes are as distinct as you say, someone must know who he is. I’ll turn over every bloody stone in the country until I find him.”
“We will find him, gentlemen. It is just a matter of time. I suggest we quietly put the word around about the boy with the green eyes. Someone will come up with something for us.”
Marius nodded as he took a sip of his drink, frowning as a knock sounded at the door of his study.
“Orion, what’re you doing here?” he asked as his older bother entered. “Has something happened?”
The Lord of the family never visited him here.
He made a habit of requesting any he wished to speak with make the effort to answer his summons. It was one of the petty ways he liked to wield his power over the other members of the family.
“No, nothing,” he said dismissively, “but I just had a most interesting conversation with a young man I met in Diagon Alley whilst visiting Gringotts, a certain, distinctly green-eyed boy I suspect you are all quite eager to make the acquaintance of.”
“You found him?” Marius whispered as he stood.
“Purely by chance, but yes, I believe so. He may say that he is not a Potter, but Merlin be damned if he doesn’t look like William. I see him enough in the chambers of the Wizengamot, and that boy may as well have fallen out of his arse.”
“So, he is a Potter then?”
“I do not see how, and more troubling is that he vanished almost before my very eyes. I admit, I am intrigued, gentlemen, and I intend on getting to the bottom of just who this boy is. He was hiding something. He recognised me, and I foolishly fell for his distraction, but I do not know how he vanished into thin air the way he did.”
He became rather pensive, and Marius shared a glance with the other gathered members of the hunting party, each of them taken aback by just how perplexed the usually calm Orion Black was.
“Who the bloody hell is Stubby Boardman?” he growled irritably, shaking his head as he took a seat.
Marius shared a look of confusion with his companions; none of them able to answer the question they’d been asked.
(Break)
He breathed a sigh of relief as he arrived back in the village, both for getting away from Orion Black, and no longer finding himself on The Knight Bus. Still, Harry cursed himself for seemingly provoking the ire of the last family he wished to draw attention from.
Here, the Blacks had not been reduced to only a single criminal on the run from the Ministry of Magic. No, the family had yet to be torn apart by war and was thriving under the leadership of Sirius’s great grandfather, who Harry had no intention of finding himself at odds with.
Was this some kind of joke of the cloaked figure?
If it was, it wasn’t funny.
He didn’t see how falling foul of the Blacks was supposed to benefit him in any way.
Shaking his head of those thoughts having already decided to be considerably more cautious, he knocked on the door to the Dumbledore home, where he was greeted by the enthusiastic Aberforth as it was opened.
“Harry!”
“How are you, Abe?”
The boy was so very different from the surly man he’d met in The Hog’s Head, and he was still none the wise to what had transpired leading to him taking ownership of the rather unpleasant pub.
Maybe losing his mother and sister was something he’d never gotten over, or perhaps there was much more to it than that.
Harry didn’t know, but it was almost impossible to put the two different Aberforth Dumbledore’s he knew together and draw and comparison. Even so, he was hopeful the fate of the boy would change.
“I’m good,” Abe answered, gesturing for him to follow.
Harry did so, and was next greeted by the smiling Albus, who’d been reading a transfiguration text of sorts at the kitchen table.
“I don’t know what you did, but Ariana…”
He broke off and shook his head.
“She was brushing her hair this morning, Harry.”
It seemed to be the simplest of things, and yet, he understood the significance of it. Ariana had spent several years now hiding in the shadows, consumed by the terrible thoughts that haunted her, unable to escape her own mind for any significant amount of time.
Last night was likely the first time she had done so, yet, there was still so much work ahead of her. Nonetheless, it was the positive start he’d hoped for, and though he was still reluctant to declare any kind of success, perhaps his own Dumbledore had been right about the sister he had lost.
Now, it was up to Harry to ensure that history did not repeat itself.
It would be no easy task, and truthfully, Harry knew that much of it would be out of his hands.
Ariana would need to demonstrate resilience and an unshakeable willingness to get better, or ultimately, it did not matter what assistance he was able to offer her.
“I’m pleased, Albus,” he said sincerely. “It’s not going to be easy for her. She will need all of you. There will be good days, and there will still be bad ones, but it is all part of a journey that will be ongoing. Occlumency is a difficult magic to master, and that is just the beginning of it for Ariana, but what I saw from her yesterday is very good. Speaking of which…”
“She is waiting for you,” Albus chuckled.
“Then I best not keep her waiting any longer,” Harry declared, offering the boys a nod before he made his way up the stairs, and knocked gently on the door of the girl.
Despite the light he’d conjured still being there, much of the room was still plunged in darkness, reminding him once more of the enormity of the task ahead, yet, all the encouragement he needed that he was doing the right thing came as the waiting girl smiled brightly at him.
“Hello, Ariana.”
“Hello,” she replied shyly. “I slept last night, really slept.”
Harry nodded as he took a seat next to her.
“I’m glad. It is tiring but getting as much sleep as you can make all the difference. Are you ready to begin?”
“What are we going to do today?”
She was becoming just a little nervous, and Harry cast his patronus to calm her.
“Just this, for now. I think being around this magic will help you a lot. Your own has become unpredictable, and it scares you. When you’re scared, it’s much harder to understand it, let alone control it.”
Ariana nodded, her gaze not leaving the thestral, which was pawing at the ground.
He did not wish for the spell to become a crutch for her. For now, however, it was undeniably important that she was surrounded by such positivity to bolster her.
It was Harry’s hope that one day, perhaps not so soon however, Ariana would be able to confront what was ailing her using only her own mind.
She was not ready for that, not yet, but he was hopeful, and as she took his hand and squeezed it tightly, he returned the gesture, encouraging her with a nod whilst she prepared herself to begin attempting to clear her mind.
(Break)
“Did you see her today?” Albus asked Aberforth.
He nodded.
“It was strange. I don’t remember seeing her smile, and she even let me sit with her longer than she normally does. She was asking me about Hogwarts.”
“If things were different, she would’ve been starting in September.”
“Do you think she will ever get to go?”
Albus released a deep breath.
He had hoped that she would, and although she’d had quite the breakthrough the previous day, he could not see it happening. Her trauma was deeply entrenched within her, and it would be too risky for her to be among so many if her magic was to react unfavourably.
Hogwarts would likely be too overwhelming for Ariana.
“I don’t think so, Abe, but maybe Mother will be able to teach her at home.”
His younger brother nodded sadly.
“Or maybe Harry. He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”
“He is, but I do not think Harry will have the time to teach Ariana. He didn’t go to Hogwarts either,” Albus pointed out.
“Then how is he so good?”
Albus shook his head.
It was something he had been pondering too. Maybe he had been taught by his own parents, or it was possible he attended another school entirely. There were several dotted around the wizarding world, and he had been missing for the entire school year after they’d met.
“I expect he does go to school, just not Hogwarts.”
Aberforth frowned as he nodded and shifted his gaze towards the backdoor as it opened.
His mother had returned, and with her was Bathilda Bagshot, who was looking around the kitchen questioningly, though she paused as a wave of warm magic washed over the entirety of the house.
“He is here.”
“He arrived a few minutes ago,” Albus explained. “He’s with Ariana.”
“That is some rather exceptional magic,” Bathilda declared. “You say he is just a boy?”
“Around Albus’s age.”
Bathilda nodded thoughtfully, accepting the chair offered to her by Abe.
“Regardless of whether or not he is indeed a Peverell, his magic is certainly quite astonishing,” the woman murmured.
“You do not believe he is?” Abe asked.
“I do not,” Bathilda said unashamedly. “As I was saying to your mother, a family that vanished more than eight centuries ago now is incredibly unlikely to resurface in the form of a lone boy.”
“Well, I don’t think he is lying. Why would he?” Abe pressed.
“Why would he indeed,” Bathilda echoed.
The warmth of the magic remained with them, and Albus once more lost himself in thoughts of his friend and his origins. He could not understand why Harry would lie about such a thing, not if it would draw significant attention to him.
He remembered what little Bathilda had said about the Peverell family, and it was not a name that would be carried lightly according to the woman.
Still, Harry had looked him in the eye and told him that he was who he claimed to be, and much like Abe, Albus believed him.
He remained lost in his thoughts whilst his mother and Bathilda exchanged pleasantries, and it wasn’t until maybe an hour or so later that Albus heard the stairs creak as Harry descended them.
He entered the kitchen, his expression cautious as he briefly eyed Bathilda before offering the Dumbledore’s a nod.
“She is resting, but she is doing really well. It’s not easy for her trying to even think about everything and especially coming to terms with it. What will help is if she can accept her magic. It is so volatile because she was tried to suppress it for so long. She blames it for what happened, and I am trying to get her to see that isn’t true.”
“She likes your magic.”
Harry smiled at Albus’s mother.
“And she will learn to understand and embrace her own. I think when she has made a little more progress, it would help to get her a wand, even as just an outlet for her magic to be released when it becomes too much for her to handle.”
“Could that not be dangerous?”
“I think she is more of a danger to herself and the rest of you without it. A wand will bond with her magic, and maybe even help calm it, even just a little.”
Albus looked towards his mother who nodded, though she did not seem certain.
He understood her reticence. He had witnessed Ariana’s unfettered magic himself, and it was frightening to behold. Arming her, especially if she was to take leave of her senses was a significant risk.
“Oh, Sorry, I am Bathilda Bagshot, one of the neighbours in the village,” Bathilda interjected.
Judging by Harry’s expression, he recognised the woman.
“Harry Peverell.”
Bathilda eyed him curiously, evidently deciding whether or not he was lying.
“Peverell, you say? The Peverells are…”
“Thought to be extinct after Iolanthe Peverell married Hardwin Potter, some eight hundred years ago.”
“Well, you know your history.”
“Iolanthe’s father was Ignotus Peverell, and his two brothers Cadmus and Antioch. Cadmus committed suicide after the death of the woman he intended to marry, and Antioch was murdered in his sleep.”
“Is that so?” Bathilda asked interestedly, evidently not being aware of such information.
“It is.”
The woman frowned.
“So, you will know of the family home.”
“I do not.”
“Ah, then maybe you would like to see it. It is not so far from here.”
“I would appreciate if you could show me.”
It was an odd back and forth, almost as though Bathilda was challenging Harry to prove himself, and Harry was not backing down. Albus did not doubt the woman had something in mind in a bid to call his bluff. Still, as Bathilda stood and began leading the way, Harry did not hesitate to follow.
Albus did so too along with Abe and his mother, none of them uttering a word as they trailed behind the duo, who came to a stop outside a gate only a few streets over.
The house that could barely be seen in the distance for how overgrown the foliage was a rather modest one, larger than the average house in the village, but for a family with such a reputation, not what Albus would expect.
Even less so was the magic he could feel radiating the air around him, almost warning him not to take another step closer. As such, he placed a hand on Abe’s shoulder to prevent him doing so. Harry however, had no such reservations.
Bathilda’s expression no longer hid her disbelief of the boy but she watched curiously as he stepped towards the gate and placed a hand on the latch.
With a loud creak, it opened, and Bathilda Bagshot gasped, her eyes bulging as a wave of the coldest magic Albus had ever experienced washed over them all.
He shivered uncontrollably, and wrapped Abe up in his arms, and in turn, their mother pulled them both to her chest.
The only one who wasn’t affected was Harry, and Albus would swear that his eyes began to glow almost eerily, but before he could be certain, nothing seemed to be amiss.
“Merlin, you are a Peverell,” Bathilda whispered almost apologetically. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
Before she could find her tongue, the small group were interrupted by the arrival of a much larger one as most of the villagers began descending upon them, undoubtedly drawn here by the wave of magic that would’ve washed over the village.
Only their footsteps could be heard, each wearing a matching expression of awe as Bathilda Bagshot.
“My great grandfather said they would be back,” an ancient, crooked woman wheezed, smiling a toothless smile. “He said when the world had need of them, the Peverells would return.”
The other villagers murmured amongst themselves, each of them likely having been told stories that had been passed down from generation to generation.
Harry seemed to be rather lost for words and only offered a guarded smile in response before turning and making his way towards what was likely a dilapidated house belonged to him.
Albus knew he’d not been lying, and as the shock of what had transpired wore off, the villagers began talking amongst themselves excitedly, wondering aloud what Harry’s arrival meant.
When the world had need of them…
That was what the crone had said.
Had Harry returned for a reason not yet known to them?
Albus did not know, and truthfully, the reason why didn’t matter. First and foremost, Harry was his friend, and so far, he had done nothing but help hm and his family when all others had given up.
Still, he did not miss those of Godric’s Hollow getting caught up in the furore and excitement of the arrival of a Peverell, but there were those who appeared to be perhaps a little troubled by it.
Why?
Albus was not sure, but maybe there would be those willing to share the stories of the Peverells that seemed to shape their legacy. More than likely, they would be ridiculous tales, but Albus could not deny that he was interested in hearing them, no matter how odd they might prove to be.