A Majority
“Knockturn Alley has always been a disaster, long before I became an auror, Potter. Every Minister of Magic that has come into office over the last few centuries have had their own ideas and initiatives to rid it of the less savoury elements, and all have failed. Some have managed to clean it up for a while, but the dregs always find a way back in, and eventually, those in power give up. That’s just the way it has always been, but your biggest problem is that the places worth finding are the ones run and owned by those with means and resources to keep them hidden.”
“So, there’s nothing you can tell me.”
“I didn’t say that,” Dawlish sighed. “We all have our suspicions on who it is running these places. The best I can do is either give you a list of names, or you allow me and the others to do what we do best and find the bastards. Without the law holding us back, we can do that without too many problems, and it will do this lot good to have something to do. We’re all getting restless, Potter. It is not in our nature to be idle.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
If Dawlish and the aurors were willing to help him, it would be foolish to turn it down. Besides, it would free up his time to focus on the other matters at hand.
“Then do whatever you must,” he insisted, eliciting a grin from the auror. “I just need someone I can get information from, as much as possible.”
“And then what?”
“I have plans, Dawlish, but I won’t leave you lot out of them. You have my word.”
Dawlish’s grin widened and he nodded appreciatively as he clapped Harry smartly on the shoulder.
“The others will be delighted to hear it.”
“How are things here?”
“Honestly, much more than any of us were expecting. We appreciate it, Potter. Our families and loved ones are safe, but…”
“You’re all restless.”
“Exactly that,” Dawlish chuckled. “We’d prefer to be kept busy and put an end to this damned war.”
“That’s all you had to say. There are a lot of things that need to be done, and I could use all the help I can get.”
“Name it, Potter, and this lot here will do everything they can. As much as we appreciate this, we want to go home, and we want our lives back.”
“And I will do everything I can to make sure that happens.”
Dawlish offered him a genuine, encouraging smile.
“You’ll be reaching your majority in just a few days, won’t you?”
Harry nodded.
“Then I suppose the next time I see you, it will be Lord Potter. Not that it matters much, for now. It’s not as though you’re going to be attending the summer gathering the day after, is it?”
“Summer gathering?” Harry asked curiously.
“The Wizengamot. They meet on the first of August every year.”
“Every year?”
Dawlish frowned and shook his head.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he sighed. “You’re going to do something bloody stupid, aren’t you?”
Harry hummed thoughtfully, a grin tugging at his own lips.
“Would I do that, Dawlish?”
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
He fought the urge to level his wand towards the elf holding a cake, and the young woman sitting astride him, beaming mischievously.
“You bloody idiot,” Harry huffed. “I could’ve cursed you!”
Hermione rolled her eyes at him as she climbed off, and he released a deep, calming breath.
“You wouldn’t curse me, Harry.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he grumbled as he sat up. “What time is it?”
“Eight,” Hermione answered, pulling the duvet off of him as he laid back down. “Come on, you have cake and breakfast waiting for you in the kitchen.”
“Can’t I just go back to sleep?”
“You can’t waste your birthday in bed, Harry.”
“I didn’t get into it until five!”
“That’s your fault. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen for you.”
She left the bedroom, and Harry cursed under his breath, pausing as he caught sight of Kreacher.
“What is that on your head?”
“Miss says it is a birthday, hat” Kreacher answered.
Harry fought the urge to laugh.
The elf looked ridiculous with the pink party hat on, and were it not for his earnest expression, Harry would think he was in on an elaborate joke of sorts.
No, humour and laughter was not in Kreacher’s nature.
“I don’t suppose I’d get away with going back to sleep, would I?”
Kreacher shook his head.
“Miss is waiting for you in the kitchen.”
Harry muttered under his breath as he stood and summoned clothes.
Fortunately, he was wearing pyjamas.
Not that it seemed to matter to Hermione. She would’ve disturbed him in the same way regardless.
She needed a hobby, or something else to occupy her time whilst she was here. She was taking too much joy in interrupting him whilst he was sleeping.
She didn’t do it often, but that didn’t change the fact that Harry was tired from his time observing Knockturn Alley for much of the night before. Thus far, his efforts had proved to be fruitless, but he wasn’t alone in his efforts.
Although they had hidden themselves exceptionally well, Harry was aware of the aurors scouting, searching for someone of worth they could apprehend.
Even so, they’d had no luck thus far, but there was no denying their dedication and determination.
“You have presents,” Hermione announced as he entered the kitchen.
“When did you start drinking coffee?”
“During third year when I had the time turner.”
He’d never seen her drinking it, but then again, Hermione had not been around during third year much, and Harry hadn’t during their fourth, fifth or sixth.
Maybe he’d just stopped paying attention to what anyone else was doing.
It was odd being seventeen, and only stranger still as he realised Hermione would be eighteen in just a couple of months. Neither of them were the same eleven-year-olds who’d boarded the Hogwarts Express so many years prior, and he wondered just how much he’d truly changed.
Of course, he’d grown, but it wasn’t something Harry had paid much attention to.
If the differences in Hermione were anything to go by, he too must appear to be a different person entirely.
Her hair was still as thick as ever, but much shorter than she used to wear it, and although she was still short, she’d definitely become a woman in the time that had gone by.
Come to think of it, Harry did not think he’d believe they were the same person if the younger Hermione was seated next to the one before him now, and it was likely the same were he to see his underfed, eleven-yar-old self.
“Is there something on my face?” Hermione asked.
“No, I just thinking how different everything was from when we first met.”
“We’re not so different,” Hermione said dismissively. “We just got older.”
“Speak for yourself,” Harry snorted as he took a seat. “You might still be the same bookish, nosy madam, who’s now developed a coffee drinking habit, but I’m not the same.”
Hermione kicked him under the table as she laughed but sobered quickly.
“No, you’re not the same, mostly, but you’re still the same sweet, reckless idiot that came to save me from a troll in the bathroom. Your heroic things are just much bigger now.”
He grimaced at her description of him, and Hermione shot him a pointed look.
“You might not like it, Harry, but you are a hero to so many people. You’ll never be able to escape that.”
“And to others, I’m the villain. It just depends what side you are looking at me from. We both know how the world works. Look what happened during fourth year. When people believed I entered my name into the Goblet of Fire, they turned on me immediately. Look what Dumbledore did for the world, and they still turned on him because of lies in the paper. People are fickle, Hermione, so it’s much easier to never allow myself to think I am anything other what they want me to be in any given moment.”
She smiled sadly.
“I never believed it,” she pointed out.
“You’re the one exception. Everyone else did, and it’s not something I will ever forget. Anyway, it’s my birthday. I’d rather not spend it remembering just how shit people have been to me. Is that a treacle cake?”
“It is,” Hermione confirmed. “I’ll cut some for you while you open your presents.”
She did so, and Harry smiled fondly.
What he’d said was only the truth.
Everyone he’d ever met had been either fickle or unreliable at best, but Hermione’s loyalty to him had never wavered, and he treasured her friendship because of that.
To her, he’d never been the-boy-who-lived, or anything else other than Harry Potter, a boy she’d met and befriended who had more baggage at his age than most would ever carry, but to her, it had not mattered.
She’d always been there through everything since they’d met, never doubting him when everyone else did, and helping him in her own brilliant ways whenever he’d been lost.
Truthfully, he would’ve been even more lost without her and perhaps wouldn’t even be here now to do what he was doing to finally put an end to all that had haunted him his entire life.
(Break)
It had been rather amusing being pursued by her great niece at first, but now, it was becoming tiresome. Wherever Cassiopeia went, Bellatrix wasn’t far behind, and the woman was beginning to grate on her nerves.
Were it not for the affection she had for the eager girl she’d once been Cassiopeia would have disposed of the woman she’d become by now, but instead, she would wait for her comeuppance.
For all who followed foolish men their own fate was sealed, and with how much a zealot Bellatrix was for this Voldemort, there was only two ways it would end for her.
She would either find herself back in Azkaban for the rest of her days, or dead.
Given that this Potter boy was seemingly able to wield Gellert’s magic so expertly, the latter was more likely.
“I do wish you would stop following me,” Cassiopeia huffed irritably. “You’re very boring, you know. I once had high hopes for you, girl.”
“I am only doing what I must.”
“You’re doing what your master is telling you,” Cassiopeia returned. “I expect he is just as boring.”
“He is not!” Bellatrix said hotly, her hand twitching towards her wand.
Cassiopeia cackled.
“Oh, you do have a temper, girl. Best keep it in check before it gets you hurt. No, I bet he’s the raving type, spouting nonsense, always threatening people, and attacking those weaker than him.”
Bellatrix did not deign her with an answer, and chose to glare instead, which told Cassiopeia all she needed to know.
Of course, she’d heard of Voldemort in passing but not being in Britain for any length of time for more than three decades now, she’d taken no interest in the budding Dark Lord.
Evidently, he’d somehow done well enough for himself that he’d seized control of the country for the most part, but it would not last.
Whether it was Potter or someone else, he would meet a rather unpleasant end.
“Do you recognise that owl?” Bellatrix asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
Cassiopeia frowned at the white snowy watching them from atop a nearby tree, and it even barked indignantly before landing on her shoulder.
After it had been relieved of its burden, it continue to glare balefully at Bellatrix for a moment before taking to the sky, leaving Cassiopeia holding a brief but not unwelcome not.
Godric’s Hollow, tomorrow, ten pm. Come alone.
Lord Harry James Potter
With a nod, she burned the missive with a tap of her wand.
“What is it?” Bellatrix demanded to know.
“That would be my business, girl. Now, leave me alone. You have my word I will not harm Potter if and when I see him. I’m warning you. My patience has run out.”
Turning on the spot, she vanished, and repeated the feat half a dozen times more to ensure Bellatrix could not follow her before she relaxed, her nostrils flaring as she took in the small muggle village she found herself in.
It would do for now.
“Tomorrow,” she murmured.
Tomorrow, she would get the answers she was seeking.
(Break)
She had been watching the comings and goings of any and all who entered the Ministry of Magic whilst she was within the building, taking note of the more prominent among them, and the times they arrived they left.
Some kept quite the tight schedule, but others not so much.
Thicknesse would arrive directly in his office and rarely ventured away from it during the hours he was present, was flanked by half a dozen guards in dark robes when he did, his keen eyes flickering to every corner of wherever he found himself.
Yaxley was a little bolder in his habits.
He too had his contingent of guards, but Nymphadora saw him around more often, barking orders at those who passed him by, even if he had no idea who they were or what they did here.
For him, it was all about the power of the lofty position he found himself in, the prestige it brought, and privilege of being all but above the law.
Of course, there were others, but it was when she consulted the incredible map of Hogwarts Harry had provided her with that she realised what was unfolding within the castle.
Voldemort was indeed keen on taking a firm grasp of the school and had already placed several Death Eaters within and around the place. What Harry intended to do about it, Nymphadora did not know, but she took note of each of them too, ensuring he was kept abreast of the situation.
It was a risky, dangerous game to play, and would become more so when the students arrived in the coming weeks, but thus far, he’d not let them down.
“Come on, out of the way!” one of the workers huffed irritably, pushing past her as he carried a sizable stack of parchment towards the golden lift a short distance away.
Nymphadora watched as he paused briefly to speak to one of his colleagues and stifled a snort of laughter as the parchment spilled from his arms.
Cursing under his breath, he gathered them up with a wave of his wand before continuing on his way, though he paused once more as a gentle breeze blew through the length and breadth of the atrium, his expression one of confusion before shaking his head dismissively.
Nymphadora frowned and checked her watch, breathing a sigh of relief as she realised her shift had come to an end.
Somehow, it was becoming more and more tense within the Ministry of Magic with each passing day.
It seemed that those in charge of registering the men, women, and children were under mounting pressure, not helped by the fact that for the past day or so, those that arrived did so being escorted with wands pressed into their backs.
The men and women in the dark robes who’d been here for the past weeks no longer were, and it appeared they had been sent to hunt down the stragglers, or those outright refusing to comply with the Magical Registration Act.
Nymphadora had seen several of them dragged away, families separated, and rather unpleasant scenes of some being cursed when they protested a little too much at the treatment.
It was troubling to say the least, no less for her knowing her own parents were among those flouting the law.
Still, her mother and father would not listen, and not a day went by that Nymphadora did not check on them.
Even so, it was one of many things occupying her mind, and as she took her leave of the Ministry of Magic, she witnessed another group being forced within to register against their will.
For the time being, this was indeed Britain, and the dark cloud hanging it over it grew darker still.
Nonetheless, despite what had taken hold of it, there was still something of a silver lining, a light at the end of the tunnel, and just a little hope to cling on to that all may be well again.
How that would be, she did not know, but so long as Harry Potter continued his efforts to put an end to Voldemort, that hope would remain.
(Break)
There was little joy to be found in the meetings of the Wizengamot.
They’d always been rather dull affairs, but at least when all of the Lords and Ladies were in attendance, the debates among them could become quite animated, and even impassioned from time to time when discussing something of a particular interest to someone.
Ever since the Dark Lord had taken control of the Ministry of Magic, however, there was no lively debate, and for the most part, they were merely for show, a façade played out for the members of the media so that they could convey the image of a functioning democracy to the public at large, or any visitor that found themselves in Britain.
In truth, the Dark Lord would inform Pius of his wishes, and his will would be done with a few strokes of a quill and a few raised wands in support.
A little over half of those eligible to be here attended now, those in support of the Dark Lord, and the neutrals among them doing just enough to comply with the status quo.
There was no Augusta Longbottom filling in for her grandson, no Tiberius Ogden or Elphias Doge, and certainly no Albus Dumbledore to rally those few who would make a song and dance about protesting against the introduction of new laws, or amendments to old ones.
There was no resistance among those here, and as Pius acknowledged the gathered men and women with a nod, he took his seat, gesturing for Titus Yaxley to begin.
“I call the summer gathering of the Wizengamot to order on August 1st, 1997, and welcome the members of the media to what will be…”
He broke off as the door opened, his eyes almost bulging from their sockets in surprise, an expression matched by everyone else in attendance, even Pius himself.
The cameras of the photographers in the public gallery began to flash incessantly once the photographers managed to shake themselves from their stupor, but the young man who’d entered did not blink. Instead, he walked brazenly to a seat that had not been occupied in many years before sitting down, his gaze as expectant as it was hard.
Pius could not believe the temerity of Harry Potter, of how he’d walked so boldly amongst the dozens upon dozens of people here that wanted little more than to see him dead.
He was unperturbed by the atmosphere his presence had caused, and those damned eyes of his swept across every single member of the Wizengamot as though he was memorising each of their faces.
Pius could not deny that his stare was rather unnerving, and were he not seeing it for himself, he would not believe that Potter of all people was here among them.
Either he truly was a damned fool, or he had a boldness to him like no other.
Regardless, there were those that undoubtedly respected him for coming, others who were cautious, and even those that were visibly troubled. Some even seemed to be contemplating reaching for their wands, and it was Yaxley who shook his head, preventing them from doing so.
Pius too was lost on how to react.
Of course, the Dark Lord would be furious that Potter had come here at all, but they’d each been instructed that he was not to be harmed, that he was the Dark Lord’s alone to handle.
Not that there were many among them who would stand a chance.
Pius had received the reports of what had happened in the small suburb of London, of what Potter had done when it had been attacked.
No, this was no longer a boy that had been fortunate to survive what he had as a babe, Potter was a man now; young, inexperienced in many things, and quite out of his depth when it came to Lord Voldemort, but nonetheless, a dangerous man in his own right.
He did not seem to care for any of the reactions of his peers, and as someone with a seat he’d inherited, he had every right to be here.
Why he felt it was a good idea to occupy it, Pius did not know.
Perhaps it was an act of defiance, or maybe even a provocation. No one could be so stupid to believe they would be welcomed with open arms if they were in Potter’s position.
No, this was a statement, and as he continued to watch those watching him, a slight smirk tugged at his lips, almost as though he knew something the others within the room did not.
Once more, Pius looked towards Yaxley who frowned thoughtfully before clearing his throat.
“I am unsure if you aware or not, Lord Potter, that there is currently a campaign being run by the Ministry of Magic named the Magical Registration Act.”
“I am aware of it.”
“Then you are also aware that as of yesterday, the 31st July, 1997, you were too late to register for it,” Yaxley said smugly. “Missing the deadline is an arrestable offence, subject to a minimum term of three months in Azkaban along with a one hundred galleon fine.”
“I am also aware of that,” Potter acknowledged, “and I have complied with what has been asked of me. I arrived yesterday morning to register.”
His declaration was greeted by murmurs, and Yaxley scoffed.
“I think we would be aware if a man of your…stature had done so.”
“I was here,” Potter said with a shrug. “I registered with that dopey idiot, what was his name again, ah, Milburn. He was very accommodating. Check if you don’t believe me. I’m sure you will find my forms in the pile.”
Yaxley looked towards Pius, who nodded for Scabior to do just that, his feet crashing against the stone floor as he sprinted from the chamber.
If Potter had indeed registered as he claimed, and the Dark Lord was not notified of it the moment it had been done, somebody would be on the receiving end of his ire.
“You were not here yesterday, Potter,” Dolores Umbridge interjected. “I was supervising the registrations all day.”
“Oh, shut up you old trout. Honestly, I had a gutful of you at Hogwarts. I thought being dragged off by the centaurs would’ve cured you of being a complete tosser. Maybe next time I’ll find something else a little more convincing.”
Several within the room stifled a bout of laughter, and the purpling Umbridge opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, though a few murmured words from Pius was enough to prevent her from doing so.
The situation was tense enough already, and it would not do to exacerbate it.
“Ah, Scabior, did you manage to find Lord Potter’s forms?”
The breathless, pale man nodded, his expression one of. Worry as he handed them to Pius, who read through each page carefully.
Potter had indeed arrived yesterday to register with Milburn, and worse yet was the signature accompanying that of the damned fool.
“Well, it seems that Lord Potter was telling the truth,” he declared reluctantly. “He arrived yesterday morning at a little after 11am.”
“Impossible,” Umbridge retorted. “I would not have missed him…”
She swallowed deeply as Pius pointed towards her own signature on the piece of parchment, before she looked towards Potter, who was attempting to hide another smirk.
Pius did not know how he had managed it, but this was undoubtedly Dolores’s signature, and the dumbfounded woman could not refute it.
“Very well,” he conceded, subtly tapping his forearm with his wand. “Shall we begin?”
(Break)
He frowned as he received the alert from Pius, which could mean only one of two things, the first being that there was an emergency at the Ministry of Magic which required immediate attention. No, that wasn’t it. The alert had not been urgent enough that he needed to intervene in something unfolding, which meant that Potter had been spotted.
He stood at the realisation, wondering where the boy was and who had seen him, his patience wearing decidedly thin as the door opened several moments later and a frantic Scabior entered.
“Where?” the Dark Lord demanded to know.
“At the ministry, my lord. He’s taken up his seat on the Wizengamot.”
The Dark Lord suspected his own expression mirrored those of his followers who’d been in attendance when Potter had sauntered in; shocked, dumbfounded, and confused in equal measures.
“He simply walked in?”
“Yes, my lord,” Scabior answered. “He is in the chambers now taking part in the meeting.”
The Dark Lord could only shake his head.
Either Potter had completely taken leave of his senses, he was incredibly stupid, had a death wish, or he was mocking Lord Voldemort.
No matter the reasoning behind his sudden, unexpected appearance, it irked him so, and it was not something he could allow to pass without a response.
“Then I will wait for him to leave,” he decided, readying himself to depart, pausing briefly.
What was Potter’s intention?
He must have been aware that he was walking into the lion’s den, and yet, he had done so without hesitation, but undoubtedly for reasons only known to him.
Was he merely under the impression that he could just take up his seat as though there wasn’t a war occurring around, as though the Ministry of magic was not in the hands of his enemy?
It made little sense for him to show his face so boldly, but then again, nothing Potter had done recently made sense.
He’d come alone to confront the Dark Lord, his followers, and several giants when they’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, and now, he was appearing publicly in another show of defiance.
Perhaps that was all this was, an act of defiance in a bid to insult the Dark Lord.
Maybe he was hoping to provoke a reaction, and if that was indeed so, he would soon wish he had not. Lord Voldemort did not take kindly to being prodded so readily, and certainly not by a damned fool who’d not learned to do so.
(Break)
I hadn’t been so difficult to ensure his signed documents found their way into a pile already signed off by Umbridge. It had merely been a matter of breaking into her office under his cloak, avoiding her pitiful security measures, and helping herself to one that had already been filled in.
With just a few spells, Mr Aldon Selwyn was no longer registered, and Harry was. Upon exiting the office, it was simply a case of bumping into the man in the atrium who was carrying a fresh badge of forms, ensuring his was mixed up into the pile.
It was certainly worth seeing the look disbelief on Umbridge’s face, and the confusion of the others.
What was difficult, however, was feigning interest in the discussion of the Wizengamot, but Harry was pleased he had come, if only for the discomfort of the others who’d gathered.
None could keep their eyes off him, and those who spoke were choosing their words much more carefully than they would have in his absence. Were it not for the severity of what Britain faced, Harry would find it to be rather amusing, but there was little humour to be had.
No, this was the most serious undertaking of his life, and he ensured everyone in the room knew just how seriously he was taking it.
With each member of the Wizengamot, or senior ministry employee who spoke, they were met with his stern, expectant gaze, almost daring them to say something out of turn, causing them to falter endlessly.
They had been caught off guard, had certainly to anticipated is arrival, and Harry would make a point of ensuring he was here regularly to remind them that Britain was not defeated yet, that so long as there was blood in his veins and air in his lungs, Voldemort had not won.
He looked towards the door to see Scabior sneaking back in, and did not miss the slightest of nods he sent in Pius Thicknesse’s direction. By now, Riddle would know that Harry was here, and all that remained was to see his reaction.
He would not burst into the room so brazenly and attempt to kill him. No, Tom would undoubtedly be nearby, and though Harry wasn’t certain of his intentions, it wasn’t as though he would grant the man any kind of opportunity he was seeking.
He smirked once more and suspected his expression was quite sinister given that Nott balked enough that it was noticeable.
When he had finished speaking, he took his seat, and Thicknesse cleared his throat as he stood.
“Well, that will be all for today. Of course, you will all be notified of when our next meeting is to take place. Good day.”
He did not linger, and left quickly with his entourage in tow, followed quickly by those who’d been sitting in the neutral bloc.
Evidently, those remaining did not wish to be in Harry’s company any longer either, and they too began filing out of the chambers silently with none meeting his following stare.
Only a moment later, Harry was alone, though he suspected that would not be so for any length of time.
No, already, he could sense that Tom Riddle was somewhere nearby, so he disappeared into the folds of his cloak, just as he felt the approach of the dementors and crashing footsteps of those hoping to apprehend him.
(Break)
“Well, where is he?” the Dark Lord demanded to know as he swept into the chambers of the Wizengamot.
He could feel Potter on the air, sense that he was nearby, and yet, there was no other sign of him.
“He has to be here, my lord!” Scabior growled. “I was watching the door and he did not leave with the others.”
The Dark Lord hummed as he cautiously walked towards the seat bearing the Potter name where the boy had been sitting only moments prior. His magic was still prominent, but he wasn’t here, or so it seemed.
“I know you are here, Potter,” he murmured, his grip tightening around his wand. “Why is it you are hiding from me?”
He looked towards the dementors circling above.
They were showing no sign that there was anyone here who shouldn’t be, and it wasn’t in their nature to be tricked. No, Potter may have been here, but somehow, he had managed to slip past Scabior and the rest of those who’d been in attendance for the meeting.
“My Lord,” Pius called nervously.
He turned to see the corpse of Travers hanging from the large crest of the Ministry of Magic above the dais where the minister would address the room, the blood from the wound in his throat dripping to ground rhythmically.
Given the consistency, the kill would’ve happened only in the last few hours, and Potter had left it here as a threat, as a warning, and as an insult to the Dark Lord himself.
Seeing a piece of parchment pinned to his chest, he approached, frowning as he reached his deceased follower.
“Come Death, come,” he read aloud, balking as an icy chill past through the chambers, causing the dementors to screech as they fled.
“What the bloody hell was that?” the shaken Scabior asked.
The Dark Lord did not know but shook his head as he held up a comforting hand.
“A trick,’ he declared. “Nothing but a trick.”
Whatever it was had unsettled those who’d witnessed it, and the Dark Lord could not deny that it had taken him unaware. He’d never seen the dementors act in such a way, and that did not even account for how it was Potter had managed to get to Travers in the first place.
He had seen the man only the previous day, and he’d made no mentioning of being away from Malfoy Manor, so, where had he gone and why?
The Dark Lord did not know, but he would get to the bottom of the troubling matter.
Potter had once more overstepped, had gone to great lengths to make such a statement, and though he had somehow escaped, his presence could still be felt.
“Cut him down!” he snapped angrily as he stormed from the room, his fury palpable, and patience having worn thing, though no less determined to ascertain what had happened here, and what had led to it.
(Break)
She’d heard Gellert mention the village from time to time whenever he discussed his first visits to Britain, and the time he’d spent with Dumbledore or his aunt Bathilda.
Cassiopeia had never ventured here, but she could understand why the man had been drawn to the place.
The magic was quite intoxicating, as alluring as it was dangerous, but with an undeniable appeal to it. Even so, it was not welcoming, nor could it be commanded by Cassiopeia.
If anything, it seemed to be commanding her, and she followed a distinct trail all the way to the church in the centre of the village where it only grew to be somehow stronger.
“Potter?” she called, drawing her wand.
She could feel that someone was nearby, that she was being watched, seemingly by everything surrounding her, and when the voice spoke, she could not tell where it was coming from.
“You have questions.”
“Potter, is that you?” Cassiopeia asked, lighting the tip of her wand and scanning the churchyard.
“It is me. You will need to forgive me for being cautious. I have enemies, and some share your blood.”
“Well, at least you’re not stupid enough to place yourself in danger, but I would speak with you.”
“I am in no danger here.”
The magic permeating the air grew colder and colder still, so much so that Cassiopeia thought she might suffocate from it, but before that happened, it lessened, and she took a moment to steady her shallow breathing.
This truly was an eerie place, and not just because of the magic, the landscape, and scattered buildings. No, there was something else here rooted in all of those things, something unnatural yet not out of place.
Before she could ponder it further, a fiery shadow burst to life a short distance away, and an envelope fluttered towards her, sealed with a familiar waxen symbol.
“Gellert,” she whispered, trailing her fingers along the scrawl spelling out her name.
Swallowing deeply, she opened it, taking a moment to bask in once more having something of the man she’d dedicated herself to so many decades prior.
Cassiopeia,
If you are reading this, then you somehow discovered that I am still alive, which I anticipated would inevitably happen when I offered my assistance to Harry Potter at Albus’s behest.
Equally, if you are reading this, then it means that I am dead, finally granted what Albus should’ve given me the day he bested me.
All these years, I have only wanted either one of two things; my freedom from the cage I was kept within, or my freedom from the prison of my mind.
I have no regrets in my life, only that I could not deliver on the promise of success I made to all those that devoted themselves to me; you most of all.
I expect that my demise will not truly come as a shock to you. The world would never allow me to be free, and thanks to Harry Potter, I finally have what I have desired for so long.
No longer will my body ache and continue to wither from age, and no longer shall I be tormented by my failures. Even my life’s work will continue through Harry, who has more than earned the right to wield my magic.
He is an exceptional young man, perhaps more so than I was at his age, and he will one day be even better than both Albus and I.
I have come to think of him as a mixture of us both; ambitious but naturally caring, ruthless to his enemies, but the most nurturing to those who have his heart.
He is not to blame for any of this, Cassiopeia. He merely gifted an old man what was asked of him, an eternal peace, an escape from my tired bones, and a legacy that will live on through someone worthy.
Thank him for me as I thank you for your years of unwavering loyalty, and if you can find it in your heart, forgive me.
Yours, always,
Gellert
By the time she had finished reading, her hands were trembling, and an errant tear was running down her cheek. There was no doubt in her mind that these were Gellert’s words, and though she was angry, broken-hearted, and feeling a loss like no other, she readily accepted the offered handkerchief from the young man who appeared before her, his emerald eyes alight with a power that somehow reminded her of her former mentor.
How Harry Potter could remind her of him, she did not know, but Cassiopeia Black deflated, allowing the anger to abate as she looked upon him.
“You must’ve made quite the impression on him,” she murmured.
“Maybe, but I think I gave him something no other would, and he repaid that in the only way he knew how. I have my enemies, too many of them, and his magic has become an invaluable weapon against them. It was a gift that served us both and serves me still. His passing was painless, and he is at peace.”
Cassiopeia nodded and offered the young man an appreciative smile.
“Thank you,” she murmured, “for giving me closure.”
He returned the gesture with a slight bow, and Cassiopeia eyed him curiously.
She knew nothing about the young man before her, but she could feel his magic, and in the days since she’d arrived, had heard his name on almost every pair of lips.
Harry Potter the-boy-who-lived, the babe who’d survived the impossible, and now the man leading the war against this Lord Voldemort.
Man.
He could barely be considered such, and yet, he carried himself as though he’d spent his life shouldering more than any should.
Perhaps he had.
Cassiopeia knew what others said about him, but nothing about him other than what he’d done for her, and for Gellert.
Yes, he was indeed a curious person, and his willingness to do what he was spoke volumes of his character.
Maybe Gellert was right. Maybe Potter was indeed something between him and Dumbledore, though she was loath to think of him in any positive light.
“I would speak with you, Harry Potter,” she decided. “Gellert seems to think you are a man of merit, and certainly worthy of his legacy. I would see what he saw in you for myself.”
His penetrating gaze met hers, and he watched her for a moment before nodding.
“Fine, but not here.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s coming, and I will not have him soiling this sacred place with his filth. I will write to you soon.”
With that, he vanished in a cloud of blackened smoke just as a large group of men and women arrived in black robes, some sporting masks, and one prominent figure without.
His eyes were a disturbing shade of scarlet, and perhaps he would’ve once been handsome, but whatever he’d done to himself whilst delving into whatever magic he had, left his skin waxy and his features serpent-like.
“POTTER!” he bellowed irritably.
“He’s not here,” Cassiopeia said amusedly, quirking an eyebrow at the angry Bellatrix before she too vanished, seeing no reason to find herself amongst such people.
There had only ever been one man she’d followed, and though she had no intention of falling foul of this Dark Lord, she’d not cower before him, profess her loyalty, or find herself in his service.
No, although he was no longer here, her loyalty had and would always be to Gellert.