Bloodlines
Magical Registration Act in Effect from Today!
By Cressida Yaxley
In what many would consider to be a rather bold and controversial move, the Ministry of Magic, under the leadership of Pius Thicknesse, will begin registering all magicals under a new act, in a bid to get a better understanding of how many of us reside within Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
When questioned, the minister had this to say.
“I do not understand the controversy. This act was introduced to ensure that all magicals within the country are accounted for so that we may ensure all that fall under our protection are cared for appropriately. Britian has never had a formal census, and it is high time that changed. Of course, we will do our utmost to not inconvenience those that come through our doors for any longer than necessary.”
With the trouble currently plaguing the country, it is indeed time for us all to come together in a show of solidarity by supporting the Minister and his endeavours.
I for one will be among the very first to arrive to be registered, and I expect many more will follow suit.
The Dark Lord nodded his approval before casting the newspaper aside.
Finally, the irksome, official things were being put into motion, and in the coming weeks, the Compulsory Magical Education Act would follow suit, providing him with an idea of those flouting the new rules.
“I assume by your demeanour, Bella, that your visit with your aunt did not go according to plan. Were you unable to find her?”
The woman deflated as she took a seat.
“I found her, my lord.”
“And?” he pressed.
Bellatrix shook her head.
“She is here, my lord, somewhere in Britain. She believes the only way that Potter could’ve learned such magic is from Grindelwald himself, and that the man is still alive.”
The Dark Lord frowned as he leaned back in his chair.
“Impossible. His presence would not have gone unnoticed for more than five decades.”
“Well, she is convinced of it, and she has come here to speak with Potter. She will have the truth of the matter from him.”
Lord Voldemort shook his head.
“I will not have her interfering in my affairs!” he snapped irritably. “Find her, Bellatrix, and bring her before me.”
“My lord, my aunt Cassie is not…”
“I do not care what she is or isn’t,” the Dark Lord said dismissively. “She is an old woman who could compromise all of the work we have done. Find her, Bella, and put a stop to her damned madness.”
The woman nodded before leaving the room, and he chuckled to himself.
It seemed that finding themselves devoted to powerful wizards was something that ran in the family.
Of course, he’d heard of Cassiopeia Black.
In her day, she’d been quite the force, and her reputation preceded her. There had been a time that he’d thought of seeking her out, garnering her support during his initial recruitment phase, but then Bellatrix had come to him so willingly; a girl with so much potential who was easily swayed by his words.
No, he’d forgotten all about Cassiopeia Black, but it seemed that she had not forgotten about her master after all this time.
Grindelwald still alive…
That was indeed a novel thought, but as he’d said to Bella, the once infamous Dark Lord would be use for little more than reminiscing about his own glory days, of how he’d been defeated by Albus Dumbledore.
He snorted at the thought.
Dumbledore had never been a match for him, which meant that Grindelwald would be little more than an inconvenience to him at his very best.
He shook his head as he pushed thoughts of Grindelwald aside.
He had his own campaign to focus on, and he had every intention of seeing that it was much more successful than any who came before him.
(Break)
He took a sip of his whiskey as he read over the notes he’d taken after the conversation he’d shared with Harry Peverell. Oh, the young man was good at feigning ignorance, but Cantankerus had spent more hours interviewing people for his books and had become rather adept at reading the subtlest of signs.
With Peverell, however, it was what he said or what he didn’t say, nor was it in his eyes, but the magic gently permeating around him was his truth.
Perhaps he knew little about the Peverells, but that magic was undeniable, even when it was at its most benign.
Peverell knew it too.
Despite his exterior of innocence and curiosity, Cantankerus quickly came to realise that Harry Peverell was already a dangerous young man indeed, something he was acutely aware of.
Nonetheless, there was no hostility from Peverell towards him, and if there was anyone able to discover more about his ancestors, it was Peverell, and he saw no reason for the two of them to be at odds.
Why would he when Peverell could be an ally, and there was no denying he would make things more interesting.
“You seem very pleased with yourself.”
“I’ve experienced something of a breakthrough in my research,” Cantankerus said dismissively.
His older brother eyed him, releasing a deep sigh.
“If this is about the Malfoys…”
“It has nothing to do with the Malfoys, but it is something of equal significance. Mind, I already expected this book to take years to piece together, but it will probably take longer than I thought. Don’t worry, brother, I will not land you in any trouble with those you’d rather stay on the right side of. Besides, it’s not something for you to be concerned with. Even Orion Black is on board with it.”
“Well, not that you ever listen to me, but be careful. I know you will find a way to land yourself in trouble. You always do. You’re too nosy for your own good.”
“It is for the good of all,” Cantankerus said with a shrug. “All will benefit from my work.”
He received a hum in response before he was left alone once more, he perused the notes he’d gathered on the Peverells. There were indeed a mystery, and perhaps only the previous evening, Cantankerus had been presented with the most mysterious and dangerous of all.
There was something about Harry Peverell that was difficult to ignore, a presence that spoke of so much more than a young man trying to find his way in the world.
No, Cantankerus believed that was not so.
Harry Peverell would not only find his way in the world, but shape all around him.
(Break)
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m curious,” Henry corrected, “as I am cautious. The Peverells… I’ve been reading through some of the diaries of my ancestors. They’re not to be taken lightly. The stories about them, and their reverence of Death, it is… concerning.”
“That was almost one thousand years ago, Henry,” Alice pointed out, “and this Harry’s family have not been here for that long. He’s probably nothing like you’ve read about.”
“Or he might be exactly what you’ve read about,” William interjected amusedly. “Either way, he is family, isn’t he?”
Henry frowned as he nodded.
How closely they could be related after all this time was questionable, but there was inevitably shared blood between them, if he was indeed a Peverell, which Henry had no reason to doubt.
He’d discussed the man with both Reverend Seabrook, and Bathilda, who’d made his acquaintance, and the latter was absolutely convinced of the authenticity of the claim.
That was good enough for Henry.
“I will keep an open mind. I judge men by their character, not tales of others. I prefer to make-up my own mind about those I meet.”
Alice offered him a smile as she rubbed his shoulder.
“I’m quite excited to see the stock you came from,” she said amusedly.
Henry tutted.
“The last of the Peverells married into our line,” he reminded her. “I doubt there is much left of them in us after so long, or even in Harry.”
“Isn’t he a Lord like you, Father?” William asked. “Surely, the Peverells would’ve had a Lordship.”
Henry shook his head gravely.
“From what I have been able to gather, they were invited to join the Wizard’s Council, and then the Wizengamot. The invitation was declined. I do not know why, but that means they were not granted a Lordship or a political seat.”
“Interesting,” William mused aloud. “Ah, that will be Angelica.”
He left the room to greet the young lady he was courting, which seemed to be going well.
They were undoubtedly quite taken with one another despite it being only a budding relationship. Still, Henry was pleased to see that his son was open to marrying the Angelica Fawley. She came from a good family and was quite the accomplished witch scoring highly in her exams and was working at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Catastrophes.
“How long do we have until Harry arrives?” Alice asked.
Henry looked towards the clock to check.
“About fifteen minutes.”
Alice nodded and offered him an encouraging smile.
“The I had best get started ensuing dinner is ready.”
She left the room and Henry released a deep breath.
He wasn’t nervous about meeting Harry Peverell, but he was certainly interested in the elusive man who’d seemingly arrived completely out of the blue, restarting a dynasty that had been absent in Britain for close to a millennia.
Yes, interested was how he would describe his feelings on the impending meal, interested and curious of what may come of his presence. Already, Godric’s Hollow felt different for it, and others had taken notice of him.
It was only a matter of time before he garnered even more attention when word spread further of the return of the Peverells.
(Break)
She could not think of a time that she’d ever seen the Ministry of Magic so full, especially in recent weeks since it had fallen under the control of Voldemort. There was a part of her that had both hoped and expected that the public at large would not comply with the implementation of the Magical Registration Act, but here they were in droves; most of them terrified, very few speaking amongst themselves.
It was almost eerie to be among so many with so few uttering a word or seeing such defeat in the fearful gazes.
It was indeed fear that brought most here, and in some cases, confusion.
The children holding tightly onto their hands of their mothers and fathers could not possibly fathom what was happening around them, but it was impossible to ignore the tension, even for those so young.
“Please ensure that upon arrival you speak with a member of staff wearing the gold badges, who will guide where you are supposed to be. Ensure you have all of your relevant information to hand so that it can be verified quickly.”
Nymphadora grimaced as Umbridge’s voice rang out across the speaker system installed in the atrium.
It was one of only three messages being played over repeatedly, which did nothing to assuage the concerns of many of the arrivals. Of course, among them was the purebloods who, for the most part, had nothing to fear from the undertaking.
They were being fast-tracked through the crowds to ensure they were not inconvenienced, and left shortly after arriving, grinning smugly at the others still queuing as they did so.
For the rest of them, it would be a long wait, and woe betide any who claimed to be someone or something they were not or couldn’t prove with any provenance.
Already, Nymphadora had seen two men and three women led discreetly away by the black robed men and women who’d all but replaced the aurors.
How many Umbridge had managed to employ in the days since the skirmish at Grimmauld Place, she did not know, but there were dozens lurking around the atrium, itching for their chance to exact some misery upon any who stepped out of line.
Still, it was already too late for those who had arrived to change their minds. Once they were within the walls of the Ministry of Magic, they were not allowed to leave until they’d registered and produced the piece of parchment declaring their status to another group of guards, who reluctantly let them pass.
Those who did attempt to leave were unceremoniously shoved back into line.
She shook her head as she saw yet another person being dragged away by a trio of guards; a woman who did not go quietly as she pleaded for her husband to help her.
She was immediately stunned before the man too was pulled along in her wake.
Nymphadora knew that this was merely the beginning of what would become even more unpleasant.
When word spread about what was happening here, there would be fewer and fewer people willing to submit themselves to the Ministry of Magic, and then the very same black robed men and women her would be unleashed upon the country to track them down, where they were undoubtedly be treated much worse than those already here.
Maybe that was exactly what Voldemort and Umbridge were hopeful for.
It would be something of a sport for them to round up those who refused to comply with their wishes, giving them the very excuse they needed to do whatever they liked to those that flouted the rules.
Yes, that was it.
Today, the atrium may be heaving with those citizens of magical Britain who thought they were doing what was required of them, but in the days to come, it would be less and less busy before the stragglers were rounded up and punished for not cooperating.
It was as she guided her mop towards one of the booths that she chanced a glance at a piece of parchment in front of one of the Ministry workers employed to register the arrivals and realised what was happening.
Categories.
Each of them were being categorised based on their blood status with little attention being paid to anything else. Green for purebloods, orange for half-bloods, and red for muggleborns.
If a half-blood was married to a pureblood, a green cross was placed next to their name.
What it meant, Nymphadora didn’t know, but what was clear was that this was not a simple census as was claimed. No, this was an accounting of all the muggleborns and half-bloods among the population, which would only be used as another way of discriminating against them.
Truthfully, she’d expected nothing less, but to see such bigotry so boldly carried out in front of her eyes was all that was needed to demonstrate to everyone else, who may have chosen to be blissfully ignorant of what was happening around them, that it was indeed happening and could no longer be ignored.
I was a declaration from the Ministry of Magic that things were different now, that there was indeed a new power at the helm, and it wasn’t there to serve them.
No, it was there to ensure they stayed in line, that come what may, the Ministry of Magic was in control of the entire country, and now that they were here, willingly surrendering all of the pertinent information required, that there was nothing they could do to stop it less they wished to incur the wrath of the government.
It was a troubling realisation to say the least for those who had arrived, and for those that were permitted to leave, they would do so being in no doubt that the world around them was indeed very different.
(Break)
Although there was more of a reason to be nervous whilst meeting Cantankerus Nott, Harry found the prospect of meeting members of his family for the first time to be significantly more daunting.
Maybe it was that he’d never truly cared if he was a disappointment to anyone else throughout his life that had instilled such a feeling within him, or that it was simply that these are the people he came from.
He’d not known his parents nor either set of grandparents, and reading about the Potters was certainly not the same as meting them for himself. There was only so much that could be gleaned about someone from their journals, after all.
Even so, it was odd to think that in the coming moments, he would be having dinner with his great-great and great-great-great grandparents.
He snorted at the thought as he checked his reflection in the mirror. Having dressed in a set of formal dress robes once more, it was difficult to remember how he’d look just a little over a year prior when he’d arrived at Grimmauld Place.
Kreacher had been the catalyst for the changes in clothing and grooming habits, which Harry had kept to. Not that the elf would’ve allowed his standards to slip.
“You look very smart, Harry,” Cadmus said encouragingly.
“You certainly inherited your looks from me,” Ignotus added.
“There’s no need to insult the lad,” Antioch japed good-naturedly.
Harry merely shook his head as the trio began bickering amongst themselves, trading barbs as they were wont to do regularly.
Leaving them to it, he approached the fireplace and released a deep breath as he threw in a handful of floo powder.
“Potter Manor,” he called clearly, not forgetting his first journey into a fireplace, which had resulted in finding himself in Borgin and Burke’s.
Grimacing at the thought, he tentatively stepped though when the flames turned green and found himself in a rather grand entrance hall where he was greeted by a foursome, two of whom he resembled rather closely.
Harry suspected that he wore a similar expression to both Henry and William Potter, and the two women present seemed to be as taken aback as the three men.
For several moments, nothing was said until the older of the women cleared her throat.
“M-Mr Peverell,” she greeted Harry. “I’m Alice Potter, and this is my husband, Henry, who has been writing to you.”
Harry shook himself from his reverie.
He’d expected that there would be something of a resemblance between them, and although there were differences, it was almost uncanny. There would be no mistaking the familial relationship by any who saw them together.
“Hello, Lady Potter,” he managed to reply. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”
She managed to muster something of a smile as her gaze flitted between him, her husband and son.
“My apologies, Mr Peverell,” Henry spoke. “I was blindsided by…”
“How similar we look?”
Henry nodded.
“Well, I suppose the Peverell look is prominent,” he chuckled. “Merlin, people will think you’re my illegitimate son, except for those eyes. No one in my family has eyes like that.”
Harry shook his head amusedly as Alice Potter eyed her husband questioningly.
“He’s not my father,” Harry assured the woman. “I knew both of my parents.”
The woman deflated and the smile she offered him was a little more relaxed.
“I know that,” she sighed. “This is just very strange. Henry was an only child, and until we had William, I’d never seen another who looked even closely similar to him.”
“I’ve not seen anyone who look much like me,” Harry replied. “My parents died when I was a baby.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine,’ Harry said dismissively. “I was curious when I received your letter. I came to Britain to learn more about my history and seem to have attracted some unexpected attention.”
“I hope I’m not included in that,” Henry chuckled.
“No, if there’s anyone who has any right to, it’s you. I just didn’t expect Orion Black or Cantankerus Nott to take so much of an interest, well, I didn’t until I realised why.”
Henry’s expression became one of curiosity and he gestured for Harry to follow him into the adjoining dining room.
“What do you know about your family?”
“Not much other than what Bathilda Bagshot has told me. Had I known the name I carried was seen the way it is here by those that remember, I would have used a fake one,” Harry chuckled. “I only came here to learn more about where it was I came from. All I had was a name, and the next thing I knew was people taking an interest in me. Bathilda didn’t believe I was who I said I am, and then, well, here I am. I knew my ancestors were from Godric’s Hollow, and I was given the name Antioch Peverell.”
“Antioch Peverell?”
Henry seemed to be relieved at the mention of one of the brothers he was not descended from.
Harry nodded.
“From what I managed to learn, he travelled when he was younger and had a child with a woman and gave that child his name. He returned home, and he died not so long after.”
Alice Potter was looking at her husband curiously, and Henry chuckled.
“And what else is it you have heard about the Peverells? I may be able to shed a little more light on them.”
He couldn’t, but Harry would humour the man if only to not arouse his suspicion. He undoubtedly knew more than Henry Potter about the Peverells, and yet, hearing about them from a Potter he’d descended from was more than he could’ve ever hoped for when he’d grown up as an orphan.
“Not so much,” he answered thoughtfully. “What Bathilda told me amounts to little more than some rumours, and even Nott doesn’t know much for certain.”
“No, there are not many who do. Your family, Harry, is shrouded in mystery. The last known Peverell, Iolanthe…”
“Married Hardwin Potter more than eight hundred years ago.”
“So, you know about the connection between us.”
Harry nodded.
There was no use denying it, not when it was so evident.
“Well, that makes everything a little less awkward,” Alice declared. “Now, why don’t I serve dinner and then we can get to know each other a little better?”
It was an odd feeling.
Having a family was something Harry had long given up on, and hadn’t crossed his mind for many years, and though the Potters here would never know of their true connection to one another, it was good enough for him.
Even something of a friendship with them was more than he could’ve hoped for.
(Break)
“It is not my responsibility to tell you what to do, and I have no intention of doing so, but I would be remiss in my duties as your mentor if I didn’t share the truth that I know,” Nicholas pointed out. “Maybe he has changed but from my experience, such things are just the beginning of a very slippery slope on a path that cannot be changed.”
Albus could not believe what he was hearing, and though there was a part of him that was disturbed by what he’d learned, he shook his head.
“No, I know him, Nicholas. He is a little rough around the edges and ambitious, I won’t deny that, but he’s not evil. He wouldn’t do anything so risky, not now.”
“Albie…”
“Are you telling me that when you were creating your stone you didn’t do things you should’ve avoided?”
“I researched the most terrible of things, Albus, but I never attempted them. Believe me, there were easier but unpleasant ways of achieving what I have. There is a difference between looking into things and attempting them. Gellert tried something so deeply troubling that he was expelled from Durmstrang. Nothing short of murder is enough for that to be the outcome.”
Albus deflated.
“You’re wrong about him, Nicholas. Gellert is not like that. I know him better than anyone else.”
Nicholas was evidently not convinced and offered Albus a sad smile.
“I truly hope you’re right, Albus, because if you’re not, the consequences for you both could prove to be dire. It is as I said, I have lived long enough to see some of the most brilliant men you could imagine unable to ignore the curiosity they knew better than to give into, and it did not end well for them.”
They had not parted on the best of terms.
Albus could not make Nicholas understand that just because Gellert may have attempted a thing or two he’d quickly realised he shouldn’t have, but that didn’t make him a terrible person.
Much like him, he was curious about the magic of the world, pushing its boundaries, and that meant being willing to do what others were not for the sake of progress.
For the greater good.
That had become something of a mantra for the two of them.
Perhaps it could be seen as an excuse to justify their shared ambitions, but for Albus, it came from the heart.
Only those willing to demonstrate the courage and boldness to tread an untrodden path could hope to better the world around them. That was what he and Gellert were working towards.
“What a long day,” Gellert sighed as he entered the kitchen and poured himself a coffee. “Is that your results for your mastery?”
Albus nodded as he slid the piece of parchment across the table towards the other man as he sat down.
It had taken only a few days after he’d submitted his thesis and work for the award to be granted.
“Oh, I’m so proud of you, Albie,” Gellert gushed. “You must be the youngest master in a very long time.”
“Maybe ever,” Albus agreed with a smile. “How was your day?”
Gellert was working as an assistant in the Department of magical Law Enforcement, which involved him sitting in on the most important of meetings.
It was a position far below his capabilities, but he seemed to be enjoying it.
“As busy as ever,” he said dismissively. “Honestly, I’d rather just forget about the place for a little while whilst I’m home. Come, we should be celebrating your wonderful news. How about we go out for dinner? There is a nice restaurant near the MACUSA building I think we should try.”
Albus nodded eagerly.
He’d spent the past several days shut away.
Nicholas hadn’t written to him since their last conversation, and he’d been pondering what he would do now that he’d obtained his mastery. Maybe he would become a tutor, or perhaps even apply for a job at a school.
Hogwarts.
One day, he would love the opportunity to return to the castle to succeed Professor Weasley, but for now, it was here he was needed.
Gellert was doing his utmost to make connections and was working tirelessly to do so.
For now, Albus wasn’t sure what it was he would do, but he wanted it to be meaningful, for his work to inspire others the way he’d been, and for it to shape the very future of the world.
Gellert wanted that to, and between the two of them, he did not doubt that they would do just that, despite the thoughts and feelings of others who could not see their vision.
(Break)
“Believe me, Ron, I understand why they’re not as happy as they were, but they need something to snap them out of their rut. They’ve not invented anything new in a while,” Verity said sadly.
He liked the pink-haired woman.
She was as dedicated to the art of pranking as Fred and George, and didn’t take anything so seriously. Maybe that was what Ron had needed these past several weeks to get him through the losses he’d endured, and the misery that had followed.
Since he’d started working at the shop, he found his min was more occupied, that he wasn’t as focused on everything else that had been happening in his life.
It was something of a relief, and he was pleased for the distraction.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
The shop itself had seen a considerable decrease in physical customers, but the owl-order side of things was positively booming, and for much of the day, Ron would be accepting and fulfilling the orders with Verity and the twins, who were still oddly quiet.
Of course, the two of them were plotting, which was a troubling thought for any their efforts were aimed towards. Fred and George were undoubtedly the two most devious people he knew, and it as bad enough being on the receiving end of one of their pranks.
Ron could only imagine just utterly frightening it would be for any the twins truly despised.
“George?”
He hummed in response and barely looked up as Ron placed a package in front of him.
“This was returned but I can’t figure out what is wrong with it. The customer says that it isn’t functioning as it should.”
George pulled the package towards him and tapped it with his wand, only to unleash a girlish scream as he was hauled into the air by his ankle, where he was perpetually pummelled with cream pies, fired at him from a hand in the box he’d unwrapped himself.
After a moment, it vanished, and George was released.
Thudding to the ground, he pushed the cream out of his face and stared dumbly at the trio staring back at him, his eyes suddenly lighting up in amusement.
“You did this?” he asked Ron.
Ron shrugged.
“It’s a mail-order pie, for someone who deserves it.”
George looked towards Fred and nodded approvingly.
“Do you know what we can do with this idea? It doesn’t even have to just be pies. It could be manure…”
“Rotten eggs.”
“Or even gone off milk!”
The twins chuckled as Fred helped George to his feet, both shifting their focus to Ron.
“Not a bad idea, Ronniekins,” the latter praised. “Not bad at all, but you’re cleaning this mess up. Come on, get on with it, we’ve got a lot of work to do!”
“Work?”
“Well, this was your idea, so, you’re the one who’s going to perfect it. Come on, it won’t finish itself.”
The two of them seemed to be genuinely excited, and their eyes were once more full of something resembling the mischief that had been there until recently.
“Nice one, Ron,” Verity said appreciatively, kissing him on the cheek. “It’s exactly what they needed.”
He nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced.
Of course, it was good to see the duo laughing and getting excited about their work again, but Ron had seen what they’d been doing, had heard the not-so-subtle conversations.
To most on the outside, this may just be a joke shop, but Ron knew his brothers well enough to know that they were not just in here to entertain the masses.
No, they were plotting and planning something that so few would see the humour in.
Revenge.
They were carefully putting together their plan of revenge for what was done to Bill, Ginny, and their mother, and maybe now, they would let Ron in on it too.
(Break)
Meeting the Potters had indeed been a much more surreal experience than he could’ve imagined, but Harry was glad he’d done so. Both Henry and William were honest, good people who wanted to better the world around them and took their duty to the people of Britain as seriously as anything else.
Of course, they continued to tradition of watching over the people of Godric’s Hollow too, something Harry had assured them he was pleased for them to do despite his presence.
He too would be helping wherever he was needed.
As a Potter, that was his duty, as was what brought him to the Ministry of Magic today.
He’d wanted to see the Wizengamot in action from the public gallery, and though the meeting was as dull as anything he’d likely be involved in, he realised that just because where he came from the body was corrupt, had been hijacked with the very worst of intentions, that didn’t mean he would be shirking his responsibilities.
It was when he’d been listening to a Lord Greengrass talking about the illegal trade taking place in Knockturn Alley that so few were willing to put a stop to that he realised Dumbledore had been right.
He would be a leader in the war against Riddle, but when the fighting was done, that leadership would continue on. Britain would need men like him who were willing to do what was right by the people, and those responsible for seeing it done would need someone to lead by example.
“Bloody Dumbledore,” Harry grumbled irritably as he stepped into muggle London having exited the Ministry of Magic.
Outside of Godric’s Hollow, which he did not to consider to be a muggle dwelling, he’d not seen much of the mundane world here, and Harry was taken aback by just how different it was only a century in the past.
There were no cars to be seen, only horses and carriages which served as taxis and service vehicles, and the buildings and streets themselves were not what he was accustomed to.
London had evidently been significantly rebuilt in the years between now and where he was more familiar with, as were the many cobbled streets that were much smoother.
If he’d harboured any doubts that he’d been transported to a world he could scarcely relate to, he needed only to take a look around to abate them.
This was not the world he’d been born into, and from what little he knew about both the magical and muggle worlds, significant changes were on the horizon.
There would be two muggle world wars, Grindelwald’s uprising, and even the Riddle’s, though Harry had every intention of preventing the latter two.
What he could do about the muggle conflicts, he did not know, but interfering in the affairs of his mundane counterparts could lead to changes he was not prepared for.
No, for now, his focus was on magical Britain, and beyond where Grindelwald was concerned.
It was a hand coming to rest on his shoulder that pulled Harry from his thoughts, and he cursed himself for getting lost in them as he found himself peering into a pair of steely, grey eyes.
“I knew I would catch up with you eventually, young man. I spotted you in the gallery in the chambers. Now, I would rather you did not flee from me again. It is rather tedious having to hunt someone down.”
“I have no intention of running from you,” Harry said with a shrug. “I’ve actually been waiting for a response to my letter.”
“Your letter?” Orion Black asked curiously.
“Well, you wrote to me first,” Harry pointed out with a shrug.
Orion Black frowned before his eyes widened in recognition.
“Peverell!”
Harry nodded his confirmation, and Orion chuckled amusedly.
“Well, that is very interesting,” he mused aloud. “Very interesting. My brother would be most interested in meeting you because of your interference in his fun. No, Marius can wait, but I believe the two of us have a long overdue conversation, don’t you, Peverell?”
“We do?”
Orion hummed.
“Not only have you interfered in the affairs of my family, but there is the matter of you offending me when we first met. I do not appreciate being offended, Peverell, but I am sure there is an arrangement of sorts we can come to. There is no reason for things to become…unpleasant between us. Come, I would have you join me for lunch. I think it would be best for us that this remains a civil meeting, yes?”
Harry nodded and once more cursed himself internally for his laxity.
Still, it wasn’t as though the two of them wouldn’t be meeting eventually, but he’d hoped to do so without Orion Black being aware that it was him whom he’d met in Diagon Alley, or worse yet, who’d cursed his brother’s wife when he’d come upon them hunting muggles.
Not that he would change anything he’d done but given the uphill struggle he already faced with everything else he was dealing with, the last thing he wanted was an ongoing rivalry with the Blacks.
Even so, Harry wasn’t going to appease the man at the expense of his dignity, nor would he apologise, which, if he knew anything about the Blacks, would not be well received.
Nonetheless, he found he didn’t care so much.
If Orion Black was to be a problem, it was merely just another Harry would find a way to overcome.