Digging into the Past
The undertone of unpleasantness of Knockturn Alley had always been a cleverly placed veil to hide the true nature of the place, meaning that beyond the purposeful reputation it had nurtured decade upon decade, the street itself was much worse than the common man who knew of it could ever imagine.
Yes, there were those here selling questionable wares, plying trades not-so-well-thought-of, and another side of society that had always been present but unable to be quelled.
John Dawlish had learned that for himself throughout his career.
As a young graduate of the auror academy, he’d entered the workforce as an idealistic, strong-willed man who believed he could truly be the difference, that were wasn’t a problem he couldn’t solve, or a criminal he couldn’t bring to justice.
In only a matter of weeks traipsing across the cobbles of Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and beyond, he’d been proven wrong.
Of course, he wasn’t deterred, but John had learned that for every determined auror, there was an equally determined criminal willing and able to nullify the efforts of the Ministry of Magic.
What the underworld represented was a never-ending struggle between what was deemed to be decent and what was so unspeakably abhorrent that it simply should not be allowed.
Throughout his career, John had been a part of the downfall of many criminals, had arrested several of them personally; murderers, sexual deviants, thieves, and even consortiums of criminals who’d run rampant across Britain, only for those brought to just tice to be replaced by the next in line waiting for their turn to profit from what unpleasantness they were peddling.
It was frustrating to say the least, yet, here he was still, many years in the making, still contributing to the wear on the pavement of Knockturn Alley. Now, however, he was not wearing the red robes he’d been so proud to. No, he was dressed in his own clothes, his head partially tucked into the top of his robes as he watched an unnamed pub for any sign that it was hiding much more than it appeared to be.
This wasn’t the first time the place had come under scrutiny.
According to Moody, it had opened in the early 1970s rather quietly, had proven to be an unassuming but unwelcoming place, but somewhere the aurors were very rarely called to, and certainly not by the owner.
Over the years, it had been frequented by many of the traders who would set up their stalls for the day before spending some of their profits here upon packing them up for the evening.
On the surface, it did indeed appear to be just a pub, but John did not believe so.
No, there was something a little too straight-laced about the business, a little too clean for his liking, and with it being here of all places, it only aroused his suspicion further.
Still, there was no indication of anything untoward, and despite him and several others spending time here over the past weeks, nothing had occurred to contradict that image.
Still, John would not give up.
He and his colleagues would find something that Potter could use on his way to putting an end to the war. What that was remained to be seen, but this was the part of the aurors to play, and come hell or highwater, Jon Dawlish would find something for the young man.
Fletcher.
“At the very least, find Mundungus Fletcher. He’ll be able to point us in the right direction.”
John had dealt with Fletcher several times over the course of his career. He was a petty criminal for the most part but knew things that most others did not.
Potter could well be onto something in his wish to speak with the man, but thus far, there was no sign of him.
Much like the rest of his ilk, he was likely keeping a low profile, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention to himself during a time of such uncertainty.
Still, he would show himself eventually.
Times were indeed uncertain, which often presented opportunities to the most unsavoury of people, even the lowliest of criminals.
“All clear, Dawlish, let’s call it a night,” the voice of Chris Button, another auror, spoke in his ear.
“Alright,” Dawlish sighed reluctantly. “Back tomorrow.”
They would be.
There was something here for them to find and use, John could feel it, and he would be here every moment of every day if that was what it took to find it, or Mundungus Fletcher for that matter.
(Break)
It was rather strange reading through Potter’s exploits these last few years, which had begun appearing in The Daily prophet the night he’d been announced as a fourth Triwizard champion during his fourth year, a tournament he had gone on to win, no less, though not without significant controversy surrounding and following it.
The Death of the second Hogwarts champion during the final task had raised many questions, though not even the media had speculated as to what had truly happened to Cedric Diggory. Instead, within a matter of weeks, Potter and Dumbledore had gone from being the nation’s darlings to the most attacked.
Both had claimed that Voldemort wasn’t dead, that he was responsible for killing Cedric Diggory, that he was back.
Only months later, Bellatrix and several other Death Eaters had escaped from prison, and shortly after, it had been revealed that Potter and Dumbledore had been telling the truth all along.
It as a rather astonishing turn of events to have unfolded, but Cassiopeia knew that she’d not gotten the full story, that there was much more to it than that, and who better to fill her in on the details than the woman who’d written the articles about Potter in the first place.
She watched as a cloaked figure entered the Parisian pub, a favourite of Cassiopeia’s when she had resided within the city after Gellert had liberated it.
They would not be overheard here nor intruded upon by any who would intrude upon the affair.
“I must say, I did not expect to receive a letter requesting a meeting from the notorious Cassiopeia Black, and certainly not an invitation to meet. I had considered reaching out to you myself, but thought better of it given…”
Skeeter broke off nervously and shook her head as she opened the crocodile skin bag she was carrying, removing a thick stack of wad and a garish green quill, which came to life, thrumming in anticipation as it hovered over the parchment expectantly.
“There will be no need for you to take any notes of our conversation,” Cassiopeia assured the woman. “I did not invite you here to interview me. On the contrary, I have questions for you, and I suggest you answer them truthfully. I do not like being lied to, and I will know if you are lying to me,” she finished, leaning forward just enough so that the threat was not missed.
Skeeter suddenly looked rather nervous and swallowed deeply.
“I thought you had gotten wind of my latest venture and wanted to offer your input,” she whispered confusedly.
“Your latest venture?”
Skeeter nodded as she removed a large stack of parchment from within her purse and slid it towards Cassiopeia.
“The life and lies of Albus Dumbledore,” she read aloud.
Skeeter nodded keenly.
“Given your closeness to Grindelwald, I assume you are aware that the two of them were close during their younger years.”
Cassiopeia frowned as she read through the notes.
Someone close to both Dumbledore and Gellert had spoken to Rita, and there was only one person who could have possibly done so.
Bagshot.
Gellert had mentioned his aunt had been close with the Dumbledores and had even been the one to introduce him to Albus. Why Bathilda would speak with Skeeter, Cassiopeia did not know, but she intended to visit the woman to ascertain her reasoning.
“I couldn’t care less about Dumbledore,” she said dismissively. “No, I came here to discuss Harry Potter.”
Skeeter looked around, her skin paling at the mention of the young man.
Why he made her so nervous, Cassiopeia did not know, but it was an interesting development.
“What do you want to know about him?”
“Everything you can tell me. Given that you have put so much effort into researching a dead man, I can only imagine the lengths you have gone to trying to unravel the mystery of the boy. So, Skeeter, I would know what you do.”
Rita deflated.
“It’s not as though I can publish it even if I wanted to.”
“Because he has something on you.”
Skeeter nodded but waved her hand dismissively.
“Before he arrived at Hogwarts, not much is known about his personal life. I attempted to track down his aunt and uncle, but they’re no longer around. According to the neighbours, they left months before the house blew up, killing Crabbe and Goyle. I believe Potter was responsible for that.”
Cassiopeia nodded appreciatively.
“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? What about that Halloween night?”
“The only people who know anything about it was Dumbledore, Potter, and, well, Sirius Black.”
Cassiopeia frowned at the mention of the man.
She never would’ve believed he had it in him to serve the Dark Lord.
“Sirius was there?”
“From what little I have learned, yes, he was the first to arrive. He did not stick around long. He made sure Potter was safe with Hagrid before he vanished. The next thing anyone knew, he was being sent to Azkaban, without a trial.”
What she was hearing made no sense, and the knowing grin Rita sported told her the woman knew more than she’d said.
“If the plan was to kill the Potters, why would he let the boy live?” she asked.
Skeeter’s grin widened.
“Because according to Potter, Black was innocent. It wasn’t him who betrayed the Potters, but Peter Pettigrew, the man he supposedly murdered.”
It was not often she was taken aback, but the revelation certainly clarified many things, including Potter’s seeming affection for Sirius.
“Sirius was innocent.”
“I believe he was, and Potter certainly does.”
“How very interesting,” Cassiopeia mused aloud. “What else can you tell me?”
“Many things, some undoubtedly true, and others rumours that I have been unable to substantiate, but even in the absence of solid evidence, I do not doubt the veracity of what I have learned.”
“Then do not stand on ceremony. I would have it all.”
Although it had taken a few weeks, Potter had finally written to her to arrange another meeting between them, and Cassiopeia wanted to get the full measure of the man before doing so.
As Skeeter began to speak once more however, it was difficult to believe all she told her. The tales and rumours surrounding the boy were incredulous bordering on ridiculous, and yet, Skeeter believed them, and the more Cassiopeia heard, she too was inclined to.
Even if half of what she learned was true, it made Potter perhaps the most fascinating man she had met in many decades, and dangerous to boot.
Still, she would be the judge of him herself.
Their previous conversation had been brief, but next time, Cassiopeia intended on speaking with the young man at length, to truly understand why it was Gellert had favoured him.
(Break)
He wasn’t certain what it was that had drawn him to the man in the crowd.
There wasn’t anything particularly familiar about him, nor did he stand out in any other way than that Harry’s gaze had come to rest on him. He wasn’t acting suspiciously, nor was he attempting to hide, but there was something about him that he could not ignore.
He watched as slowly but naturally, the man exchanged a few words with several people he passed by, but it wasn’t until he drew nearer to him that he realised what was familiar.
His magic.
He’d felt that magic before, only moments prior to watching Sirius falling through the veil.
A Death Eater.
This was one of Tom’s inner-circle, and Harry would not let him escape.
It wasn’t Bellatrix, nor was it the Lestranges, Malfoy, or Nott. No, although the magic was familiar, he did not know this man in any capacity. Still, he continued to follow, and struck as the man past one of the apothecaries in Knockturn Alley.
The dull thud of the brick he’d picked up colliding with the side of his head was lost in the noise of the others, and none noticed as Harry covered them both with his cloak.
For a moment, he remained where he was, casting charms on the man to make transporting him all the easier.
When he was ready, he activated his portkey, arriving in the lowest level of Nurmengard.
With a frown, he took a better look at the man he’d abducted, and with a few waves of his wand to undo his disguise, he recognised the face from the several who’d spent several years in Azkaban.
With a grin, Harry secured him to the chair and waited for him to wake, his wand in hand as his eyes fluttered opened several moments later.
“Where am I? What happened?”
He was greeted by Harry’s steely gaze, and Travers’ eyes widened in recognition.
“Hello, Travers,” he replied simply. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on one of you.”
“Potter!” the man spat in response, grimacing as Harry pressed his thumb into the open wound on his skull.
“This is probably going to be very miserable for you, even if you cooperate,” he sighed. “I hope you don’t. I want to make you suffer as much as you have all of your victims. Now, let’s take a look into that twisted mind of yours and decide how painful your death is going to be, shall we?”
“Dead,” he murmured, crossing off another name from the list of people he’d compiled who might be able to tell him more about Grindelwald’s rise in America.
Although it had been seven decades since the man had been apprehending before inevitably escaping custody to run rampant across Europe, there were few who could tell him anything of substance, and those that could were either dead, or vanished without trace shortly after the Dark Lord had been discovered recruiting.
Of course, those who had fallen for his charismatic charm believing he would be the bringer of change in the magical world would not be so willing to discuss their part in his efforts, and with only a few names remaining on his list to check out, Harry was becoming rather frustrated.
With Dawlish and the aurors watching over Knockturn Alley in shifts, there was little need for is presence there, and it seemed that the Death Eaters had learned from Travers’ arrogance.
Dawlish and the others had spotted no others during their observations, but Harry did not doubt they were out there somewhere, still doing Riddle’s bidding.
One of them would make the same mistake Travers had. Patience was not their strongpoint, and sooner rather than later, they would become lax once more.
Even so, that was not going to help Harry with his current conundrum, and as he flicked through another edition of The New York Ghost from the early 1900s, he knew he had his work cut out for him.
He was reluctant to discuss the matter with Dumbledore’s portrait.
Despite the man helping him as much as he had, there was no denying that he had a weakness where Grindelwald was concerned, and without the stone, it wasn’t as though he could summon those already passed on.
Reaching out to Newt Scamander, the author of Fantastic beasts and Where to Find Them presented the same problem as discussing it with Dumbledore.
From what he could gather about Scamander, he and Dumbledore had been close, and though he’d been mentioned with regards to Grindelwald, Harry wasn’t sure what, if anything Scamander could tell him.
No, he wanted to look into the matter without coming up against Dumbledor’s influence, to discuss what had happened with someone who’d lived through it themselves, but already, it seemed that Harry was exhausting his options.
Many had perished, and many more had gone to ground after Grindelwald had been exposed. Worse still, the American media was about as forthcoming as The Daily Prophet, meaning that so little of the truth was printed for the public to see.
Perhaps if he was to visit the offices he might have some luck uncovering what he needed to know, and maybe even speak with one of the journalists who’d reported on the events surrounding Grindelwald’s involvement across the pond.
What Harry did know was that although he was able to pick up a few names of interest here and there whilst perusing the periodicals, doing so would provide him with little else.
No, he needed to find someone who could share the details with him, and unfortunately, there were so few with such potential. Still, he had no intention of quitting, but for now, it would need to wait.
He had a meeting to keep with Cassiopeia Black, and as Grindelwald’s most devout follower, she might just be able to shed some light on what the man had done during his many years in the United States.
(Break)
The image of Travers’ broken body hanging so limply from the crest of the Ministry of Magic was not something any who’d seen it would forget so easily.
Although there had been no further disappearances in the days since, the Dark Lord had urged caution.
Potter had proven time and again that he was not like Dumbledore or any other who opposed them, and were they to become lax in their awareness, there was no doubt that the damned boy would strike again.
Travers had suffered immensely in his final moments, had ben cursed more times than even the Dark Lord himself could not differentiate between the dozens upon dozens of linger effects on his corpse.
His expression spoke of sheer agony, and from what he’d been able to garner from those residing within Malfoy Manor, Travers had fallen into a routing of visiting Knockturn Alley regularly, where Potter had undoubtedly struck.
His grip tightened around his wand at the thought of what had transpired, and the Dark Lord released a deep breath to calm himself.
Yes, Potter was indeed unlike any other he’d faced, had indeed proven it in his willingness to kill and inflict suffering upon his enemies like no other had, and though the Dark Lord had never seen him as a serious threat in any capacity, that had changed.
Potter was dangerous, he did pose a threat, and sooner rather than later before he gained any further momentum, he needed to be eliminated.
Fortunately, none outside of those who’d been present in the chambers of the Wizengamot had learned what had happened to Travers, so, thus far, it was not public knowledge.
He had considered using the incident to his own advantage, revealing what had happened to the public and branding Potter a wanted man. That, however, could lead to Potter only increasing his attacks with more frequency, and although his death was a priority, he would not see his other efforts compromised.
“There is still no sightings of him, my lord,” Bellatrix informed him, “and I have been unable to locate my aunt.”
He expected nothing less than for Potter to continue to be elusive, but he wanted to speak with Cassiopeia Black. He wanted to know why she was so interested in Potter herself, why she had emerged from the woodwork after so many decades of living in obscurity, seemingly only to seek out his foe.
It was as curious as it was troubling.
“Perhaps she has returned to whatever hole she crawled out of,” he mused aloud.
Bellatrix shook her head.
“She has not returned to Spain, my lord.”
His nostrils flared as he nodded.
“Then keep searching for her, Bella,” he instructed, “and remind the others of the need to be vigilant. Potter will be watching and waiting for another opportunity to strike.”
“And if he does?”
“Then I will act appropriately. I will give the entire country every incentive at my disposal to ensure that Potter is brought before me.”
It wasn’t as though the boy could avoid every magic in Britain, and there were few who would not turn on him to ensure the safety of themselves and their families.
He drummed his fingers along the arm of his chair as he nodded.
If the incentive was right, every person in the country would be looking for Potter, and soon enough, he would be within the Dark Lord’s grasp.
(Break)
It was freeing being away from Grimmauld Place. Of course, it was risky to venture outside the four walls of the house, especially with whatever had replaced the aurors patrolling up and down the country attempting to round up those who’d flouted the Magical Registration Act. Hermione, however, could not spend another moment feeling trapped in the ancestral home of the Blacks, wondering what was happening and only having Harry to rely upon for news.
The Daily Prophet had always been an unreliable rag and had only become more so since the beginning of the war, and the Wizarding Wireless Network certainly wasn’t any better.
Still, although there was such distinct differences in the feel and mood of the country, it wasn’t as though the Death Eaters themselves were openly marching in the streets declaring their loyalty to Lord Voldemort.
No, there was still something of a subtlety to their activities, but it was no secret what had, and what was happening around them.
According to Harry, almost every shop in Diagon Alley was closed now with only a few exceptions, and even Hogsmeade was empty of tourists who often visited and even locals.
Not that Hermione would be visiting either of them.
A single soul would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention, which was why she and Remus had arranged to meet in muggle London, where both could blend in well enough as evidenced by the unfamiliar man who waved her over as she neared the coffee shop they’d arranged to meet.
“How did you recognise me?” she whispered as she took a seat.
Remus tapped his nose and Hermione nodded her understanding.
“Best cover your scent next time,’ he urged. “If werewolves are around, they will pick you up from a mile away.”
“I’ll remember that,” Hermione sighed, chiding herself. “Why did you invite me here?”
“I remember what it was like during the last war, the months of isolation, and the paranoia. It does no one any good being locked away for months on end. I just wish I would’ve remembered that where Sirius was concerned.”
“You still miss him.”
Remus nodded as he waved the waitress over before ordering a pot of coffee and a plate of cakes to share.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen much of Harry.”
“No,” Hermione answered. “He comes back at odd hours and leaves not long after breakfast, usually.”
“He writes to me often enough, and I’m trying to get him to call a meeting of the Order.”
“Is it still a thing?”
“I think most would come.”
Remus did not seem so sure.
Outside of him, Shacklebolt, and Tonks, Hermione wasn’t certain any other would arrive. Most would’ve gone to ground or even left Britain by now.
“I know he is visiting the twins,” she revealed. “Ron told me that Harry has been there, but didn’t go into details.”
“I expect they’re plotting something,” Remus chuckled dryly.
“And he has the aurors on his side after what happened at Grimmauld Place.”
“So, he’s not so alone,” Remus mused aloud. “Maybe I will pay a visit to Fred and George myself. I think I know them well enough to know that they won’t allow what happened at the wedding to do so without repercussions.”
Hermione nodded her agreement as she frowned.
Maybe that was why Harry was visiting them, and why Ron was now working at the shop.
They were up to something and knowing Harry and the twins’ proclivity for getting into trouble and causing chaos, it was something that would prove to be rather spectacular.
This time, however, it would not be a harmless prank they were planning. No, if what Remus suspected was true, it would be something much more sinister, with lasting consequences for whomever they were targeting.
Maybe she too would speak with them, or Ron, or maybe even Harry.
At the very least, she could look over what plans they were concocting and even offer her own input.
It wasn’t as though she’d spent these past several months within Grimmauld Place being idle.
No, she had learned more than a thing or two from the works of the Blacks she was granted access to.
(Break)
There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that as a younger woman, Cassiopeia Black would’ve been beautiful. Even now, past a century in age, there was still an air of that beauty she’d once possessed,, though it was now marred with deep set wrinkles, grey hair, and a failing posture.
Even so, much as it had been when he’d spoken with Grindelwald, there was a spark in her stormy grey eyes that spoke of power, keenness, and a mind as sharp as any.
“You are a most interesting young man, Harry Potter,” she mused aloud. “My, the tales they tell about you, the rumours. It is not often such a fascinating man is born into the world. Survivor of the killing curse of all things. Not even Gellert could make such a claim.”
Evidently, Cassiopeia had been looking into him, just as he had her.
What little he’d been able to discover about her did not paint the woman in the most positive of ways, but being a member of the notorious Black family, Harry was not surprised.
“Well, rumours are just rumours,” he said with s shrug.
“We both know that it isn’t true,” she denied almost disappointedly. “At least wear your successes and failures with pride, Potter. What I would to substantiate, is what is true and what are fabrications. Come, humour me.”
“That depends on what you have heard.”
Cassiopeia grinned at him before humming.
“Where to start…ah, what about the rumours surrounding what happened to your first Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?”
“Quirrell?” Harry snorted.
How she had even heard of the man, he did not know.
Outside of Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore, none knew of what Quirrell had done and on who’s orders, except for Snape.
“From what I have heard, he disappeared at the end your of your first year, and you and three others were rewarded very handsomely in house points.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
Snape must’ve told her, but then again, if she was using that piece of knowledge, it could have come from anywhere. It had been foolish of Dumbledore to reward them so highly, and undoubtedly unfair on the other students.
“He died,” Harry said with a shrug.
Cassiopeia quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Just like that?”
“Not quite so simply, but he died. He chose to serve Voldemort, and that proved to be a mistake on his part.”
She nodded interestedly.
“What of my great nephew. I understand that you claim he is innocent of what he was imprisoned for.”
Sirius and what had happened to him was still something of a sore point for Harry.
“He was innocent,” he said firmly. “The man who betrayed my parents and murdered those muggles was Peter Pettigrew, and I will catch up with him soon enough.”
Cassiopeia leaned back in her chair.
“You’re a killer. I have met killers, Potter. Many who are not claimed to be, but you, yes, you are a killer. Tell me, how many people have you killed so far?”
She seemed rather excited by the thought, and just a little unhinged, much like Bellatrix.
Still, he shrugged in response.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Quirrell was the first, even if that wasn’t entirely on purpose, but since then, several.”
She clapped gleefully.
“Oh, you truly are a most interesting man, and so young too. I see what it was Gellert saw in you. Now, what of the rumours of your patronus charm. I hear it is most impressive, impressive enough to ward off dozens of dementors at once.”
His patronus was no secret, so that information could’ve come from anywhere, and yet, he was beginning to pick up on a pattern of just who it was Cassiopeia Black had discussing him with.
“It’s one of the spells I’m good with,” he confirmed as he leaned back in his chair. “You’ve done your research.”
“It would be foolish of me to place myself at your mercy without it. Our first meeting, I made quite the error in coming to you the way I did.”
“At my mercy,” Harry chuckled. “We both know that you’re not a helpless, old woman.”
“There will be less of the old,” Cassiopeia chided good-naturedly, “but you are right. I have met few who troubled me, with a wand at least. Being sharp with a wand is one thing, but I once knew a man who could destroy anyone without lifting a finger to do so. I never did find out what happened to Weber after Gellert’s reign was ended,” she finished bitterly.
Harry had never heard of Weber.
There’d been no mention of such a man in anything he’d read about Grindelwald, but it was clear that Cassiopeia Black respected him.
Not that it mattered, not unless it gave him a better insight on what Grindelwald was currently doing in the other world.
“So, are we only researching one another for the sake of curiosity, or are we preparing for some unpleasantness to occur between us?” Cassiopeia asked, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.
Harry shrugged.
“I have more enemies than I can count. I’ll end up with more and more before any of this is over, and there’s no promise I will live through it. Everyone must die, it is our journey leading up to that moment that matters. I’m not afraid of Death, not when I know that peace awaits me.”
Cassiopeia said nothing for a moment before she nodded thoughtfully.
“You speak with a wisdom of someone much older than yourself, and something tells me that it will be you that outlives your enemies, Harry Potter. I grew up around powerful men and met others that were more so. You are like them, like Gellert in certain ways, but different in others.”
“What was he like when he was younger? How did you even meet him?”
Her eyes lit up, and she smiled fondly.
“I didn’t know him when he was so young. I did not meet Gellert until he was already establishing himself on the continent. I know that he spent time in America, but he never really spoke of it much. No, he was never one to focus on the past. He always preferred to look forward, and when I offered my services, he’d already been in Europe for several years.”
Harry cursed internally.
As much as she spoke of him with such admiration, it appeared that she would not divulge what he needed to know, or she simply could not because she didn’t know it herself, which meant that Harry would need to look elsewhere for the information he sought.
“You really looked up to him.”
Cassiopeia released a deep sigh.
“I did. Gellert wasn’t perfect, and he would never pretend to be, but he had such a weakness for the old fool. I always had a terrible feeling that Dumbledore would be the reason for his downfall. As much as he claimed he would allow nothing to stop him, I do not doubt that there was some hesitation on his part when the two of them fought. I despise Dumbledore, but I will never deny that he was one of the few truly exceptional wizards I have met. Only he was a match for Gellert, and neither truly wanted to fight the other. Dumbledore was pressured into doing it, and Gellert fought back,” she finished with a shrug.
“Because they were in love with each other.”
Cassiopeia nodded.
“Gellert never said as much, but he didn’t need to. I don’t know what happened between them. Gellert spent most of his life being broken hearted. I should’ve known that Dumbledore did not have the guts to kill him. I should’ve…”
She broke off and shook her head.
“He was pissed off that he was locked away. Dumbledore couldn’t kill him, but he couldn’t let him go either.”
“And then you came along.”
“I only gave him what he asked of me, and in return, he shared his life’s work.”
“And he would only have done so if he believed you to be worthy of it. Believe me, Potter, he would’ve rather rotted away in that prison than give up his work to someone he didn’t believe in. He was a stubborn fool,” she added, wiping away an errant tear, only to gasp as a burst of light illuminated the room, forming into an ethereal fox.
“Potter, I have found Fletcher and have taken him into custody,” the voice of Cullen, one of the aurors spoke before the fox vanished.
“What an ingenious use of the spell,” Cassiopeia said appraisingly.
“You’ll be pleased to know that Dumbledore created it.”
The woman grimaced and Harry chuckled as he stood.
“It was nice to meet you, Miss Black. I am sorry about you not knowing about Grindelwald. I can tell you thought a lot of him, and he did you too.”
She offered him a stiff nod as she stood.
“I’ll be watching you, Potter, with the keenest of interest. Do not let Gellert down. You alone carry his legacy. I would not see it wasted.”
‘More than you know,’ he sighed internally, remembering the bargain struck between the two, and the piece of Grindelwald that was now with him.
“You’re going to be around?”
“For a while, at least. It has been so long since I have been here. Maybe there is a part of me that missed this place. With your permission, I would like to use Raven’s cottage. It is in Yorkshire, and far out of the way of anywhere else.”
Harry did not even know the house existed, so he nodded.
He saw no reason the woman could not use it.
“I will have Kreacher prepare it for you. I had him lockdown all of the properties more than a year ago now.”
“So, you’re not just a pretty face,” Cassiopeia said amusedly. “Then I will wait for him to come to me. He will know where I am.”
With that, she vanished, and Harry could only shake his head before following suit.
Her reputation was not lost on him, and perhaps it was that Grindelwald had chosen him to benefit from his work, but Cassiopeia Black had not been close to as unpleasant as he knew she could be, and for that, he was grateful.
One Bellatrix was enough. He did not need an older, saner, and more experienced one vying for his blood.
“Fletcher,” he muttered irritably as he arrived where the aurors were residing with their families.
He had many questions for the slippery man, and he did not doubt there were answers to be had. Fletcher knew something of everything that happened across wizarding Britain. That was why he’d managed a lengthy stint in Azkaban all these years, but his luck my just run out if he chose to not be so forthcoming.
Nurmengard hungered for more prisoners, after all.