A Wand for the Woes
He could remember his first and only visit here shortly after his eleventh birthday, when he’d been only slightly less clueless about the world around him than he was now.
Harry liked to think he’d experienced a lot of what magic could offer him, but truthfully, it had only been after he’d lost Sirius that he’d begun to enjoy a freedom of sense.
Still, he hadn’t allowed himself to focus so much on what future he might have, not when both Death and Fate saw fit to use him for their own ends. Perhaps Harry would not even survive what it was that lie ahead of him, but he’d already accepted that.
He didn’t fear dying.
If anything, death would be little more than all that had plagued him his entire life, merely an end to the misery he’d endured. Nonetheless, it wasn’t as though he did not long for better, that he wasn’t willing to fight for a semblance of happiness, some years of peace, and perhaps even a family of his own.
His shook his head of those thoughts as they sound of approaching footsteps could be heard emerging from the rear of the shop.
“Ah, I do not believe I had the pleasure of providing you with your first wand, young man,” the elderly man greeted him.
This wasn’t the same Ollivander who Harry had met, but an Ollivander indeed. This one possessed the same pale, penetrating stare but kindly smile to go along with them.
“You did not,” Harry confirmed, “and it isn’t me that I am here to discuss with you, Mr Ollivander.”
“No?”
“There is a young lady who is need of a wand. She is unable to visit because she is currently being treated for a complex malady. I was hoping you would be good enough to pay her a home visit. I will personally compensate you for your time.”
Ollivander waved him off.
“That will not be necessary. I am happy to oblige where I am required, so long as no laws are being broken mind.”
“She’s of age,” Harry assured him.
“Then I will be pleased to assist the young lady. I only require her name and an address.”
“Ariana Dumbledore. She lives in Godric’s Hollow.”
“Ah, indeed. I heard what has befallen the young lady and her family. I do not usually comment on the workings of the Wizengamot, but I must say, Percival Dumbledore was the victim of an injustice. Life in prison for defending his daughter. It is an absolute disgrace.”
Harry nodded his agreement, and Ollivander deflated.
“She is quite unwell then?”
“She is, but getting a wand to bond with will go a long way in calming her magic. I am working with her.”
Ollivander offered him an appreciative smile.
“I am pleased. I’m sorry, I’m not sure I caught your name.”
“Harry Peverell,” he replied offering his hand.
“Peverell you say?” Ollivander whispered, his curious gaze meeting Harry’s. “Yes, I have heard of your family, but not in a very long time. My father, rest his soul, used to tell some rather fanciful tales about your ancestors. I expect you are aware of them.”
“I’ve heard a few.”
Ollivander chuckled and tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially.
“Say no more, Mr Peverell, but if you do happen to find a certain wand in your possession, I would be most obliged to examine it, discreetly, of course. Your secret will be quite safe with me.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for it,” Harry snorted.
Ollivander eyed him curiously for a moment.
“Well, if there is any that might have an idea…no, forget I mentioned it. He wouldn’t tell you anything.”
“Who?”
Ollivander frowned as he leaned in.
“If there is anyone who may have seen or heard anything about the elder wand, it would be Gregorovitch.”
“The Bulgarian wandmaker.”
“The very same,” Ollivander whispered. “A few years ago now, shortly before my father died, Gregorovitch visited him. Oh, the two of them often exchanged letters discussing their craft, but this was different. I’ve met him twice in my life, Mr Peverell, and the second time, he seemed frightened, as though something was amiss. I didn’t hear much of the conversation between them, but Gregorovitch definitely said that he’d found something after all these years, and as a wandmaker, there is nothing that any would wish to possess more than the Deathstick. I don’t know what else they discussed, but my father threw him out, saying that he would bring a curse upon himself at the very least, and Gregorovitch was terrified. He pleaded with my father to help him.”
“So, you think he might have it?”
Ollivander hummed.
“If he doesn’t, he knows where it is.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully, wondering if he should look into it. Maybe he would discuss it with the portraits.
“Tomorrow, Mr Peverell. I will visit the young lady tomorrow after I have closed the shop.”
“Thank you, Mr Ollivander, for everything.”
“Oh, you twat!” Harry cursed, sucking his thumb where he had just struck it with a hammer. “It’s not funny, you gits. Why can’t I just use magic?”
“The physical exertion will do you good. There is much more satisfaction in manual labour when you use your hands.”
“I won’t have any bloody hands left by the end of this,” Harry grumbled.
It wasn’t the first time he’d hit himself with the hammer, nor cut himself, or had to fish splinters out of his skin, but Cadmus Peverell was right, there was something quite satisfying about doing much of the work by hand.
Already, he had begun repairing the woodwork around the home that needed it, and the supplies for a more modern kitchen and bathroom had arrived along with suitable furniture for the living room and bedrooms.
There was still much work ahead of him before the house resembled something somewhat familiar, and it was rather amusing to see the reactions of the three brothers when Harry had explained toilets and plumbing.
Not that he fully understood how it worked, but it seemed he would be figuring it out soon enough.
For now, however, he had somewhere else he needed to be, and after casting a few simple healing spells on his throbbing hands, he removed the overalls he’d been wearing.
Having spent so many hours in the Dursley garden as a child, he doubted he would truly enjoy physical labour as he may have had it not been for his relatives, but not knowing when he would inevitably be called back, Harry wanted to make sure the work on the house was done.
Still, he wasn’t neglecting his studies, nor the work he was undertaking under the guidance of the Peverells, who truly were exceptional wizards in their own right, but it meant that his days were full, leaving him little time to rest.
“Ah, the wandmaker will be arriving soon,” Antioch said interestedly.
Harry nodded.
“And have you decided whether or not you will visit the other in Bulgaria?”
He frowned at the question.
Harry could not deny that he was curious, and Ollivander had seemed most sincere in his belief that Gregorovitch might just be able to tell him more than he expected about the elder wand, and even where it may be.
“I will,” he assured the man who was rather keen that Harry possessed it, along with the cloak. “I need to look into it. I don’t know anything about Gregorovitch or how dangerous he might be.”
“That would be wise,” Ignotus said encouragingly. “Now, that is for another day. You have a young lady who requires your assistance.”
Checking the time, he nodded.
“I’ll be back.”
“And we will be waiting,” Ignotus assured him.
Harry shook his head at the stacks of supplies that had been delivered, knowing that they too would be waiting for him when he returned home. Two hundred galleons. That was the total sum of what he’d spent on everything he would need, but it was the hours of labour that would truly cost him.
He just hoped it wasn’t much more than a blackened thumb nail and a few more splinters, though he already knew he would hear the laughter of the Peverells ringing throughout the house soon enough.
(Break)
Dear Albus,
It is not often that I receive letters I find to be so intriguing, and certainly not from young men of your age. You must possess quite the keen mind and interest in Alchemy to even consider the uses of dragon blood. I must, however, urge caution that such an undertaking on your part must be a labour of love.
There are dozens of breeds of dragons, and countless alchemical formulae that would need to be investigated to even begin to understand what such a little-known compound can be used for.
Although you will indeed be attempting the most groundbreaking of research, I may have some works in my collection that will be of use to you, and I would like to offer my assistance upon completion of your final year of schooling.
Albus, I am quite eager to see what it is the two of us can achieve, but for the most part, this is to be your work that you are to be credited with.
I look forward to seeing what our time together can do for the betterment of alchemical studies.
Best wishes for you last year at Hogwarts.
Nicholas Flamel
Truthfully, he’d not even expected a reply to his letter explaining his idea, and certainly not for the man to offer his help, which Albus appreciated greatly.
Although Transfiguration was his passion, it rarely offered a challenge for him, and he’d come to enjoy the intricate nature of potions, plants, and other ingredients, and the effects that each could have when added to brews.
Alchemy took that study to new heights for him, and it was something he’d taken a very keen interest in over the past year.
It was when he’d come across a book discussing creatures and their uses in potions that he’d begun considering dragon’s blood and how not a single brew he’d ever come across made use of it.
As expected, Professor Sharpe had urged Albus to look into the matter himself when he’d questioned the man, and he’d quickly discovered that dragon’s blood was something that had not been researched thoroughly enough.
Given they were among the most dangerous of creatures, there were few willing to volunteer to take samples from them. Even those working in sanctuaries were most cautious around their charges.
Albus, however, was determined to investigate it, and with Nicholas Flamel’s assistance and approval, doing so had become just that little bit easier.
It was the sound of a familiar voice downstairs that pulled him from his musings, and Albus placed his letter in the drawer of his modest desk before leaving his room to greet his friend.
He found his mother fussing over Harry’s hand whilst she chided him for wounding himself.
“I didn’t intentionally hit myself with a hammer.”
His mother tutted as she examined his blackened thumbnail, tapping it with her wand.
“Better?” she asked.
Harry nodded appreciatively, and his mother rolled her eyes at him.
“You know, if you’re going to do foolish things, you should work on healing spells.”
“I know a few.”
“Clearly not enough. Now, sit down. You have time to eat before Mr Ollivander arrives.”
Albus did not even attempt to hide his amusement as he joined the other boy, and Harry scowled at him.
“The building is going well then?”
“I’ve not even started the harder stuff yet. It’s just repair work.”
Albus chuckled as he helped himself to some bread and soup, not missing that his mother was already fretting. She was worried about Ariana receiving her wand, but Albus agreed with Harry.
If it would help his sister’s plight, she should not be deprived of it. Already. She would not be attending Hogwarts for the foreseeable future, so, at the very least, she should have a wand.
“How are the Rune studies going, Abe?” Harry asked.
The boy nodded enthusiastically as he peered over the top of one of the books Albus had given him.
“Good,” he grunted.
“You won’t get much more out of him than that,” Albus sighed. “He’s obsessed. He’s already drawing his first runes on parchment.”
“Is that good?”
“Well, at Hogwarts, he won’t be allowed to until his fourth year. It can be dangerous if it is not done right. Don’t you know anything about runes?”
“Not really,” Harry admitted.
“You should,” Albus urged. “It’s one of the most important and useful magics.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully, though the conversation went no further as a knock sounded at the door, and Albus’s mother went to answer it.
“He’s here,” she whispered nervously.
Only a moment later, she returned with the very same, elderly man Albus had first met six years prior, and who he’d seen again last year when Abe had gotten his first wand.
“Ah, young Albus,” Ollivander greeted him. “Let me see, yes,13 inches, hornbeam, and with the tail hair of a particularly majestic unicorn.”
Albus nodded as Ollivander’s gaze shifted towards Aberforth.
“12 inches, willow, dragon heartstring. An exceptional wand in its own right. It is serving you well?”
“Yes, Mr Ollivander.”
“I expected nothing less. Now, I believe I am here to see the young lady of the house. Mrs Dumbledore, if you would be kind enough to show me to her.”
Albus watched as she led the way from the room with both Ollivander and Harry following.
He offered the woman an encouraging smile, his dinner all but forgotten as he felt for any disturbances in the air. This would likely not be easy for Ariana, but he was hopeful that it would indeed help her with what was ailing her.
She needed it.
Despite how well she was doing with Harry’s assistance, Albus knew there was still much work to be done.
(Break)
Although she had undoubtedly suffered something of a setback two days prior, Ariana had not allowed that to ruin the routine she had managed to get herself into.
Every morning now for the past several days, she had taken to brushing her hair, focusing on the menial task to give her something resembling normality, well, what most would consider such.
For her, normal had become staring into the lit the candle with every second spent doing her utmost not to lose herself to the guilt that plagued her.
She way trying.
She was trying to not let it eat away at her anymore, to not let it stop her from living her life, and the letters from her father had only solidified that desire within her.
To my beautiful Ariana,
My days are spent here mostly in silence, but it is thoughts of you, your mother, and brothers that make them go by easily enough. I will not lie to you and say that Azkaban is a pleasant place to be, but I would rather be here than live with the knowledge that I did not defend you when you needed me most.
I feel no guilt or regret for what I did, and nor should you.
I did what I know was right, and whenever things become overwhelming, I remember that and think of all those memories we made together. There are lots that you won’t remember, like how it was me that heard your first word.
Dad.
Your mother was furious that it was me, but what she doesn’t know is that I may have cheated. I spent hours with you, coaching you to say it, and when you started, you did not stop.
I like to think it was how happy you saw it made me when you said it that made you repeat it so much. It is one of the very best memories, and I hope that you can smile like that again one day, when you’re ready.
All my love, always, Dad
Having heard the words read to her by her mother, it was easy to read the letter after, and already, she had learned it by heart. Her father wanted nothing more than for her to get better, for what he did for her not to have been done so in vein.
Today was another step into making that a reality, for her and for her father, and even the rest of the family.
“Who is it?” she asked as a gentle knock sounded at her door.
“It’s me,” her mother announced as she entered. “Harry is here with Mr Ollivander.”
Ariana nodded as she reached up towards the orb of light, brightening it with just a touch.
“Sometimes, we have to turn the light on,” she said as her mother eyed her questioningly.
Harry offered her a nod of approval, and Ariana straightened out her dress as she took in the appearance of the elderly man who entered behind him.
“You must be Ariana,” he said with a smile. “Yes, I can see it. You do look very much like your mother.”
Ariana managed a weak smile, relaxing as Harry took her hand.
“Now, I understand you are in need of your first wand. Not to worry, I will do my utmost to make it a most interesting and enjoyable experience for you. We do not want a repeat of what happened in 1771.”
“What happened in 1771?” Ariana asked curiously as a tape measure began taking her measurements.
“Ah, well, a certain Archibald Goldsmith, have you heard of him?”
Ariana shook her head and watched as Mr Ollivander began sorting through a trunk he’d removed from his pocket.
“Archibald Goldsmith became rather famous for his lack of attentiveness, and it all began in the shop of my great grandfather, the very same shop that is now mine. He too was being fitted for his first wand, and as he was wont to do, was not paying attention, nor was my ancestor for that matter. Archibald, unintentionally, I’m sure, placed a wand that had rejected him into his back pocket. The wand did not react kindly to that.”
“It didn’t?” Ariana asked as a wand was placed into her hand before Ollivander immediately removed it.
“No. Unfortunately for Archibald, the wand contained a heartstring from a rather vicious Welsh Green, and it saw fit to blow his right buttock off, earning him the nickname ‘One Cheek’.”
Ariana giggled amusedly as another wand was handed to her.
“If only that was the end of Archibald Goldsmith,” Ollivander sighed. “Somehow, he managed to fumble his way through Hogwarts, mind, he did not get very good grades. I understand that he drew all over his History of Magic NEWT exam paper, a rather unflattering picture of his own one-cheeked backside. As you can imagine, it was not deemed to be ‘Outstanding’.”
Ariana laughed once more as she accepted another wand, and her magic flared, though not as it usually did. No, this time, it was warm, much more controlled, and was grasping onto the magic of the wand tightly.
“Another success,” Ollivander declared. “11 inches, willow, with a tail feather of a magnificent phoenix. It is quite the wand Miss Dumbledore.”
Ariana could only eye the length of wood in awe, a smile cresting her lips.
“Wait, what happened to Archibald Goldsmith?”
“He fell into a well, Miss Dumbledore, and despite his best efforts, he could not get out, not by himself, at least. I understand that he was rescued by a local man, and the two of them became fast friends. Archibald may not have been very attentive, but he was quite brilliant when it came to tap dancing. He went on to invent self-tapping shoes, which are sold to this very day.”
Ariana frowned thoughtfully, but before she could ask any more questions, Ollivander had left the room after bidding her farewell.
It had been an odd experience, and not what she had expected at all, but now, she had a wand, and already, her magic felt just a little more cooperative. She could feel it exploring the relationship with the length of wood she still held, almost as though it was testing its suitability for her to wield it.
“Are you okay?”
Ariana smiled.
“I think he told me that story as a distraction.”
“Partly, but I think he told it to you because it might mean something. Archibald Goldsmith fell down a well, but he was helped out of it and went on to do something great, despite the setback.”
“Self-tapping shoes are great?”
“For people who can’t dance. I think I might buy some for myself. I could tap-dance my way across the village in a pair of those.”
Ariana snorted amusedly before giggling at the thought of Harry doing so.
It would be quite the sight for all the locals to see a Peverell doing that.
“Thank you, Harry, for getting me this,” she said sincerely, holding her new wand aloft.
He offered her a warm smile in response as he took a seat on the bed next to her.
“Maybe we should teach you your first spell,” he suggested, as he drew his own. “Lumos.”
The tip of his wand was lit up at the prompt, and with a nod, Harry encouraged Ariana to give it a try. She wasn’t sure if she was ready, but he seemed to think so, and releasing a deep breath, she braced herself.
“Lumos,” she whispered.
The tip of her own wand was illuminated, and a sense of joy filled her at the success.
“I did it!”
“You did,” Harry beamed, squeezing her hand. “Close your eyes. I want you to feel your magic as it is working.”
Ariana swallowed deeply and did as she was bid, shuddering at the warmth she could feel flowing through her.
“It’s warm,” she whispered. “I’ve never felt my magic like this before. It has always been too hot and too angry.”
“And now, it is happier. It is going to take a lot of work still, but this is exactly what I was hoping for, and now, you have another way of just turning on the light, when you need it.”
Ariana nodded her understanding.
Harry didn’t mean the light in the same way he did with the orb he had created for her, he meant that this was for her magic, for those moments it was restless and angry that she should use it like this to calm it.
“I will,” she promised, wrapping her arms around his neck as the emotions began to overwhelm her.
Instead of her magic reacting to them, she felt, for the first time in as long as she could remember, tears stinging her eyes as they broke free. In this moment, she wasn’t certain what it was she was feeling. It was a myriad of things, happiness, sadness, gratitude, and many others she could not quite figure out, but as she spotted her mother in the doorway of her room, watching her with a look of concern, Ariana smiled reassuringly.
She felt incredible and terrible all at the same time, but at the very least, she was feeling something, and not simply looking into a flickering candle in a bid to avoid all of it.
(Break)
It wasn’t often Bathilda could be pulled away from her work, and there were so very few people who could tempt her with their company. For the most part, she was something of a recluse, preferring the company of her research materials than that of others.
Her husband had been the social butterfly, who she would attend events for, where she would be forced to hold conversations with perhaps the most uninteresting of people imaginable.
She had moved to Godric’s Hollow after Herbert had died from Dragonpox several years prior, their time together cut short, leaving her alone and childless.
The village had been most welcoming to her, and though she was a widow, Bathilda never felt alone but was granted the peace and privacy she craved.
One man she had met during her marriage had been different to most, had a mind similar to her own, and was deeply invested in his work, so, when he wrote inviting her to dine with him, or vice-versa, neither would decline the opportunity to pick the brain of the other.
The Gilded Unicorn was a restaurant reserved for only the most exclusive of guests, for those who need not worry about the cost of a meal or accompanying drinks.
Bathilda would certainly not come here under any other circumstances than for the man she was meeting and were he to insist she paid for the experience, her coffers would be lessened considerably in a single evening.
That would not be so, however. Her companion this evening was the epitome of gentlemanly and would be offended at the very thought of Bathilda reaching for her own purse.
“The lovely Mrs Bagshot,” he greeted her with a reserved yet warm smile. “How long has it been since we last dined together. Two, maybe three years?”
“Closer to three,” Bathilda replied, allowing the waiter to take her coat. “How are things, Mr Nott?”
Cantankerus Nott was several years her senior, a recluse himself, and being the second son was granted the luxury of living a life out of the public eye.
Still, those of magical Britain knew of him and his many published works throughout his life, and Cantankerus was certainly among the most respected of scholars, and it wasn’t as though he wasn’t recognisable.
He was a Nott through and through to his pointed features, dark hair, matching eyes, and lithe build. They all seemed to walk with a similar gait too, which could only be described as quintessentially Nott.
There was something of a swagger to it but lacked the expected arrogance. If anything, it was almost graceful how they swanned about wherever they were.
“Too long,” he sighed, “and for that, you have my apologies. I have been focused on finishing my latest offering, which has now led me onto my next. As you well know, it is not so difficult to lose yourself for many days and weeks whilst the important work is done.”
Bathilda nodded.
She had fallen victim to her own thoroughness more times than she cared to count, and had lost track of the day, and even month from time to time.
“That can all be forgotten for one night, at least,” Nott chuckled. “I knew I was due a break, and I could think of no better way than while away an evening than with you, and some much-needed good food. Now, how have you been keeping?”
“Well enough,” Bathilda replied. “Busy with my own work, of course, and I fear it will be many years before I finish it satisfactorily.”
“A history of magic,” Nott sighed whimsically. “It will be your greatest masterpiece, of that, I have no doubt.”
He raised his expensive glass of whiskey and bowed his head.
“And what is your latest undertaking?” Bathilda asked interestedly.
The man deflated.
“Something I fear will upset many. Already, I have come up against resistance, but you know me, I will not be deterred. I am researching the pureblood families of Britain in a bid to trace the lineages back as far as I possibly can. My aim is to establish a list of the oldest pureblood families, and identify those who have kept to our ways, who have not married outside of magical families.”
Bathilda quirked an eyebrow at the man.
At best, it was a controversial topic to broach. The purebloods were very protective of their status, and many would not like Cantankerus Nott looking into them too closely.
“What inspired such madness?” she asked.
Nott chuckled.
“Well, I was researching the original Wizard’s Council, the predecessor of the Wizengamot, and there were many names not so familiar to me, and others we both know well enough. It wasn’t until I overheard my brother having a conversation with a certain Lord Malfoy that the idea to compile my list struck me. The egotistical git seems to think he can trace his lineage all the way to the days of the council, but when I asked him to provide the information…”
“He wasn’t so forthcoming.”
“He became rather defensive and rude, which, well you know me, only made me more determined. From what I have been able to uncover, the Malfoys have only been here for around five hundred years.”
“Almost half the time they claim.”
“Exactly,” Cantankerus chortled. “Well, I thought it be best there was some transparency among the upper echelons of society, and thus, my work has begun.”
“You’ll be treading on toes.”
Nott merely grinned in response.
“I will be presenting the truth, nothing more, nothing less, and if they do not like it, well, that’s their problem.”
Bathilda could only shake her head in response.
Only Cantankerous Nott would do something so bold as to provoke the ire of perhaps every pureblood family in the country.
“You wouldn’t happen to have come across the name Peverell whilst researching, would you?”
Nott’s expression fell and even became rather troubled.
“More than once, usually mentioned in the minutes taken during the meetings of the council, and not in such a flattering manner. What is your interest in them? You’re not thinking of including them in your book, are you?”
“I hadn’t until recently,” Bathilda sighed. “A family who seemingly died out almost one thousand years ago would hold little interest to most…”
“Except for those of us who grew up hearing stories of them. I can’t say I believed them much, that my grandfather told them to frighten us into behaving, but…”
“But?”
Nott shook his head.
“Reading what the council had to say about them, in their own words, I’m not convinced that the stories were made up at all. There are records I have managed to acquire that speak of their deeds, of several now-extinct families falling foul of the Peverells in the pursuit of acquiring their lands down in Wales. Oh, the accounts are most concerning. I doubt there were few who mourned the loss of them when they died out. The magic they wielded…”
He broke off and shook his head ruefully.
“Well, I recently learned that they did not die out.”
“Come again.”
“The Peverells are very much still around, well, one of them, at least. He recently arrived in the village, shrouded in mystery. He is just a boy on the cusp of manhood, but he has made quite the impression on me. Already, he has proven to be quite the wizard, as enigmatic as any rumour I have uncovered about them.”
“You are certain of this, he is a Peverell?” Nott pressed.
Bathilda nodded.
“I had my doubts, but he waltzed straight into the home that had been left dormant in the village, protected by Merlin-knows-what magic, for almost one thousand years. I have spoken with him personally, felt his magic. He is like no other I have met. Magic doesn’t lie, Mr Nott, and that boy is not lying.”
“Then perhaps I must rethink my research,” the pale Nott murmured. “No, no, it will continue, but you have given me another avenue to explore my dear. Yes, another most intriguing angle.”
“I do not believe he would appreciate you prying…”
“I can assure you, my dear, if he is anything like the Peverells of old, the last thing I wish for him to believe is that I am prying. No, indeed, but I cannot ignore the academic in me. You have given me something most intriguing to look into, subtly, of course. Now, why don’t you tell me what you know of him thus far.”
(Break)
“You have done a fine job, Harry,” Cadmus praised. “The home is as exceptional as it has ever been.”
Harry was not one to brag or boast, but he was proud of what he had managed to achieve thus far with only a lot of coarse language Mrs Weasley certainly wouldn’t approve of, and significant trial and error on his part. Now, the home that belonged to the Peverells was in a liveable state, with some modern fixtures and fittings that had not been here previously.
“Well, I don’t think I have any intention of becoming a decorator or builder,” he snorted.
The three brothers laughed, each knowing that despite the satisfaction of completing the work, Harry had not enjoyed it.
“Have you given any thought to what you might do?”
Harry shook his head.
“No, with everything else I have to do, I haven’t. It seems quite pointless when everything is so uncertain. I mean, I know what I have to do with Voldemort, and even now it still seems impossible. I have to find his remaining horcruxes, and then find a way of killing him,” he snorted. “That’s not even thinking about this place. I don’t even know why I am here or what is coming. What I might do after, if I somehow survive, hasn’t even crossed my mind.”
None of the trio said anything for a moment, but it was Ignotus who broke the silence.
“You have quite the path ahead of you,” he acknowledged, “but you have us. By the time we are finished with you, Harry, Voldemort will be no match for you.”
Harry nodded appreciatively.
“I think whatever is happening here is going to be worse,” he murmured. “I don’t know what it is, but…”
He broke off and shook his head once more.
“I don’t know. It’s just all very strange. Why would I be brought here by Death if it wasn’t for something worse than I’m already facing back home.”
“I do not know,” Harry,” Ignotus sighed, “but whatever it is, you will have us to help you through it, and at the risk of sounding rather cocksure of ourselves, we were exceptional wizards in our own right with a plethora of skill to pass on to you. Do not lose faith, Harry. All is far from being lost, and from what you have told us, you are not one to simply quit when things get difficult.”
“Hermione says I’m a stubborn git.”
“I expect she is right,” Antioch snickered. “You’d have to be to survive what you have, but never forget, Harry, Death will have his due, no matter what. You are his chosen, and he would not choose one he believed would bring shame upon him.”
“He would not,” Cadmus agreed.
“Come Death, come,” Ignotus intoned, falling to his knees within his frame.
To the Peverells, it was as though Death was a god of sorts. They even gave thanks to ominous figure, much like Harry had come to do when he needed to cam the chill that ran through his veins.
He found himself often thinking of Death, of all it had done for him this far, and how it had chosen him. Of course, it wasn’t as though there was much choice in the matter, but Death was putting a lot of faith in Harry to assist in gathering the pieces of Voldemort’s soul, and in return, it was giving him opportunities to prepare him for what lie ahead.
What that was remained to be seen, but Harry knew the Peverells were right. He was here but for the grace of Death, and already, he was making a difference.
Whether those differences would prove to be good or bad, he didn’t know, but he was here at the behest of something he could scarcely begin to understand, and he was determined to make the best of it in both worlds he was now a part of.
“Come Death, come,” he echoed, feeling a wave of cold yet comfortable magic washing over him.