Kings Cross Station, London.
Wind lofted candidly in the white silence, emerald eyes opening slowly to take in the great domed glass roof that loomed above. An irritable look flashed across the man's face, the scene before him was eerie, it was a mystery and above all, he'd seen it before.
Grudgingly, Peverell stirred from the paved ground of what he could only presume to be Kings Cross Station. The only conclusion that reached his mind was that he'd either died again or at the very least he'd been removed from the realm of the living once more.
Ignoring the bright mist that enveloped the station, Peverell gazed down at his nude form. 'Damn rebirths,' came the thought. Whatever happened to preserving modesty?
Growling audibly now, Peverell envisioned the fine white linen robes he'd adorned the last time he'd been here, giving a grateful sigh as the familiar garment appeared around him in a pop; they were still soft, clean, and warm.
"Better get this show on the road," the raven-haired man mumbled.
Steering clear of the cloudy vapour that drifted on the fringes of the station. Peverell headed further down the strip of the platform, eyes glancing at the tall vertical pillars and linear channels of cut stone adjacent on both sides of the platform. The tracks however were still missing. The same as last time Peverell noted.
An all too familiar man awaited him, further down the stretch of the platform, blue eyes twinkling merrily as he spoke.
"Harry." The familiar man said as he spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, silver hair fanning out, periwinkle robes draping behind as none other than Albus Dumbledore repeated the same words spoken over a decade ago. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk."
"Dumbledore," Peverell acknowledged cautiously. "I see you haven't aged a day."
"Alas," the former Headmaster chuckled. "Death does seem to have its benefits."
Dumbledore then gave Perverell a pointed look. "Onto more pressing issues, I suppose you're wondering why you're here?"
"Yes," Peverell said testily. "That would be nice."
Dumbledore inclined his head, clasping his hands together as they walked. "There are questions that will continue to elude even the greatest of minds, magic being one of those."
Dumbledore paused before he continued. "I myself cannot hope to grasp the many mysteries of the world, after all for all the effort one might go into removing the cloth of uncertainty, the more they'll come to realise the less they know."
Peverell arched an eyebrow before speaking bluntly. It seemed the late headmaster hadn't lost his touch for speaking in confounding riddles.
"Albus, to the point please." The raven-haired man said. "Whilst I understand you're an educator at heart, you should take care to remember that I am no longer the boy who willingly walked to his death because you deemed it essential."
A solemn look etched Dumbledore's face as he gave a weary sigh. "Harry, you have to understand that you and Lord Voldemort were bound by the bonds of destiny. I had no other option than to let fate run its course."
Peverell acknowledged the Headmasters' reasoning and spoke. "I do not hold that against you Albus, one life was inconsequential to that of society, I accept that wholeheartedly. No, what I hold against you and forever will is that you held me in the dark. Your guesswork and assumptions could have brought more harm than good."
Dumbledore nodded his usual sage demeanour shrinking away, as the two reflected on events of the past.
"Regrettably so." Dumbledore spoke, "but if I had to do it all again, knowing where we'd end up. I wouldn't hesitate, I couldn't."
Peverell inclined his head and voiced. "As would I, Albus. Regardless of your flawed reasoning and as much as I detest it, you made the right choice in the end."
Dumbledore gave a brave smile before speaking. "I'm glad we can agree upon that at least Harry, shall we return to the crux of the matter?
"Yes," Peverall said tightly. "That would be for the best."
"Very well," Dumbledore said as broke into an explanation, periwinkle robes sweeping behind him as the twinkle returned to his eyes.
"The battle in the Lestrange Mausoleum, even for you Harry with all your feats of greatness, surprised even me. The destruction was quite significant."
A look of concern crossed Peverell's face as he remembered the scale of the blast, fear gripped him as he worried that his squad may have still been in the radius.
Dumbledore seemed to acknowledge the raven-haired man's concern and eased his worry.
"Fear not Harry," Dumbledore spoke kindly. "Only you and that caricature of a creature, I will not deign to name, were harmed in the blast."
"Cthulhu?" Peverell asked plainly. "What happened to the old squid?"
Dumbledore shrugged. "Vaporised, blown to smithereens as they say. Rest assured that abhorrent being will not be walking the earthly plain anymore."
"And what of Paris?" Peverell said.
Dumbledore gave a merry chuckle. "I daresay, you kept the Oblivator and Magical Reversal squads working round the clock to repair some of the destruction. Spectacular would be an understatement."
Peverell winced and spoke. "How bad Albus?"
Dumbledore replied. "Whilst, unfortunately, the Cimetière cemetery is no more and much of Paris was rudely awoken by an earthquake passing beneath their beds. Thankfully the blast was contained to the catacombs of the Mausoleum."
"Romulus, Neptune and Virgo?" Peverell inquired in confirmation. "That means they're all fine."
"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "They're fine, although they will be quite mournful for a while."
"So that means…" Peverell trailed off.
"Indeed." Dumbledore voiced grimly. "I'm afraid to say that you did not survive, although you might've suspected that with your current predicament."
Peverell swallowed, breathing deeply as he was confronted with the fact he'd died again, finally the raven-haired man spoke in a serious tone.
"How am I still here Albus, by all accounts I should be dead, not stuck in limbo. There was no Horcrux this time, and I'm guessing by the tone of your voice that I can't return this time."
Dumbledore sighed. "No, no you can't return Harry, that path will forever be closed off. I'm afraid I cannot say much, the higher powers at play won't allow it. They are and will forever be cautious of giving any mortal the means to seek out true immortality."
"Very well." Peverell acknowledged and asked. "What can you reveal?"
Dumbledore mused before speaking. "Your battle with that contemptible eldritch creature had consequences, the space-time axis was shattered. You've irreparably damaged the space between the past and the future, the meta-present as it's called is disjumbled. Usually, events that would have happened in the future, have not happened."
Dumbledore continued. "Worryingly in the commotion of the shattering of the axis, events have happened, the past and present have segmented, diverging into two separate timestreams. There is now no possible way for someone in the future to know the events of the past as the altercations of your battle have quite literally disarranged the tapestry of fate. The present will maintain its set trajectory while the past is re-written."
Peverell raised an eyebrow and spoke sharply. "As interesting as this is. I still fail to see how my survival encompasses me being here."
"Ah," Dumbledore said, gesturing to a familiar bench for Peverell to occupy.
Comfortably seated, Dumbledore spoke again. "It's not as complicated as you may think, Harry. There's always been more to you, more than the simple boy you still cling onto."
A dark look brooded across Peverell's face as he replied edgily. "A simple boy that came as a result of your machinations. Do not think for a second, Albus. That I misunderstood your intentions of sending me to the Dursleys."
Dumbledore shrugged. "I openly admit I had my reasons for sending you to the Dursleys, maybe not for the motives you think, but motives all the same."
"Enough. No more falsehoods." Peverell said this was one masquerade he wouldn't allow Dumbledore to continue.
"You wanted me weak and pliable, the perfect vase to mould into the champion of your cause."
Dumbledore gave Harry a curious stare before replying. "Is that what you truly think Harry, after all this time?"
Peverell nodded and spoke. "It's the truth I've come to accept Albus, I fall short of any other logical reasoning that doesn't make me want to curse off that besotted beard."
Dumbledore sighed, glancing around the stilled atmosphere of Kings cross as he replied. "It should come to you as a surprise to you Harry, that in actuality all I sought to teach you was resilience and love."
"Love?" Peverell questioned. "I would've thought you'd have disbanded that ill-conceived notion by now. Love is a fabrication that makes even the most hardened of men bitter. Nothing more, nothing less. Good deeds and common curtsies make the world go round."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore answered. "Perhaps not, but the Dursleys did take you in however grudgingly. They raised you, shaped you into the person you are. You might have not had the fondest childhood, but Petunia still cared for you as the only son and last echo of Lily Potter. The Blood Wards would've defaulted otherwise."
"So that's all I was to be then?" Peverell asked and voiced aggressively. "To be raised as selfless and resilient?"
"No, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You were to be a vessel of hope, the flower that springs through the cracks in the concrete. A hero who never acknowledged he was one."
"I would've died either way Albus," Peverell muttered. "No reason to bring others down with me."
Dumbledore gave a broad smile and answered. "The redeeming quality of a hero, Harry, is to first learn humility, only with humility comes integrity. Time and time again, you've shown yourself to be a canvas of self-sacrifice."
Dumbledore continued. "To me, the simple boy you so view yourself as will always stand on a pedestal above any other person I've met. I will always view you as a better person than me in so many regards."
Peverell gritted his teeth. "Whilst I enjoy the heartfelt words, Albus. May we continue with the previous discussion?"
"Yes, yes." Dumbledore acknowledged. "I believe our time together is beginning to dwindle."
Peverell nodded, emerald eyes scanning the boundary of the platform, the vapour had begun to pool, edging closer and closer.
"Yes." Dumbledore said again, "let us continue on the matter at hand."
"My death," Peverell said in confirmation. "Why am I here? I should've moved on."
Dumbledore nodded and replied. "Forgive an old man in his speculations Harry, but the only answer I can give is upon the fabric of souls. Briefly, your very soul ceased to be mortal and your death as a consequence isn't indefinite but rather momentarily."
"My conjoining with Death," Peverell said in realisation. "I had always thought that I could be killed as the avatar of death but it seems I can't be."
Dumbledore gave Harry a panged look and spoke. "Unfortunately, the Hallows aren't so dependable my boy. Their loyalty to you is now obsolete, Death might've borne the worst of the cataclysm that went beneath the Lestrange Mausoleum, but by protecting your soul as best he could there were repercussions. The Hallow's are no longer yours to command, I'm afraid."
Peverell paused for a moment, taking in the news before speaking. "What will become of the hallows if I'm no longer to be the Master of Death then?"
Dumbledore gave a hum and answered. "I Imagine Death will disperse the Hallows once again into the world, waiting patiently for another Master who's worthy."
Peverell acknowledged this unconcerned and inclined his head in acceptance before speaking. "The Hallow's were a fool's dream anyway, so be it if I wash my hands clean of them."
Peverell then swallowed, asking the question upon his mind. "What is to become of me then Albus? You mentioned I can't return, is this all merely a formality before I move on?"
Dumbledore nodded his head and spoke gravely. "You do have that choice Harry, you may move on if you so wish. Or you can choose to stay."
Peverell arched an eyebrow and spoke plainly. "I am not so scared of Death, Albus, That I'll choose to wait in its lobby forever. I'm prepared to move on; Sirius, Remus and my Parents are on the other side. I've waited more than a decade to meet them again."
Dumble sighed and replied. "You misunderstand me, Harry. The mistake is mine, I only wished to present another option available to you."
"Another option?" Peverell inquired.
"Indeed," Dumbledore said seriously. "You have a choice, you may move on or you may return to the past. The choice is entirely yours, but it is an option I can't advise enough."
Dumbledore continued earnestly. "The past is being re-written and with its segmentation, comes the shadow of war pressing more greatly than ever before. Nothing is certain, innocents are at stake, only bedlam and strife will resolve from the vacuum of disorder."
"And I'm supposed to fix it?" Harry asked heavily.
Dumbledore nodded and voiced grimly. "You might have saved the future of humanity Harry but in doing so the destruction of the past is imminent. The timeline is fractured, two divergent paths spiralling off into eternity. The past will be enforced with an opposing history, one that is not for the betterment of mankind. The lives of millions are endangered in the trumpets of chaos."
"Why should I?" Peverell broke in. "I've done enough, I should lay to rest."
"You have every right to Harry." Dumbledore said solemnly, "But I ask you this carefully Harry, can you live with the weight upon your conscience that millions of innocent souls will be left to suffer in the backlash?"
Peverell snarled. "Do not force me on matters of mortality, Albus."
"No." The raven-haired continued and shook his head. "One man cannot make a difference, no matter how much he wishes for it."
"Is that so Harry?" Dumbledore queried. "You, yourself are a testament to change."
"And what do I gain?" Peverell rebutted. "Fame and glory are of little consequence to me, all I seek is a life that is mine alone to do with."
"And, you'll have that chance, Harry," Dumbledore said simply. "A life to enjoy the fruit of whatever endeavour you please."
"A life free from your oaths," Dumbledore finished pointedly.
'Free.' The thought reverberated within Peverell, slowly the raven-haired man glanced up from the pavement he'd been staring at. Taking in the calm mask of the former Headmaster, trying to decipher any cryptic clues that went unspoken.
Peverell scowled, Dumbledore was speaking the truth. All he had to do was save the world once again and his life would be his own, no more strings attached, no more collusion, no more requirements.
A frown formed upon Peverell's face. It was tempting, oh so tempting and what did he lose in the end? Nothing…
"The oaths." The raven-haired man spoke out loud. "I get back my identity, I'll no longer be a puppet of anyone."
"Yes," Dumbledore said, inclining his head. "The oaths will become obsolete, you'll regain your autonomy, a life of your choosing."
Peverell growled, he'd made up his mind.
"Very well Albus," Peverell said thinly. "I will do my best to disrupt whatever calamity that is unfolding in the past and live a life of my choosing."
"But be warned." Peverell cautioned. "If you so much as held back a single truth, I will return to tie that overgrown beard of yours into a noose."
Dumbledore gave a chuckle filled with mirth as he stroked his streamlined beard. "Yes, it is rather overgrown isn't it?"
"Alas," Dumbledore continued. "You have my word Harry that I've revealed all I know."
Peverell just gave a grudging nod.
"Let us walk," Dumbledore said standing up.
The two figures restarted their leisurely walk towards the end of the platform. A thick smog of vapour crowded the exit, towards where the trains made their departure from the station.
"Albus." Came the questioning voice of Peverell. "By any chance do you know where I'll end up?"
Dumbledore gave a thoughtful hum and spoke. "I imagine from what little I was told, you'll end up in a location that contains a high amount of ambient magic, whether it'll be the place of your death or someplace else. I do not know."
"And the time period?" Peverell pressed on.
"Only that it'll be a time of great conflict." Dumbledore voiced again, "I was left in the dark as much as you."
Peverell nodded as the two continued to walk in silence. The information he had to work with was little, but something in the very least. A time of great conflict? Peverell brooded over that little comment, there'd been a few Wizarding Wars; the Napoleonic Wars, The Ottoman Wars, The Crimean War and The Great War. Peverell winced. The Great War, the largest scale conflict in Wizarding history.
'No.' Peverell thought. He'd rather meet the ambitious Half-Goblin Napoleon, than wade his way through the burning ashes and wreckage of Continental Europe.
"Ah," Dumbledore said finally. "It seems we've reached the end of the line."
Sure enough, they'd reached the drifting Vapours.
"I guess this is it then, Albus." Peverell voiced. "For the time being at least."
Dumbledore replied bemusedly, eyes twinkling. "Indeed Harry, but you never know. We might meet sooner than you think."
"Goodbye, Albus," Peverell said, stretching his hand to shake Dumbledore's hand in a clasp.
"Goodbye Harry," The former Headmaster said kindly. "Do take care."
Peverell nodded and replied. "You too Albus, you're a good man despite your faults."
Dumbledore gave a soft smile. "Thank you, Harry. It means more to this weary old man than you know."
The former Headmaster then gestured towards the vapour, signalling for the raven-haired man to step through.
Peverell inclined his head in one last nod of recognition towards Dumbledore and walked into the cloudy haze.
Nothing happened at first, vapour merely hugging his torso. 'Hmm,' Peverell thought, 'maybe a command is needed.'
"To the past," Peverell spoke out loud.
Immediately, the vapour began to blanket the raven-haired man, swirling around him as the fog began to condense and solidify. Peverell found himself losing consciousness as the vapour consumed him, his thoughts increasingly erratic as he began to lose comprehension. Finally, just as the swirls of vapour became too dizzying, unconsciousness took him.
Cimetière du Père-Lachaise, Paris, France, 1927.
"Leta…" Came the charismatic voice from within the mausoleum.
"This one I believe I know, '' the voice said again. "Leta Lestrange. Despised entirely amongst wizards. Unloved, mistreated, yet brave, so very brave. Time to come home."
The figure outstretched his hand in a welcoming gesture, beckoning the woman to come forth. However, the attempt was stifled in the most mysterious of circumstances.
A vapour began to swell within the vicinity, cloudy fog coalescing into a spiral before the occupants of the room. Eventually, the vapour parted, a man was left standing on the stone stairs with short-cropped raven hair and emerald eyes.
Peverell opened his eyes to the blaring torchlight of the mausoleum, it seemed he was back where he started but that was the least of his concerns.
A circle of transparent blue flames could be seen cackling away below him that made the raven-haired man instinctively on edge. These flames were not the gentle sways of Bluebell Flames but something far more sinister, the Protego Diabolica.
Immediately Peverell's brain went into overdrive, his ICB training kicking in. Another Archmage was in the area, and this time he was alone.
"Who are you?" The charismatic voice spoke once again, "and just why have you entered so rudely, uninvited?"
Peverell sharply turned to register the voice.
Icy blonde hair, pale skin, one singular blue eye, the rest was infamy. Peverell had never encountered the man before him, but the face before him was well documented, sculpted into the very minds of wizards and witches across the world to be synonymous with fear. The man was a marred mark in history.
'Gellert Grindelwald, in the flesh.' Came the thought from Peverell, and didn't that make his current position oh so dangerous. Internally, the raven-haired man was cursing his luck. He'd found trouble the moment he'd arrived.
Grindelwald's words reverberated in Peverell's head. 'Who are you?' The next words treading even more caution from the tone, 'and just why have you entered so rudely, uninvited?'
Peverell decidedly replied, knowing fully that his next words could be hazardous to his health. A rye smile further traced his lips, danger was a part of living after all and when had he bowed and scraped to Dark Lords before?
"I am Peverell." The raven-haired man announced with bravado. "The former Herald of Death."
"Former?" Gellert Grindelwald inquired before stating sympathetically. "You have my condolences then for your demotion."
Peverell shrugged, taking in the Dark Lord coldly before replying blasèly. "I'm recently retired."
"Retired, you say?" Grindelwald said with a delightful grin as he indicated the circle of blue flames in offering and spoke. "Well isn't that interesting. I'd advise you to join us Peverell, retirement is rather boresome after all."
Grindelwald continued. "Would you believe that some positions have become available recently? Leta over here was just about to join us..."
The current Dark Lord was now gesturing to a woman who'd gone largely unnoticed. She too stood above Grindelwald upon the stone stairs, her face masked of emotion.
Peverell took the woman in with her caramel skin and dark-brown tresses of hair.
'Lovely,' came the thought, the woman before him was lovely with her high cheekbones and brown-hued eyes. It was her demeanour however that held his attention the most. It was refined and graceful, her head tilted upwards in a dignified manner bereft of haughtiness but rather poise and elegance. 'Undeniably Pureblood,' the raven-haired man mused.
"Now, now Leta." Came the beguile of Grindelwald, "be a dear and step forth, Peverell will be joining soon after."
"You'll be devastated to hear my Lord." Peverell broke in sarcastically, "that I have no plans to become one of your minions anytime soon."
Peverell, now smiling roguishly, added a final snark to nail the lid in the coffin. "My letterbox is always open though, recruitment letters make oh so good tinder for my fireplace."
Grindelwald cocked an eyebrow, mismatched eyes gazing at Peverell in puzzlement, it seemed the Dark Lord wasn't used to condescension.
"Well isn't that a disappointment." Grindelwald slowly responded, "but no matter, I suppose it's for the better."
A malicious grin emerged on Grindelwald's face as he spoke again. "Peverell's were known to be troublesome meddlers, I'll dispose of you later."
Peverell grimaced, Internally berating himself. He'd tried to humour Grindelwald with sarcasm but inadvertently put himself between rock and a hard place, the momentary lapse of rationality could be costly, trifling a Dark Lord was certainly never recommended.
A sardonic smile etched upon the raven-haired man's lips. Unless it was Dumbledore... One didn't insult an Archmage and expect to get away with a slap on the wrist.
Grindelwald outstretched his arms in a flamboyant fashion and spoke again imploringly. "Join us Leta and know you'll no longer be mistreated, know you'll no longer be disregarded, know that you'll always be wanted."
"No!" The twin chorus resounded out into the mausoleum.
Peverell found himself momentarily surprised to see the faces of Newt and Theseus Scamander. Whilst the grim figure of Theseus, the former Head Auror of the DMLE in his time could be expected to be rummaging around in the thick of things. Newt was a surprise, the Fantastic Beasts author wasn't awarded his Order of Merlin till the later years of the War.
Quickly, Peverell decidedly scanned the mausoleum for any other familiar faces. Only the face of Vinda Rosier registered. The Raven haired man frowned, Vinda, deadly little Vinda, Gellert's Bellatrix. She was no match for him of course, but place Vinda and Grindelwald side by side and Peverell knew he wouldn't be leaving alive.
Leta made to step forward as Grindelwald proffered his hand for a second time, their fingers seemed millimetres from connecting before she stopped abruptly, turning around to voice out the words upon her mind with finality.
"I love you," Leta said.
Whether to Theseus or Newt, Peverell couldn't tell.
Then it happened. Grindelwald swivelled around gesturing for Leta to follow him into the flames, but she didn't follow. Spellfire instead erupted from her wand in orange swirls aimed at the Dark Lord's back.
Grindelwald paused halfway through the flames and lazily defecting Leta's spell from behind. Vinda however, was caught by Leta's Blasting Curse leading her to Disapparate within the circle of flames with a pained cry.
The languid flames of the Protego Debolica now seemed to quicken, no longer listless but blazing with life. The blue flame began to swirl dangerously around the mausoleum till an inferno replaced the once apathetic flames.
"Go!" Came the cry of Leta
"Go! The cry came again.
The transparent blue flames began to converge on the woman.
Peverell swallowed, it was clear as Leta held the Inferno at bay that it was a cry of desperation, the flames would consume her eventually.
Theseus slashed desperately at the coiling flames of the Protago Diabolica crying out trying to get at Leta, but it was no use. The young Auror couldn't break through the flames.
The moment Grindelwald raised his wand towards Leta, Peverell made his decision, he knew he couldn't allow her to die, not when he was metres within reach.
Instinctively Peverell apparated towards Leta, appearing alongside her milliseconds later, the raven-haired man quickly snapped up his wand, 'Hylian clypeus.' The thought resounded within Peverell's mind.
Leta gasped as Peverell surfaced beside her. A Helian shield coalesced before them, glowing with vitality as the sphere of shimmering gold safeguarded both Peverell and her from the inferno of destruction.
"Leta!" Came the scream of Theseus and Newt, the swirling flames obstructing her from view.
Peverell grimaced as he held the shield at bay, channelling all his willpower into the Helian Shield, his one focus was maintaining the shield. All he had to do was hold the flames at bay in a battle of attrition. Grindelwald may be an Archmage but even he couldn't hold the flames of the Protego Diabolica at full ferocity for very long.
Grindelwald would have to release the spell soon enough, allowing Peverell the means to make his escape or fight it out.
Leta looked up at the raven-haired man still in shock, he'd quite literally saved her from immolation, gratefulness swelled within her, he'd risked his life to save hers. An intense look was etched upon his face she noticed, a tight grimace was held as he stared down Grindelwald. Leta involuntarily shivered as the handsome man's emerald eyes began to flicker with power, his very aura perfusing, spitting raindrops of residue magic as he set his magic against the Dark Lord.
Peverell gritted his teeth, Grindelwald was unyielding. The flames of the Protego Diabolica barrelled against his shield with ringing bell-like clangs, bouncing again and again. Still, Peverell knew his reserves would hold out against Grindelwald, the flames had no chance of enveloping the shield. All he had to do was run the Dark Lord dry, let hubris befall Grindelwald and he'd battle him at his weakest.
A fizzle however sounded out. Peverell felt his heart clench as he looked down at his wand hissing and spluttering, 'no!' the thought resonated within his mind.
'How?' The thoughts continued but not a single reason computed, there shouldn't be any reason his wand would begin smoking. It was in perfect working order.
The smoke continued to course up the grooves of his wand, fizzing away. Peverell began panicking, he had seconds before the wand would malfunction and then the flames would be upon them.
Desperately, Peverell intoned. 'Lator Hiemis,' banishing the Helian shield as the Borrhâs Charm howled forth. The Charm brought an onset of winter in its wake as wind rushed to meet flame.
Quickly Peverell snatched Leta's arm as his once dependable wand fizzled out, shadow enveloping the pair before they were gone.
Grindelwald grumbled as he swatted away the northern wind hellbent on turning him into an icicle. Frustration evident upon the Dark Lord's face as his prey escaped; Grindelwald redoubled his efforts to bring misery upon the Scamander boys.
Westermient, Den Burg, Netherlands.Night engulfed the pair as they made their reappearance into a flat field dotted by tulips and wild grains, Peverell was quick to shrug Leta off as he made his way through the flowered field, wandering decisively through the melange of vegetation that greeted him.
Leta stumbled after the raven-haired man, face painted with confusion. 'Just who was this man?' The thought echoing inside her head, he'd appeared out of nowhere like some knight in shining armour.
'Peverell.' Leta acknowledged. Yes, that's what the raven-haired man had called himself. She'd raised an eyebrow when the mysterious man announced his name. The Peverells were an ancient family, the patrilineal line extinct a few millennia ago. Leta knew claiming the name was a dangerous statement, the Peverell's were known in storied legend for their summoning of Death. She only hoped that the man had blood ties to the Peverell's, Purebloods didn't take too kindly to line theft, even if it was just a surname being appropriated.
All the more, Leta would admit she had found it surprising that the raven-haired man dared to belittle Grindelwald, most wizards and witches would scamper in fear just looking at the Dark Lord, yet Peverell hadn't even flinched, not a single trace of fear could be detected in his voice.
But the biggest surprise of all Leta was just beginning to grapes was he'd saved her life. She'd been so sure that she would meet her end to the flames, only for the raven-haired man to snatch her out of harm's way.
"Peverell!" Leta called delicately as the raven-haired man stormed ahead. She wanted answers, just wanted to know why they fled, why Peverell who had seemed to be holding the Dark Lord at bay suddenly decided to flee. There wasn't a fathomable reason for their escape.
No reply…
Leta huffed her annoyance.
"Peverell!" Leta tried again, as she felt herself growing all the more frustrated and pressed on. "That is your name isn't it?"
Peverell stopped abruptly, turning to take in the woman behind him. Judging from the flush of her cheeks, she seemed quite stricken. He didn't blame her either, she was probably still mulling over the fact that she'd made it out of the encounter with Grindelwald alive.
"Yes, that's my name," Peverell replied curiously. "Did you have a reason for asking?"
"No reason," Leta replied quickly, she'd got the man talking at least. Maybe now he'd answer her questions. Decidedly, Leta started simple, how they made their departure from the mausoleum. She wanted to know how they'd escaped, she'd ask why later.
"Just what form of travel was that?" Leta voiced offhandedly with veiled curiosity. "It was dreadfully slow, but fluid, streamline… Certainly not apparition, I've never experienced anything like it."
"Shadow walking," Peverell said dismissively as he turned and continued to walk, setting his sights on a path further down the field.
Leta scowled, it seemed the man wasn't much of a conversationalist.
"Shadow walking?" Leta asked, hurrying to match the man's even strides. Truth be told, she'd never heard of the magical method.
"Yes," Peverell said nonchalantly. "An esoteric technique that allows the caster to intermingle with the shadows."
Leta listened intently as Peverell continued.
"It was the only way to escape the Protego Debolica, apparition doesn't work against the cursed flames." The raven-haired man finished off grimly.
Realisation seemed to gleam in Leta's eyes. She'd been so caught up in the moment that she'd forgotten about the reason she'd entered her family's mausoleum in the first place.
"Newt! Theseus!" Leta gasped as she looked pleadingly at Peverell. "Please we have to return, they'll need our help."
"At what cost?" Peverell said, arching an eyebrow at Leta before demonstrating his smouldering wand.
Leta took in the smoky wisps of the wand. Understanding clicked within her and she acknowledged why Peverell had fled.
"My wand fizzled out," Peverell said blithely, reaffirming the reason they'd left within her mind.
Peverell spoke again. "Even if I could, it's the height of foolishness to contend against a Dark Lord without a wand."
In every other circumstance, Leta would agree but she'd left Newt and Theseus behind, the two very reasons in life her heart continued to beat. Logic was done away with as she protested vehemently.
"But Grindelwald will kill them." Leta said in a panic, "they can't hope to match him."
'How could they?' The thought reverberated in her mind. Grindelwald was considered unbeatable.
Peverell's reply came devoid of sympathy.
"Then they shouldn't have confronted him," Peverell said coldly. "Count yourself lucky to be alive."
"But I can't lose them." Leta voiced, laced with emotion. "They're all I have."
"You'll just have to," Peverell said tiredly and continued. "Find yourself a bar and drink away your sorrows, there's no point returning. All of Paris is likely burnt down by now."
Leta deflated as her hope died. Peverell was right, Paris, as well as Newt and Theseus, would be ashes by now and she detested him for it.
"It's easy for you isn't it?" Leta said harshly, the anguish coiling within her. "You didn't leave anyone you care about behind, no one worth missing. You'll just write them off as fools playing heroes, rather than the good men I know them to be."
Peverell sighed, he felt for the girl but there was nothing he could do.
"You'll just have to accept it," Peverell said. "I can't match Grindelwald, even with a wand. Few can. All we'd be doing is forfeiting our lives for the sake of trying."
"But where's your sympathy?" Leta finally screamed out into the night. "They're likely dead and you did nothing to rescue them!"
Peverell observed the distraught woman before answering bitterly. "My sympathy is long gone. I did the right thing saving you, leave it at that. I have too many deaths weighing on my soul already."
Leta softened at the words, she could hear the regret in his words. She was being unfair, she knew that. Lashing out at the very person who'd saved her wouldn't bring Newt and Theseus back.
"Very well." Leta replied evenly trying to contain herself, "what are we to do then?"
"We?" Peverell inquired.
"Yes, we?" Leta replied sullenly. "You better have a good reason for ripping me away from the two most important people in my life. I was prepared to give my life for them."
'How selfless,' Peverell thought, she'd spoken the truth too. Still, he didn't need company, he had a war to end, not a heart to repair.
Peverell raised an eyebrow and spoke bluntly. "There's no chance I'm taking you along, your grief will only get in the way. The lives of innocents are at stake, Grindelwald needs to be stopped before Europe crumbles."
Leta scowled and spoke icily. "I'm not some porcelain vase Peverell. I can hold my own, my grief will give me purpose."
Leta continued determinedly. "If you mean to go after Grindelwald, I want in. I will not be swayed so dismissively. "
Peverell scoffed and spoke. "Go home or someplace else. I don't need loose baggage weighing me down and I don't see anything that you can offer, I can't deal with distractions right now."
Leta sniffed and voiced coolly. "Nothing I can offer? I'm Leta Lestrange, Heiress of the Lestrange family. I have access to wealth, connections and venues that you can only dream about, and let me tell you this Peverell. If you want information on Grindelwald's whereabouts, then a Pureblood gathering is the only place you'll find it."
'Lestrange.' Peverell nearly growled when he heard the name, the raven-haired man was suddenly looking at Leta in a different light. He'd save a Lestrange of all people, something that grated on him. He despised the Lestrange family with good reason. But as horrible as the idea of working with a Lestrange sounded, Leta was right. She was a walking trove of resources he desperately needed.
Peverell nodded to himself, Leta was motivated in seeing justice done. She also had the gold for bribes and the socialite status to get him within arms reach of the right crowd, the question was, could he trust her? Unlikely, but he did have her allegiance for now.
"How can I trust you?" Peverell voiced, asking the question upon his mind out loud. "You could very easily point your wand at my back."
Leta shrugged and replied. "If only I could Peverell, Life Debts don't work like that however, I would've thought you knew. Your safety is guaranteed. Until I save your life you don't need to worry about my wand pointed at your back."
A Life Debt… Peverell frowned internally, he'd overlooked that aspect.
Peverell knew Life Debts were a delicate piece of magic. A Life Debt couldn't simply be claimed, no. Life Debts were enforced by an agreement of honour mandated by Pureblood tradition. A Wizard or Witch may very well save the life of another Wizard or Witch but unless the two parties agreed to seal the debt, then the Life Debt was obsolete.
Peverell replied warningly, testing the waters to gleam Leta's response. "That may be but we've yet to seal the debt."
Leta arched an eyebrow and asked threateningly. "Do you take me for someone who wouldn't follow through on the custom of my forefathers?
"No." Peverell grimaced and spoke hastily. "I don't mean to insult you, I believe you, I'm just cautious that's all."
"Good," Leta said, relaxing. "If we're getting into the business of hunting down Grindelwald, we'll need to be cautious."
Leta then stopped abruptly and extended out her hand.
Peverell hesitated before reluctantly outstretching his hand and clasping her forearm, Leta did likewise.
The two stood in the field of tulips momentarily before Leta voiced edgily. "Your name please, Peverell."
"My name?" Peverell asked, a little confused.
"Yes, your real name," Leta replied exasperated. "I doubt Peverell is your real name."
"Right," Peverell said and swallowed slightly, now was the moment of truth to see if his oaths were still in place.
"The name I was born with is Harry James Potter."
The raven-haired tensed slightly as he spoke his birth name, then man was still half-worried his ICW oaths would still be unbroken. The seconds seemed to hover before Peverell breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, nothing happened. He was free…
Leta raised an eyebrow and asked questioningly. "You're a Potter?"
"Yes," Peverell answered bitingly. "But that's none of your concern. I am Peverell to you."
"By all means, Peverell," Leta responded untroubled, tucking away the little crevice of information about him being a Potter and speaking again. "Shall we seal the debt now?"
"Yes," Peverell replied. "That would please me."
"Alright.." Leta said softly, resuming her grip upon Peverell's forearm and spoke.
"I Leta Anatolie Lestrange do acknowledge the Life Debt owed to Harry James Potter, may Magic decree justly. So mote it be."
"So mote it be." Peverell echoed.
A glassy helix began to spiral around the two, solidifying, till the woven threads of magic became tangible. A stagnant pause later and the interwoven spires dissipated. The Debt was accepted.
"I'm glad that's out of the way," Peverell replied, massaging out his forearm. The binding wasn't exactly painless.
Peverell continued. "Now that the formalities are out of the way, we better get a move on. We'll be here until sunrise otherwise."
Leta nodded in agreement and asked questioningly. "Just where are we headed, Peverell? I fail to recognise where we are."
"To see a face from the past," Peverell said simply resuming his stride.
Leta scanned their surroundings as they walked, aside from the tulip field, wilderness encircled them. Only a stark windmill with a low, humpbacked cottage beside could be viewed ahead, the winding path simple and somewhat plain ready to greet them.
"Allow me to do the talking." Peverell voiced out tightly as their footsteps converged upon the path. The raven-haired man spoke further.
"The man we're about to meet is fairly unconventional, so say little or nothing at all."
"I will keep it in mind, Peverell," Leta said in agreement, weariness settling in.
"Good." Peverell said contentedly and voiced further in warning, "because if I know, the man, and I do. It'll be best to have your wand ready, I wouldn't put it past him to turn us into doormats."
Leta raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It seemed her journey for revenge would be interesting at least, Peverell was an enigma. One she desperately wanted to work out.
Peverell raised his hand, stopping them upon the path and spoke. "We're at the ward boundary, any further without permission and we're likely to be incinerated. Send a Welcoming Charm if you can, I gather he already knows we're here."
Grudgingly, Leta pulled out her wand and intoned. "Laetare"
Bubbly yellow swirls streamed from Leta's wand, circling aimlessly before darting forth in waves and ringing outwards. A soothing tranquil music echoed pleasantly.
It didn't take long before the cottage door opened and a middle-aged man in a dressing gown emerged with dishevelled greying hair.
"Noem uw naam en doel?" The man called out irritably.
"Easy Lars," Peverell called back. "We wouldn't be disturbing you if it wasn't important."
Lars seemed to scrutinize them before reverting to English.
"Alright." The man voiced out loud gruffly. "What the hell do you want?"
Peverell replied. "A conversation, that's all. I need advice."
Lars scanned them again, seemingly looking for any deceit from the two people before him.
Growling, Lars responded. "And, why should I? I'd rather you lot piss off."
"I'll give you one reason," Peverell said, quoting the motto of the ICB. "Fideles Quoad Decedemus."
The raven-haired man then unclasped his cloak and pulled the top left side of his robes aside to reveal bare skin and a magical tattoo that sat prominently on his breast. An Augurey could be seen flapping its outstretched wings with a Malaclaw grasped within its claws.
"Faithful until we pass away," Lars muttered more to himself than anyone before voicing out louder. "You two better come in, I'll allow the wards to acknowledge your presence."
Lars then flicked his wand upwards and murmured a few indecipherable words under his breath. The once invisible wards, now visible to the naked eye shimmered colourlessly before reverting to their usual imperceptible form.
Lars grunted and spoke. "You'll be fine to step through now, take care not to use any magic though. You'll be removed from the premises otherwise."
Peverell nodded and stepped through the ward boundary, Leta shortly following after.
Lars scratched his head as they approached the porch stairs and voiced. "So what's an ICB operative doing in the middle of nowhere? I know this isn't a courtesy call so best be on with it."
Peverell withdrew his charred wand from his pocket and spoke. "I need someone to take a look at my wand, damn thing combusted in upon itself. I'm pressed for time but I thought the son of Violetta Beauvais could try to figure out the issue, Wandlore is beyond me."
Leta blinked and voiced out in surprise. "Your mother is Violetta Beauvais, the famous wandmaker from New Orleans?"
Lars nodded. "Aye, that would be my mother, little lass, but it's none of your concern."
The greying man continued severely. "I left my mothers business when I was a youth over forty years ago."
Lars then turned to Peverell and inquired. "Wandlore isn't something I'm partial to but I'll give it a look over, all the same, I would've thought there was more to your visit than a broken wand?"
"There is," Peverell answered and inclined his hand towards Leta. "I don't need prying ears, however."
Lars gave Leta a speculative stare and nodded in understanding. "Aye. The lass can wait outside then."
"Are you serious Peverell?" Leta said in indignation. "You'll leave me in the cold over an issue concerning a wand?"
Peverell shrugged and retorted. "No, my Godfather was Sirius, but cast a Warming Charm if you're so concerned this shouldn't take long."
Leta just blinked and glared at Peverell voicing piercingly. "If we're to have a partnership, I don't want secrets."
"You're free to leave anytime." Peverell said offhandedly and continued, "I'm sorry but some truths just can't be told."
Leta arched an eyebrow and gestured to Lars speaking thinly. "You seem to have no problem telling him the truth I see?"
Lars just grinned and broke in smugly. "Secrecy Oaths, little lass. No chance of the truth escaping from my lips."
"Fine, I'll wait." Leta gritted out tersely as she crossed her arms and scowled, the dark browned haired witch didn't seem to like it one bit.
"Best come in now," Lars responded, gesturing to Peverell to step through the door.
Peverell did so, inclining his head and walking through the door into the small cottage.
The raven-haired man made himself comfortable on one of the twin spartan looking couches.
"Not much to her, but she's home." Lars voiced as he closed the door on a curious-looking Leta.
"It's not an issue. An Anti Eavesdropping charm if you please." Peverell said, waving Lars off and looking around the sparse cottage.
Lars nodded and pointed his wand at the front door and spoke. "Silentium Sonus."
A grumble from Leta outside could be heard outside as the spell took effect.
Still surveying the cottage, Peverell took in its bearings. An outstretched rug, fireplace, coffee table and a bookshelf and a few miscellaneous items of little worth seemed to be all the material possessions within eyesight Lars owned.
"Can I offer you a drink?" Lars inquired as he hobbled towards his commonplace looking kitchen.
"Yes, that would be nice," Peverell replied.
"Rousing's, Ogden's or Guncotton?" Lars asked.
"I'm fine with whatever," Peverell answered.
Lars gave a gruff. "Might as well help yourself then."
The greying man gave a flick of his wand and three bottles came sailing from the kitchen before setting themselves upon the coffee table.
Lars hobbled over with two crystal glasses in hand, offering one to Peverell who nodded his gratitude and took a seat next to the raven-haired man.
Settled upon the couch Lars spoke again curiously. "Peverell was it? So who's the girl and how come you've decided to come all this way in the dead of night?"
"Yes, that's my name. The girl's name is Lestrange, Leta I believe." Peverell said, reaching for the bottle of Rousing's Jolting Rum and poured himself a glass. "Picked her up in Paris after an encounter with Europe's most recent Dark Lord."
The greying man nodded, seemingly absorbing the information.
"Never thought much of the Lestrange's." Lars finally grumbled. "Up jumped lounge lizards."
"What's he like then?" Lars continued. "This Dark Lord, he's dangerous. I've read the ICW reports. Countless Aurors have fallen to his wand but is he the real deal?
"I believe so, nearly didn't make it out," Peverell murmured. "He'll be a handful at least, I'll check the Continental tomorrow. See what's happened to Paris in the paper."
Lars raised an eyebrow and spoke. "That bad aye?"
Peverell shrugged and responded. "He set the Protago Debolica upon Paris, you tell me."
Lars growled. "Damn yanks, useless the lot of them. They had one job, keep the Dark Bugger contained when he was being extradited. Instead, they allowed him to be unleashed upon the world again."
Peverell nodded in agreement and swirled his drink aimlessly before taking a sip and smacking his lips. The raven-haired man gave a satisfied sigh as an electric current coursed through his body and smirked. Fire Whiskey might allow you to belch flames but Jolting Rum woke you up quicker than any other spirit known to man.
Senses now stimulated, Peverell rolled his shoulders stretching out the soreness in his muscles and said.
"If there's one thing I learnt, always expect the worst from MACUSA. Helps with the frustration when they cock things up."
Lars nodded in agreement and spoke harshly. "What do you expect from glorified paper pushers? MACUSA should've stuck to the old ways where all a law enforcement agent needed was a wand and badge to make an arrest. Now you have to navigate the bureaucratic channels for warrants, can't even douse them with Veritaserum to see if they're innocent or not."
Peverell inclined his head in recognition and replied. "You can't do much. Oldbloods will be Oldbloods, they're clamping down on the last vestiges of power they have. The family money is running dry."
"Aye," Lars said grimly. "That'll be the truth of it."
The greying man then reached forward to pour himself a glass of Guncotton's Gin, the liquid splashing into the crystal with smokey whisps.
Silence engulfed the cottage as Lars took a gulp of his drink and spoke again.
"So who are you anyway Peverell?" Lars questioned. "You're an ICB operative I'll give you that, you bear the mark. Would've thought I'd seen you around though, usually after a year or two of employment you meet everyone around the compound in Brussels."
"You must be new." Lars continued in an assuming tone and pressed on. "Who gave you my address, McAfee? Only him and the Director herself know my residence so spit it out. I've been polite enough."
"That you have," Peverell replied in agreement and grimaced as he voiced further. "It was you who gave me your residence. Eighty years give or take in the future."
"Time Travel?" Lars said sceptically before muttering. "I've heard stranger things."
"Yeah. I've been hurtled into the past." Peverell admitted. "You were the first destination that came to mind. I didn't have a chance to meet any other members of the old guard."
"Huh," Lars said, surprised. "Who would've thought I'd been the last."
Peverell shrugged and replied. "They all passed before I arrived on the scene. You, yourself passed a few months before I found myself in this predicament. The Funeral was nice, half of Europe came to see the Painter of Crimea be put to rest."
Lars grimaced and voiced. "I see I never escaped the nickname."
Peverell responded. "No. The ICW doubled down, the ICB in the future is rigid in its control. Operatives go black upon recruitment, no name, no public record, every footstep you've made in wizarding society is cleansed."
"I see," Lars said and questioned. "Will you be returning then?"
Peverell shook his head. "No. I completed my oath, I did what was needed of me."
Lars raised an eyebrow and spoke. "So there's more to it than simple time travel? I won't question it further then, you died on the job and there's honour in that."
The greying man then pointed to Peverell's chest. "You'll have questions if the ICW catches you with the ICB's coat of arms upon your chest. You might've been an Augurey, but they'll want to know how you escaped your oath."
Peverell sighed and replied. "There's not much I can do. Soul marks are forever."
The raven-haired man then outstretched his forearm and traced over the smooth skin where the Basilisk bite had been before raising his hand upon his forehead, his rebirth had been thorough. Not a blemish remained except the infamous lightning bolt scar, it seemed Soul magic was inescapable.
"Aye. I understand." Lars said as he watched the raven-haired man examine himself. "Best be careful then."
Peverell shrugged and responded. "I'll be fine. I have more pressing concerns with the recent Dark Lord, the two of us have an appointment together."
"Indeed you do," Lars said gruffly. "You mean to go after Grindlewald then?"
"Yes," Peverell said tersely. "The past is supposedly being re-written as we speak. Grindelwald needs to go as soon as possible, there are things afoot. Bad times are ahead."
"I'll keep it in mind," Lars said pensively. "Still early to tell which way the wind blows."
"Do with it what you will," Peverell said. "My only concern is ending the war before it begins."
Lars gave a smile and spoke. "You might just have a chance. An off the books operation is a shot in the dark but a shot all the same."
"Then you can be sure I won't be missing," Peverell said grimly.
"My wand," Peverell said again, handing the charred wand from his pocket to Lars beside him and questioned. "Can you tell me about what might've happened?"
Lars examined the wand critically, his hands tracing over the grooves before replying.
"Within Wandlore, this is what we would call a null. A phenomenon where the wand loses its magic."
Lars continued. "When a wand is conceived, it is completely original. However, there have been occurrences within Wandlore where an identical wand is created. Always the newly conceived wand will combust away. Wizards and Witches forget wands are almost sentient. They will not stand for a parallel wand. The Ollivander family quotes it best. No two wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. "
"Hmm," Peverell said curiously and replied. "Are you saying there's a doppelganger of my wand lurking somewhere?"
"That'll be the right of it," Lars said and gestured to the wand. "This confirms your story about time travel. I was sceptical, but this is the proof right here that makes me believe you."
Lars continued warningly. "I'd be careful presenting this wand to the wandmaker who owned this wand before you, she or he will know you're a time traveller straight away."
"Very well," Peverell said in acceptance. "I was planning to return for the same wand tomorrow, it served me well after my Holly wand splintered."
Lars nodded and straightened up, giving Peverell a pointed look. "You may do as you like, it is getting late, however. I'm guessing you don't have a place to stay tonight?"
"No," Peverell responded. "I was planning to find an inn or hotel somewhere after our discussion."
Lars paused to think for a second and replied. "Feel free for you and the girl to take up the lounges tonight."
"Thank you," Peverell said. "It's appreciated."
Lars waved him off. "It's no trouble son, you might not be one of us anymore but ICB operatives look after each other."
"Goodnight." Lars finished as he hobbled off. "I'll be gone early in the morning, best of luck with Grindelwald."
"Goodnight," Peverell replied, watching the greying man disappear into a bedroom.
With Lars gone, Peverell stood up abruptly and gulped down the rest of his Jolting Rum before striding over to the door and swinging it open.
Leta could be viewed sitting against the cottage gazing off into the night, the scowl on her face had still not disappeared.
Turning to face him Leta spoke aloofly. "I see you're done. Where are we headed now, Peverell?"
Peverell shrugged and replied. "Nowhere till the morning at least. Lars has offered us the couches for tonight. We'll get some rest and head out tomorrow."
Leta didn't bother to voice her complaint, she was still angry about being left out of the discussion but there was weariness in her bones and sleep sounded wonderful.
Leta followed Peverell inside and promptly dropped on the closest couch. Night had settled in and both of them were tired from the events and turmoil the day had brought.
I await a guardian: Greetings to those who read to the end! I'm satisfied with this chapter and how the narrative is playing out. If you do enjoy this piece and wish to see more regular updates, do leave a review, follow or favourite. The real heroes of this story are the ones who leave a review.
A side note: Do not be alarmed if you think I've dropped the Odyssey of the Arcane, I am currently writing the next chapter and it'll be posted within the next fortnight.