Gateway
Gellert believes that it is us who should determine the fate of the world, that the muggles have proven to be nothing short of destructive, and parasitic. Would never word it the same way, but I cannot deny that he is right.
- Albus Dumbledore
“It is with a heavy heart that I must announce the murder of Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and her niece Susan, a current student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The defences of their home were breached on Tuesday evening, and their bodies discovered early on Wednesday. I speak for us all at the Ministry of Magic when I say that were are devastated by what has occurred, and we will not rest until justice is served to the perpetrators.”
With a flick of his wand, Harry turned off the wireless.
It had only taken two days for the news to break, and though he’d already known of what had happened, it felt all the more real hearing it spoken of openly.
Right now, he did not doubt that Voldemort was out there somewhere, grinning from ear to ear for the victory he’d achieved, because that’s what it was.
Amelia Bones, by all accounts, had been an incredibly gifted which, uncompromisable in her duty, and for Harry’s part, he respected her for not being among Fudge’s stooges attempting to have him expelled for defending himself and Dudley from the dementors who’d arrived in Little Whinging.
Still, she was gone now, and Riddle had claimed yet another casualty of a war those who opposed him were already losing by a wide margin.
It only added to his already maudlin thoughts.
If Amelia Bones did not stand a chance against Voldemort in her own home, what, if any, did Harry have when he and the Dark Lord inevitably met?
He could only shake his head at the thought.
He’d probably be fortunate to last a minute or two at best.
It was what occupied his thoughts for the most part, and when he wasn’t thinking of what awaited him, he was distracted by the persistent presence of whatever it was he’d met in Godric’s Hollow.
Although his dreams had been free of the voice these past two nights, he could still feel it calling to him, and the more time that went by, the harder it was to ignore the call.
Harry was already all but dead, wasn’t he, so, what could the disembodied voice do to him that wouldn’t already happen?
It was a rather grim line of thought to follow, but as things were, it was the truth, and the more he tried to rationalise his resistance, the more the urge to do as it bid plagued him.
Was it a compulsion charm of sorts?
Harry didn’t know, but more than once, he had caught himself considering returning to the village to see what it was lying in wait for him.
It was the chiming of the clock that shook him from that thought, and he released a deep breath.
The pull was becoming impossible to ignore, and though it was a troubling thing to be plagued by, Harry could not help but think it might just be the solution to his problems, so long as he did not end up similarly to two of the three Peverell brothers.
Iolanthe had not been made privy to all of the details of what had happened, but Harry knew both Cadmus and Antioch had died quite soon after they’d achieved whatever it was they had.
What he needed to know was the story in full, and even then, it was likely just another terrible fate he would fall victim to. Nonetheless, his choices seemed limited. He could either fight and die at the hands of Voldemort, or he could take a considerable risk.
Neither were particularly attractive, but they seemed to be the only two choices he had.
None had prepared him to face what was to come when he and the Dark Lord met, and Harry was in no doubt that he was woefully unprepared.
What could the voice do for him?
Once again, Harry had pondered that very question for several hours and was no closer to finding an answer, and with Remus arriving in the next hour or so, he wanted to get some more work in on his magic and would be doing so courtesy of the books he’d purchased from Obscurus.
Thus far, he had been working his way through the many useful volumes within the Black library, and was making excellent progress with them, but he did not wish to limit himself to curses when there was a plethora of other things available to him.
Besides, Bellatrix would know the Black family magic better than any, and Harry could just imagine the young woman spending countless hours in the library learning all manner of unpleasant spells that could be found within.
Against her, such magic would likely be useless, but at the very least, Harry would be able to defend himself from it. What he needed now, however, was a way to fight back against her.
With that in mind, he set to work, nodding appreciatively as he opened one of the books on a page containing a spell that would crush someone’s skull.
It gave him pause, and he snorted humourlessly at just how readily he had been learning magic that most would frown upon. They, however, did not have a Dark Lord out for their blood, not the same way Harry did, at least.
No, when it came down to it, Harry knew if he was to stand any chance of surviving, he would need to be willing to do whatever it took. It wasn’t as though Voldemort would be using minor curses and jinxes.
Harry had seen the power the man wielded, and right now, he knew there would be nothing he could do to defend himself against such magic. Perhaps he never would find himself in such a position, but that didn’t mean he would stop trying.
Truthfully, Harry wanted Voldemort dead more than anything else he’d ever desired and were he to find himself in front of the Mirror of Erised, it would show just that; him standing victoriously over the broken body of the man who’d murdered his parents.
When those thoughts had become so prevalent, he couldn’t be certain, but he knew within himself that it was the truth of the matter.
Harry wanted Tom Riddle dead, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to see it so.
Once more, his gaze drifted towards the window, and his thoughts to the voice that called to him from afar, the difficulty to ignore it becoming harder still, so much so that he truly had to fight against the instinct to seek it out again.
(Break)
It appeared as though Rufus had aged more than a decade since he’d taken office only a matter of days prior. The bags beneath his eyes were thick and dark, and his demeanour no longer oozed the confidence it had when he’d put his name forward for consideration.
Given the circumstances, Albus wasn’t surprised.
Amelia Bones had been the epitome of what most could hope to be as both a witch and a human being, and her life had been snuffed out in a matter of a few passing moments.
“Do you know what happened, Rufus?” Albus pressed gently.
The man shook his shaggy head.
“The investigation is still ongoing, but the mark was above her home. From what I saw, Amelia put up a hell of a fight. It just wasn’t enough. Albus, how do we go on from here?”
“We will because we must, Rufus. Amelia would expect nothing less.”
Rufus nodded.
“Merlin, it was awful, Albus. She did not die well, and her poor niece…”
Albus gave the man’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.
“I don’t even know what to do.”
“You must find an immediate replacement and reiterate your commitment to fighting against him. You cannot appear weak, Rufus.”
Much to his credit, he released a calming breath before nodding.
“I will,” he assured Albus. “It’s all come as quite the shock. She will be honoured, Albus. Her service to the people of magical Britain will not have been for nothing.”
“Indeed.”
“Merlin,” Rufus whispered, wiping the tears from his cheeks as he stood.
“I must speak with Robards and think of who the hell could replace her. No one will want that job. I need Robards where he is, and the Aurors we have, none of them are experienced enough, except for maybe Shacklebolt and Dawlish. It will be a hard job convincing either of them to step up. They’re not so old that they can’t handle themselves out there, and I need men like them to do just that.”
“Then perhaps you should look elsewhere, Rufus,” Albus urged. “Find someone who knows the job and isn’t afraid to take it.”
Rufus frowned.
“A retired Auror,” he murmured. “They’d have to be bloody mad to even think about…”
He broke off as his eyes widened.
“You can’t possibly mean Moody?”
“It is just a though, Rufus,” Albus placated. “He was the very best auror here for decades, and despite what some would say, he is certainly not absent of his senses. I admit, he is a little…”
“Paranoid?” Rufus snorted.
“I would say guarded and spirited, but he might be the only man capable of replacing Amelia without fear, and with the complete trust of the entire department.”
Rufus hummed thoughtfully.
“You might be right, Albus,” he conceded. “I will take it under consideration when I speak with Robards. Before anything, I need to make the announcement. I’ll allow the department the day before I do that.”
Albus nodded his approval and gave Rufus’s shoulder another squeeze.
“I am at your disposal if you need me, Rufus. You know where to find me.”
The man nodded and Albus left the office via the fireplace, returning to his own to ponder this latest, most unwelcome development.
Thus far, Rufus had not reached out to him, and no official announcement of who would be replacing Amelia had been made. The murder itself had been revealed, and Albus had already spoken to several others who’d contacted him hoping for a little clarification on the matter.
Other than what had been released to the public, there was little else Albus could share with anyone, and although the unfortunate death of such a woman and her niece played heavily on his mind, the headmaster had other thoughts occupying it.
The Peverells.
He smiled sadly as he looked upon the Elder Wand.
As a young man, he could think of nothing he wouldn’t have given to possess it, and yet, no that he was much wiser, he could think of many things he would gladly trade it for.
If he could somehow undo all that he’d endured these past several decades, Albus would gladly part with what had once been a dream acquisition.
A foolish dream.
Even so, he’d been unable to resist the urge to ask James Potter to borrow his invisibility cloak, and in only a matter of moments, he had identified it as the one allegedly gifted to the man’s ancestor by Death itself.
Of course, the veracity of the tale would always be brought into question, but Albus had many of those of his own since Harry had mentioned the infamous name to him.
Why had coming across it within the Potter vault inspired him to enquire about that family in particular?
From Albus’s research, the Potters had married into just about every other pureblood family, and many of those were aligned with Tom and his efforts. Surely the boy would be more inclined to ask about them.
Albus shook his head.
Perhaps he was thinking too deeply about the motivation. Maybe it was simply a name Harry did not recognise and was seeking some knowledge of.
Albus was not convinced that was so, and if Harry did indeed look into them further, the questions he would like answering would only multiply.
It was an added stress the headmaster did not need, and yet, the Peverells were a key part of his ancestry, so, if anyone had the right to investigate them, it was Harry.
Truthfully, Albus had intended to ensure the wand would one day find itself in Harry’s possession, ever since he had proven just how selfless he was when he’d retrieved the Philosopher’s Stone during his first year at Hogwarts.
Now, however, with all the changes he had seemingly gone through and the many questions plaguing Albus’s mind, he would reserve his own judgement on doing so.
He did not doubt that Harry was a good person; righteous, quite brilliant in his own way, and firmly opposed to the likes of the Dark Lord, but he could not deny that he was unsettled by just how different he was, and why wouldn’t he be.
After all he’d endured these past years, it would be foolish to expect him to have held onto the same morals he’d arrived at Hogwarts with and not be tainted by just how much more his life had been torn apart by Tom and his ilk.
No, for now, Albus could not bring himself to speak of what he knew, mostly because his own pursuit of the Hallows had caused nothing but pain and suffering to himself and those he cared for.
He released a deep sigh as he placed the wand back up his sleeve.
For now, it was his burden to bear, but one day, that would indeed change, and although he was being cautious, he could think of no other the wand should be passed onto than Harry Potter.
(Break)
It had been a difficult couple of months.
Losing Sirius had only served to set Remus back to how it had been for him a little under fifteen years prior when his entire world had fallen apart. With Lily and James gone, and believing that Peter had been murdered by Sirius, Remus had lost himself, and truthfully, only began to find himself again when the truth of what had transpired that night had been made known.
Now, he once more felt that there was little hope that he might ever find a semblance of happiness again.
Still, the letter he’d received from Harry had certainly gone some way in reminding him that he was still needed, though how much use he could be, Remus didn’t know.
Without his parents, and now Sirius, the boy was quite alone in the world with no one to watch over him.
Remus was no parent, nor would he consider himself a father figure. Being a werewolf made that exceedingly difficult. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care as others could outside of feeling a part of a pack.
His friends had been his pack once, and then he’d been a lone wolf, just as he was once more.
Nonetheless, he knew that James, Lily, and Sirius would be quite wroth with him if he were to shirk the responsibility of watching over Harry as best he could.
He braced himself as he approached Grimmauld Place.
The last time he’d been here was shortly before the report had come in that Harry was within the Department of Mysteries. He and Sirius had been discussing perhaps sneaking into Hogwarts the next school year to watch Harry play Quidditch, and then, Sirius was gone.
He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and ascended the stairs as the front door to the Black family home appeared.
It opened before he could even knock, and just the sight of Harry was enough to make him feel a little better within himself, and equally as curious.
In the weeks that had gone by since he’d seen him last, the boy had changed significantly, had grown, and looked a damned sight better than he’d ever seen him.
On more than one occasion, Remus had needed to prevent Sirius from paying a visit to Harry’s muggle relatives, and more than once, he had berated Dumbledore for his godson’s appearance.
Now, Harry looked much more like his father had at his age, and it brought a fond yet pained smile to the werewolf’s lips.
“You look well, Harry,” he offered as he stepped into the home, pausing at the sight of the damaged wall where Walburga Black’s portrait had hung.
“I decided to get rid of the old cow,” Harry explained with a shrug.
“How did you manage that? Sirius tried to do it, but she wouldn’t budge.”
“I just ripped her off the wall.”
Remus chuckled, a sound that had become rather foreign to him recently.
“Well, he would be pleased she’s gone.”
Harry nodded and gestured for him to follow.
“The house looks cleaner.”
“Without the portrait, Kreacher has been working hard,” Harry explained.
The two of them took a seat at the kitchen table and fell into something of a comfortable silence before Harry broke it.
“Sorry, Remus,” he offered.
“Sorry?”
“For not writing sooner. I’ve been stuck in my own head and…”
Remus waved him off.
“I know how you feel, Harry. I can’t say I have been in a good place myself and should’ve tried harder.”
Harry shook his head.
“Well, you’re here now,” he pointed out.
“And so are you,” Remus said pointedly.
“I got tired of staying with the Dursleys, and I just wanted to be closer to him, so, I came here. I didn’t realise Sirius had left it to me until I met with moon.”
“He caught up with me and Tonks just after we dropped you off. You know, I’d give everything back to have Sirius here.”
“I know, but he left whatever he did to you for a reason. He wanted you to be comfortable, at least.”
Remus nodded.
“I’ve not spent any of it,” he admitted. “I never really cared for gold.”
Harry shook his head.
“Well, you should at least buy yourself a home,” he chided. “If there is anything Sirius would want for you, it’s for you to have that, and maybe find someone to settle down with.”
Remus snickered.
“It’s a shame the git would never take his own advice.”
“I suppose being a wanted criminal didn’t help.”
“No, I don’t think it did,” Remus sighed. “Maybe I will look into it, but no promises until after the war for anything else. So, Harry, what have you been doing?”
“I can always show you, if you’d like.”
Remus eyed him questioningly.
“Why do I have a feeling that there will be certain people that will not be happy about it?”
“Honestly, Remus, I couldn’t bloody well care less.”
(Break)
It had come as quite the relief that his latest venture had been a success, though the Dark Lord had not escaped the confrontation with Amelia Bones unscathed.
She had indeed proven to be quite the formidable witch, and he would carry the scars given to him as a reminder of her.
Nonetheless, despite not enquiring the prophecy, he was determined to capitalise on the momentum shifting in his favour once more. Without Bones, the Ministry would be scrambling to find a replacement, leaving them without a competent leader.
“They are in position, Lucius?”
The gaunt blond nodded.
“They are, my lord.”
Azkaban had been most unpleasant for one so used to the luxuries afforded to him, but he’d been fortunate that his stint had been a short one. Of course, he was yet to find himself back in the good graces of the Dark Lord, and although he was not pleased by the task Draco had been given, he knew better than to voice his objections.
They would fall on deaf ears, after all.
“Then I see no reason to delay,” Lord Voldemort spoke. “You know what to do.”
With a bow, Lucius left the room, and the Dark Lord leaned back in his chair. There was no reason that another reminder of his return could not be given, and what better way to do so than unleashing the very creatures upon them they had become accustomed to watching over the incarcerated prisoners he had liberated from Azkaban, swelling his forces significantly.
With the impending arrival of Fenrir and the werewolves, and the giants within his ranks, it was the Dark Lord who held the advantage.
Still, he could not ignore the glaring absence of knowledge pertaining to the prophecy hanging over him. That would need to be addressed as soon as possible, but for now, he was content that he had everything in hand, and the war would inevitably end in his favour.
(Break)
“Oh, thank goodness! We have been so worried about him. Is he well?” Molly asked.
Remus nodded reassuringly.
“As well as can be expected, but he is different, Molly. What happened to Sirius…”
He broke off an shook his head.
Harry was different, but putting those differences into words was a rather contradictory effort. He wasn’t happy by any stretch, nor had he finished mourning for his godfather. It was impossible to ignore the anger and guilt he carried, and yet, Remus had never seen the boy looking better, well, physically at least.
Harry had explained he’d been seeing a healer, something Albus should’ve arranged the moment he laid eyes on the boy when he’d arrived for his first year at Hogwarts, and he was certainly reaping the benefits of doing so.
No, Remus was not so concerned by his physical wellbeing anymore. The same, however, could not be said for his state of mind and the troubling magic he was delving into.
Nonetheless, he understood, and his reasoning was sound.
No one had spent any time to prepare him for what had already come, and although Harry possessed the talent, he was far from ready to face a war he would inevitably be embroiled in.
Born as the seventh month dies.
Remus had never been made privy to the contents of the prophecy, not until Harry had spoken it in full to him.
Yes, he understood Harry’s motivation, and he would ensure Hary was not alone. Whatever help he could give, Remus would do so to see the boy live through this.
It was the least he could do.
“Did you hear that, Ronald? Harry is doing well. Remus has seen him,” Molly called up the stairs of the Burrow.
Only a moment later, the werewolf found himself surrounded by a gathering of redheads, and a bushy-haired former student, each of them wanting to hear it for themselves that their friend was okay.
They were indeed Harry’s friends, and although Remus appreciated the concern for the boy that he shared with them, he expected things would be quite different.
The path ahead of Harry had become known to him now, and it was a path that he would find himself travelling mostly alone.
Not that it was his place to say as much to them, and though Albus’s patronus arriving brought another bout of unpleasant news, he was pleased to be pulled away from the questioning teens.
“Expecto Patronum!”
He watched as his wolf burst forth and charged towards the marauding dementors, joining Albus’s phoenix and Kingsley’s lynx in dispersing them.
Fortunately, they had arrived quickly enough to prevent scores of muggles from receiving the dreaded kiss, but Albus’s expression as he approached was a grim one.
“I just received word from Rufus that an attack took place in Bolton,” he sighed. “It was over even before the aurors could arrive. He wasn’t so forthcoming with the details, but from little I can gather…”
He broke off, not needing to offer any further explanation.
It was the Dark Lord did during the last war.
He would create a diversion of sorts, using the dementors or the werewolves if the moon was full, and unleash his other followers elsewhere, making it all but impossible to defend against both attacks.
It had been successful for the man, and an unmitigated disaster for those opposing him.
Eventually, it had led to him being on the cusp of quite the decisive victory, and if Scrimgeour did not find a way to remedy it, Britain would inevitably find itself in such a position again.
(Break)
“…and after the attack in Bolton last night, the death toll has risen to 41. Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, is expected to release a statement to the public in the morning, but with the murder of Amelia Bones still weighing heavily on the country, this latest incident has spelled a rather disastrous start of his term in office.”
Harry turned the wireless off and placed his head in his hands.
As fearful as he was for what was happening around him, he was equally frustrated that he was quite helpless to prevent it. Not a moment went by that he wasn’t aware that the war and very future of the country hinged on him defeating Voldemort, and the more often these incidents occurred, the more urgent the matter became.
Perhaps the war would settle somewhat now that Voldemort had made yet another statement, but Harry had his doubts.
Why would the Dark Lord take a step back when the advantage was his?
He wouldn’t, and the attacks would only become more frequent unless something was done to stop him. The question, however, was just what that could be.
Harry could only shake his head.
Voldemort truly was in control of the war, and here he was, helpless to do anything to change it.
Dumbledore would tell him that it wasn’t his responsibility, and perhaps the entire conflict wasn’t, but the outcome was, and remaining where he was and feeling as useless as he did was not what Harry wanted.
No, he wanted to be ready, needed to be ready, and there was one place he knew he might just be granted such.
It filled him with nervousness at the very prospect of returning to Godric’s Hollow, and yet, there seemed to be little choice in the matter. No one else was preparing him, and Harry knew that unless he did something drastic, maybe foolish, the war would continue in vain but would do so with Voldemort making more ground than could ever be made up.
Releasing a deep breath, he summoned his cloak and braced himself for what was to come.
At the very least, he could return to the village to see what it was that awaited him.
(Break)
Alastor could only look between the three men dumbly and shook his head.
“I’m retired,” he pointed out.
Scrimgeour nodded before deflating.
“I know, but neither Dawlish nor Shacklebolt are willing to step away from active duty, and I need someone I can trust, Moody, someone incorruptible, and someone willing to do what is necessary to turn this war in our favour. You fought during the first one and have more experience than any other man I have met. I would name you as Amelia’s replacement.”
“She would bloody well have kittens at the thought of it.”
“She would,” Rufus agreed, “but we need leadership, Moddy, and stability. I need you.”
Alastor had worked with Rufus since the man had joined the academy more than three decades prior, and although he’d always been something of a rigid stickler when it came to following the letter of the law, he had always been proud.
For him to all but plead with him spoke of his desperation, and it wasn’t as though Alastor could deny him, not when it put him in the perfect position to be on the very forefront of the war against the Dark Lord.
“Aye, I’ll do it,” he declared, “but on your head be it, Scrimgeour. You know my methods, and so will the rest of the aurors soon enough.”
Scrimgeour nodded, and Alastor grinned at the sudden nervousness in the man’s expression, who was undoubtedly now questioning his own judgement.
(Break)
He shuddered as he neared the church.
Along with the chill, there was something of a sense of anticipation in the air, and Harry didn’t know if it should concern him, or set his mind at ease.
“I knew you would come, Peverell. This was…inevitable.”
He froze at the sound of the voice and took a deep breath to steel his resolve.
“I can’t win against him, and neither can the Ministry of Magic.”
It was not easy to speak his thoughts aloud, but as far as Harry was concerned, it was the truth. Already, the odds were stacked against him, and over the past year since Voldemort had returned, things had gone from bad to worse.
The only saving grace was that he had been prevented from obtaining the prophecy, so far, at least.
“Perhaps you can defeat him as things are, but I can provide you with all you need to truly stand a chance, Peverell. Put your faith in me, become my chosen, and you will become mine.”
The words were ominous, but Harry could not deny that he was desperate. Voldemort had decades of experience on him, was more powerful, and had dozens, maybe even hundreds of followers and creatures at his disposal.
“Will I be able to live when it is all over? You’re not going to kill me, are you?”
A hoarse chuckle was returned, and Harry winced at the sound of it.
“Whether you live or die is not my decision. I only offer an opportunity for you to pledge yourself to me, to choose a fate other than the one already laid out before you. Reveal yourself to me, Peverell. Divest yourself of my cloak and receive my blessing. Begin your journey into being what it is you must to emerge victorious.”
Pondering all that he had endured since he’d been a babe in his mother’s arms, Harry knew he truly had nothing to lose. If the prophecy was to be believed, he would not die here tonight.
Tentatively, he removed the cloak, and the unnatural coldness permeating the air filled him, tearing the air from his lungs, and Harry fought to breathe.
“Do not fight it, Peverell. Fall to your knees before me.”
Already, Harry was regretting his decision to come here, and he cursed himself for his momentary lack of judgement. Not that he could deem this as such.
No, for days now he had been plagued by the urge to come here, and then to return despite having experienced something undoubtedly peculiar. Even so, as the regret began to set in, the coldness seemed to recede, and he found he could breathe once more, though it was laboured.
“And so ends your first trial, Peverell.”
“First trial?” Harry wheezed.
“Much unlike your ancestors, you were able to show humility before me. The three brothers were as prideful as you, but their egos were much greater. Sometimes, Peverell, life will inevitably humble you, so it is wise to humble yourself equally. You may one day be great, but that day is not today.”
“So, this was petty revenge?”
“Partly, but a lesson to you not to cross me lightly. It is not in my nature to be merciful. I give, and I take away in equal measure. Do not forget that, Peverell.”
Harry swallowed deeply as he nodded.
“Are you really Death?”
“That is what some call me, others the Ferryman, the reaper, the reaver, and even the harvester. It matters not to me what I am known as, all men find their way to me. All men, Peverell. There is no fleeing from me, no matter what measures someone takes.”
Harry frowned.
“Do you mean Nicholas Flamel?”
“Among others, one much more relevant to yourself.”
“Voldemort.”
Harry remembered the speech the man had given upon his return in the graveyard.
I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.
“He’s immortal,” he murmured.
“Yes, and no. No man is truly immortal, Peverell, but he has bastardised himself in the pursuit of it. Even to me, he is quite unreachable, for now,” the voice grumbled.
“That is why you brought me here. You need my help.”
“I do not need anything from you, Peverell, but I admit, you can be of use to me. It just so happened the damned fool provided you with exactly what was required for our coming together to take place. Perhaps it is merely another twist of Fate, but here we are.”
Harry frowned confusedly.
“How…?”
“That is for you to discover, Peverell. Your destinies are indeed tied together, but you are no longer tied to him in such a dangerous way. That is all you need to know, for the time being.”
Harry wanted to press the matter but knew it would serve no purpose.
“So, what happens now?” he asked.
A few moments passed before he received a response.
“You are not ready to face him, Peverell, and will not be for some time. Maybe you never will.”
“But you said…”
“That I would give you an opportunity only. The rest will be up to you. Here and now, you cannot hope to defeat him, not yet. What you need is time, Peverell.”
“A time-turner?” Harry asked nervously.
The voice mocked him with another bout of laughter.
“No, Peverell, I have something else planned for you. Perhaps you will even be able to change the fate of others you meet along the way, but it won’t be easy. I expect you will soon wish you were back here. Remember, Peverell, you are mine, and I am yours. Never let your loyalty waver, and I shall reward you so long as you prove yourself worthy.”
Once more, the words were ominous, and Harry suddenly felt himself filled with a sense of unease as an archway, not so dissimilar from the veil appeared in front of him.
“Is this another trial?” he asked.
“And an opportunity. Fear not, Peverell, I expect you will return soon enough.”
“But I have to be back for the start of term in a few weeks.”
“Then best not waste another moment, Harry Peverell. Fate may await you in the months and years to come, but I am here and now. You have already put your faith in me. Is it already fading?”
“No,” Harry answered as he stepped forward, ensuring he gathered his cloak as he did so.
When the voice offered no protestations, Harry braced himself for whatever was to come before passing through the archway, the coldness of the sudden influx of magic washing over him chilling him to his very core.
August 1895
“Albie, wait up!”
He did so and smiled at his younger brother doing his utmost to keep pace with him. In only a few weeks, Aberforth would be joining him at Hogwarts for his first year of schooling and given all that had happened these past few months, Albus would be relieved to return to the castle himself.
When his mother had informed him that their father had quite viciously attacked a group of muggles, he’d not believed it for a moment. His father was such an affable, sweet man, but as he’d been sentenced to life in Azkaban after admitting what he’d done, Albus could no longer live in denial.
It did not help that the trial had dragged on for as long as it had, almost three years in total with appeals and new evidence coming forward.
Their reputation in Mould-on-the-Wold was in tatters, and Ariana…
He could only shake his head at the thought of his sister.
The girl had not been the same since she’d been attacked by the muggles whom their father had exacted quite the violent revenge upon. With what had happened, and the ridicule they faced each day in the media, and by their neighbours, their mother had decided they should leave.
Now, they found themselves in the rather famous, charming village of Godric’s Hollow. Albus just wished they had done so in more ideal circumstances rather than from shame.
“Come on, Abe,” he urged.
Aberforth was panting by time he reached Albus, and the older of the siblings chuckled amusedly.
“Why are we here? It’s creepy,” Abe declared, shuddering as they entered the graveyard.
“Some really famous witches and wizards are buried here,” Albus explained. “Godric Gryffindor himself lived here! The village is named after him.”
“Do you think I will be a Gryffindor?”
“Well, that depends on how brave you are.”
“I’m brave!”
“I know,” Albus comforted, frowning as he caught sight of another boy around his own age, perhaps a couple of years older, wandering among the graves.
He appeared to be rather perplexed, confused, and a little pale.
“Do you think he is okay?” Abe asked worriedly.
Albus frowned as he cautiously approached the boy.
“Are you okay?” he called.
The boy shook his head.
“Lost, I think,” he answered quickly.
“Well, we’re new here, but we’ve explored a little. What are you looking for?”
The boy shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he chuckled humourlessly.
“I’m Aberforth,” the younger boy introduced himself, stepping forward and offering his hand.
The other boy hesitated before accepting the proffered limb.
“Harry Po-Peverell.”
“Albus Dumbledore,” Albus followed suit, and the boys’ eyes widened in recognition.
Albus immediately stepped protectively in front of Aberforth, cursing internally.
It seemed that news of what had happened between their father and the muggles had indeed reached far and wide across Britain, even here.
“Come on, Abe,” he urged. “Let’s go home before we find ourselves in trouble.”
“In trouble?” the other boy asked.
Albus could see that his mind was working quickly, and his gaze flitted around the graveyard as he seemed to ask himself dozens upon dozens of questions.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Albus sighed. “If you know, then the rest of the country must by now. We do not want any more trouble, so, could you forget that you met us?”
He knew he sounded rather pathetic, but he did not wish to draw any more attention to himself or his family, not with everything else they were currently dealing with.
“I’m sorry,” Harry offered. “I was rude, but I would appreciate if you could show me around and tell me what you know about the place.”
Albus frowned.
The boy seemed to be sincere, and though he was reluctant, Aberforth seemed to be quite keen to spend time with someone else other than him, and truthfully, Albus too could use the distraction.
He smiled and nodded.
“You said your name is Harry Peverell?” he asked. “Did you know some of your ancestors are buried here?”