','

An Old and New World
by Lens of Sanity

','

Chapter Twenty Two: An Apprentice and a Wandcrafter

','

"I must say, dying is a singularly unpleasant experience My Lord." Rowena commented, flicking back a lock of her coppery hair. "Although I will say that surviving the process goes a long way in making it bearable."

A few of the Death Eaters chuckled at this, as did the fop Salazar. Rowena understood the logic of having the man around, and would even admit he could inspire loyalty in his followers better than any of them, but something about wearing lilac just made her want to harm him.

While the Founders did not have any form of strict hierarchy, some of them did defer to others in certain situations. Rowena being the second eldest at twenty-five would tend to stand higher than any but Godric and their Lord. Salazar had been created while still in England, around the same time as Helga—the youngest—who had been formed using the demise of old Hepzibah Smith.

That being said, this "hierarchy" wasn't so simple as age and experience. Helga stood higher than even Godric for example, by simple virtue of scaring the shit out of the other three Founders with her brutally straightforward attitude. Now the thought occurred to her, she decided that lilac wasn't too bad, at least Rowena knew she could take her irritating associate with ease. Lockhart's background gave him such a pathetic capacity it should be considered amusing.

Rowena brought her mighty intellect back to the fore, her advantages allowing her to process all those musings in a fraction of the time it would have taken anyone else.

"May I enquire as to what happened, Founder?" Draco Malfoy asked her from his seat at Voldemort's right. Their Lord seemed content to watch silently for the time being, but it was no insult. This was Lord Malfoy's manor house after all, and the man had repeatedly proven his usefulness. Most recently in the rescue of thirty high ranking Death Eaters as well as her Founders Object, an event from which Draco was still visibly recovering.

"Potter and Riddle overpowered me," admitted Rowena. "Nor was it due to surprise. The two worked together seamlessly, battered down my shields and struck me with double cast Killing Curses." She glanced down at her new, well suited Gregorovitch wand. "They are far more powerful than we anticipated."

Some of the Death Eaters muttered amongst themselves for a time. Losing the City of the Dead was a harsh blow. The numbers and resources in that stronghold could not be easily replaced, nor could the strength be restored at all in the short term. This Fiendfyre Cascade destroyed everything on the surface as though none of it were ever there. Brutal depression effects penetrated the subsoil, causing total devastation to the first twenty-one levels, and a shockwave collapsing the walls and floors everywhere down to Level 42.

However the Necropolis was reinforced and warded as securely as anywhere on Earth, so the attack had not ended with everybody's death. Out of all of them Draco Malfoy was the sole Death Eater to regain consciousness under his own power, and despite numerous severe injuries managed to salvage what he could. Thereby increasing his legend amongst the rank and file to heights never before reached by the previous Lord Malfoy.

"Our plans have changed," Voldemort stated aloud for the first time. "Rowena, you are to work closely with Helga in her attempts to devise a method of replicating Potter's weapon. I however have work to accomplish alone."

Voldemort's red eyes looked down at his wand as he said this. It was something which had been frustrating their Master for many months, and unless she missed her guess, Voldemort was on a quest to rectify the problem.

Their leader swept from the room and Rowena left through a different exit. She absently heard the meeting continue behind her.

"Yes Grayback." Draco presumably waved over the werewolf. "What assistance do you require to get your pack back to full strength?"

','

"Avast ye knave. scabrous cur! I do be challenging y'all to an honour duel, for ye nay being worthy of teaching in this ancientest castle school," said Harry.

Professor Riddle face palmed hard following her opening comments being interrupted on the first goddamned day of term.

"Harry, what did you promise Albus?" The woman turned to her charge. "What did you promise him not forty-eight hours ago?"

"I don't remember." Harry replied before switching back to his pirate voice. "So will ye duel me, or do ye be a coward. Avast!"

"You don't even use the word Avast in an appropriate way," Tam commented in dismay, "and you promised not to be an overly disruptive influence, remember?"

"I may have, but I didn't think this counted as disruptive. Does it?"

"Yes!"

"Oh." Then Harry was quiet for a while as he scratched his head. "So you gonna fight me or what?"

"Fine!" Tam acquiesced, knowing it was probably the fastest way to silence the annoying Griffindor. "Oh, and Ms. Granger… Detention."

"What!" Hermione squeaked in protest.

"You were charged with keeping him in line, so you get the detention." Tam finished this with a worrisome smile. "Come on then Harry. Have it!"

Harry scuttled to the front of the class with visible enthusiasm, throwing up a few temporary duelling wards and fishing out his Horntail wand. They bowed and Harry instantly sub-vocalised Valyrio Dracarys! blasting out a malevolent torpedo of crimson fire.

"Son of a bitch!" Tam screamed, raising her own nonverbal Imprimis shield. Harry never opened with instantly lethal magic, nevermind blatantly Dark Magic like Dragonfyre, so the redhead was caught totally off guard.

Five peanut-panthers came bounding at her, and Tam hastily constructed a Ribbon Rod which might have been used by a dancer. Except, of course, for the fact that the emerald streamer was superheated razor wire, butchering the predators with ease.

Tam flash boiled a trio of Ice Lances and caught a flight of poisoned darts with Luna's sticky shield before managing to regain the initiative, squeezing through the gap a time-escalating Disheartening Jinx, for which Harry probably didn't know the counter. The two got into a pretty even back and forth over the next couple of minutes; palming, parrying, dodging, and countering. It was a short while before both were cut and scorched, and Harry was trussed up in barbed wire, the apparent loser of their unexpected exhibition bout.

"Mr. Potter, do you wish to attend the Hospital Wing?" Professor Riddle asked sweetly, once she'd released him and administered the counter-jinx.

Trying to work out whether the deafness in his left ear was temporary or not, Harry just grinned. "Not on your life Professor."

"And I trust there will be no further distractions." He just winked, and sat himself with the wide-eyed, disbelieving class of sixth year NEWT students.

Harry didn't expect her to thank him, but they had just demonstrated Tam's bona fides to the whole friggin' school.

','

That was the thing about wands, and the sole fact non-wandmakers knew about the craft; the wand chooses the wizard. Voldemort knew as much, if not more about wandlore, than pretty much anyone who was not a Master Wandmaker. So he knew the wand chooses the wizard with greater understanding than most.

There were ways around this of course. Not every magical used a wand which had chosen them. The very idea was ludicrous. No, if an ally freely allowed a person to use their wand, it would work in line with a magical far better than a standard wand, and infinitely better than an unfriendly wand. It was the same with capturing; a process the Dark Lord was most familiar with. Fighting and defeating an enemy, and then taking the wand a defeated foe had been using, it was like a branch of magic unto itself.

The wand he was currently using, his favourite captured wand, had been taken in the greatest duel of his life. Back in the mid-fifties Voldemort had invested considerable time and effort working his way up the chain of illegal, no limit duelling pits. Acting the prize fighter to test his skills against the best he could find.

That wand was nine and three quarter inches of maple, containing a tail hair of sphinx, and had been claimed on a memorable night in early February. Where he'd slain a thirty year undefeated champion, one of Voldemort's greatest and most fondly remembered moments.

Nevertheless, the wand was still captured. It had not chosen him as his old yew and phoenix had, so many years before. The upshot being that his magic was not at its optimal, and would never be until he found a wand which suited his magic.

Over the previous months Voldemort tried thousands, literally thousands of wands, in an attempt to find one which would chose him. Each and every one they'd attempted had failed, and the wandmaker Gregorovitch maintained that his case was unprecedented.

Voldemort had pressed him, and asked if there could be constructed a custom wand which would work. The elderly Master had shakily asserted that the best any custom wand could manage would be "Familiarity," which turned out to be the technical term for the adequate feeling he got from the sphinx and maple wand he was currently using.

And so Voldemort was making his solitary climb up this windswept mountainside. He concluded that what was required were the suitable components to create a powerful wand that would choose him, and as he already had a focus or wandcore in mind, all he needed was a casing which would function optimally.

To get it to work as it should, Voldemort was applying the age old concept of Trials.

Entering a darkened cave of myth and legend the Dark Lord sought his destiny.

','

"Sevie me old mate, guess which emerald eyed favourite student of yours got an Outstanding in his Potions OWL," Harry said happily. "I'll give you a clue, he got exactly the same score as one Lily Evens back when she was a fifth year."

"Potter I—" Snape began, his fury barely restrained.

"Of course full credit goes to your teaching style Professor," he continued in the attempt to be as infuriating as possible, "the calm and pleasant instruction really allows any student to reach his or her full potential."

The overt hatred being directed toward the dark haired sixteen year old should have been worrisome in the extreme, but was not the Hogwarts motto something about how much fun could come from poking a sleeping dragon?

"Besides Potions is a doddle isn't it? It's just like cooking, and when in doubt add Eye of Newt." Harry asserted with wide eyed innocence. "Seriously, Eye of Newt is the answer to like everything. With enough newt eyes a person could cure death itself!"

There was one class other than Arithmancy which Harry attended without fail, and would not ditch unless he had very good reasons for doing so. And that class was Potions.

Potions was ever so much fun.

It took Professor Snape almost half the lesson to regain his composure and begin teaching again. Harry had been channelling his inner Dumbledore, pretending that the professor was very young, and that he was the benign grandfatherly figure Snape had been missing his whole life. He'd been doing it consistently since half way through fourth year, with the goal being to cause a stroke before graduation.

As the first day was a theory lesson the class were not actually brewing anything, and eventually he noticed that his friend was not really paying attention to the concepts she'd previously studied. Seeing Hermione drifting off as she thought back to the events following last night's feast, Harry began making wibbily flashback noises under his breath.

Hermione was clutching the note she'd received with her meal. She needn't be nervous, it was only Professor Dumbledore, but then again it wasn't. She's been asked to meet with Headmaster Dumbledore alone in his office, and that somehow seemed far more daunting. Looking the stone gargoyle in the face Hermione took a deep breath and put aside her foolishness.

"Acid Pops," she said. The fractured guardian leaped aside, allowing her access to the animated staircase.

"Come in Ms. Granger." The Headmaster called an instant before she could knock on his door. They made some small talk about the feast and so on for a while. "You appear anxious, would you care to tell me if there is anything I can do to put you at your ease?"

Sucking one of the lemon drops Harry insisted were cursed, or laced with LSD or something, she asked the thing which had been bugging her all evening. "Why did you hire Tam as Defence Professor?" It had been so unfair, the two had come to an agreement and now her girlfriend was going to make her life a living hell!

Dumbledore chuckled. "I assure you, Professor Riddle is more than qualified," he said unloading a full burst of his signature eye twinkling effect. "What amuses me is Voldemort applied for that position twice, and was turned down both times, first by my predecessor and years later by myself. I can only imagine Voldemort's reaction when he learns his other self succeeded where he failed."

Hermione sighed but did not comment, spending some time scratching Fawkes behind the wing in the way he liked. "May I ask why you wished to speak with me this evening Professor."

"I have a proposition for you Ms. Granger," answered Dumbledore after a long and thoughtful pause.

"My initial intension on Harry's release from Azkaban Prison, was to offer this to him following his graduation from Hogwarts," admitted the Headmaster. "However time and circumstance has forced us move up my plans." After a while she bade him to continue. "I wish you to consider accepting an Apprenticeship under me."

Hermione choked hearing this. Albus Dumbledore hadneveraccepted an apprentice, though not because of any lack of willing candidates.

"I can see why you did not offer this to Harry," she said with wide eyes.

"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore. "It is doubtful that Harry would accept anyone in such a position of power over him. Nevertheless, you are by no means a second choice Ms. Granger."

"B-but. Why me?" Hermione lamely asked.

With a mysterious smile and a shaken head at the girl underestimating herself Dumbledore went on. "For one thing, you are one of the few I have met in all my years who possess a suitable temperament to learn some of the magic I could teach."

Hermione had not given the headmaster an answer at the time. Even though she already knew how she was going to respond. Professor Snape asked her a question which necessitated detailed knowledge of both Astronomy and Herbology, and she answered absently before returning to her thoughts.

Harry noticed this, and plainly enjoyed the angered look which passed across Snape's face when she failed to get caught out. Answering the needlessly difficult question with ease and offering the man nothing save a dismissive hand gesture.

Harry spent the remainder of the lesson obviously ignoring the professor, scheming on how to trick Luna into teaching him the sticky shield. She refused to share until after the movie came out. A couple years from now. And which she learned a couple of years ago. Time travel could get damned confusing.

','

"It is agreed."

The booming voice of fire and menace echoed hollowly from the other side of a tear in the very fabric of creation. If legend was to be believed the Old Ones found amusement in creatures from our plain of existence, and in exchange for entertainment, could be convinced to provide a great boon. Assuming the reckless hero in question survived of course, the myths also warned that anyone foolish enough to try would certainly die.

"I am Lord Voldemort. Send forth your challenges they mean less than nothing to me!" he intoned. Voldemort was actually enjoying himself. There would be three tasks of escalating difficulty, and once he crushed all opposition, a prize of great worth.

He lived for moments like this.

Stone groaned against stone as a colossal doorway split open, fifty paces high, midnight black as pitch was all that could be seen. Voldemort stepped through without flinching, strode to the centre of an arena, and stood in silence as the gateway slammed shut.

There was a long moment where nothing happened, but after a time a lizard easily forty feet long with brown scales and thick black ridges, and with a shuddering crash, fell from the ceiling to land at Voldemort's feet.

I am to slay a Norwegian Ridgeback? Pathetic.

He raised his maple and sphinx wand to unleash a potent band of serrated energy at the dragon, but was shocked to find his magic had been bound. Voldemort took a heavy swipe from the reptile and was slammed thirty feet into the air, connecting painfully with the far wall.

Ah, all of a sudden things become far more interesting.

His approval peeked, Voldemort leapt to his feet taking a wash of dragonfire, hopping into a strafing run alongside the enormous creature. Pausing, ducking, and even back flipping over the Ridgeback's vicious talons, the Dark Lord haltingly closed on his challenger.

Even his wandless abilities had been bound, so Voldemort had decided on a straightforward solution. He ploughed his clenched fist deep into the dragon's vulnerable eye, tearing the lightly armoured eyelid and scooping out as much of the glutinous flesh as he could manage. The Ridgeback went wild of course, thrashing and lashing out in pain, but the Dark Lord held on even as the beast took to the air.

Working on the underside of the animal's neck he was eventually sideswiped with a claw and plummeted sixty feet to the ground, torched the whole way by yet another breath of dragonfire.

The battle lasted easily a quarter of an hour, but as was inevitable, the gigantic reptile lay unmoving at Lord Voldemort's feet. Neck shattered, dead on the floor.

Once again stone groaned against stone and the colossal doorway split open. "You are the first in many centuries to pass the opening task," boomed the otherworldly voice, and Voldemort felt his magic re-engage. "Make it out of this room to meet your final challenge."

Hundreds upon hundreds of humanoid creatures coalesced out of nowhere, each with a jackal-like skull overtopping by a head even Voldemort's seven foot frame. Easing his maple wand from its holster and bowing to the oncoming army, Voldemort began to cast.

','

"You're better at pissing off Snape than James and I ever were!" Padfoot informed later that evening. "It really is a beautiful thing to watch Mr. Babbity."

"Sirius, no matter how many times you say it my Marauder name is not going to be Mr. Babbity," complained Harry.

"Mr. Bugs?"

"Better, but still no," he said, walking toward the Owlery. "Has Luna finished setting up the practice Array?"

"Yeah, it's in some unused section of the castle," Sirius told him. "The thing is huge. Do you really think you can figure it out in only two months?"

"I'd better. I'm the only one who can do it, and we don't want to wait another whole year before trying it." They two former convicts arrived at their destination and Harry set about visiting with his owl for a while. Feeding her one of the deluxe, high quality owl treats Harry watched her stumble about trying to throw off the effects of "owl catnip," wondering idly if he should be more concerned over the whole substance abuse issue.

"Do you know what I want you to do Hedwig?" he asked.

She nodded a touch blearily.

"We're voting "Yes" on the second motion okay. So that's a "Yay," got it?" Hedwig bobbed her head and nipped him affectionately, while Harry made sure the tiny Owl Beard was firmly attached to his familiar.

The two watched as Hedwig winged her way out of Hogwarts and toward the Wizengamot meeting Harry himself didn't feel like attending.

"Time to practice?" asked Sirius. "I wouldn't mind seeing Lils again. But Luna did say if you get it wrong..."

"...I'll die horribly," Harry finished. "Yeah, I remember."

','

Face heavily scarred and large chunk of ear missing on his left side, Voldemort stood in the room alone and victorious. He set about constructing a metallic leg which shimmered with a coppery green hue. Bodies lay everywhere, slumped over one another or in pieces, and some even imbedded into the walls.

That had been fun.

Stretching high and testing his new left leg, Voldemort made sure that his body was functioning optimally, despite any cosmetic damage. He gave up healing the slash which nearly took his eye and simply cauterised it before sweeping threateningly from the room.

While it was the same door he'd entered, the room he came to was clearly not the entranceway, nor the path back to the cave. The groaning stone marked the gateway's sealing and Voldemort came face to face by a large, ornate mirror. Full length and featuring his own reflection.

It took less than an instant to realise this was not his reflection however. The figure looking back at him was uninjured and fresh, without scars and still in possession of all its limbs. The mirror form Dark Lord stepped from the glass and the two figures locked malevolent scarlet gazes.

As he had before, he did again, and the two combatants bowed.

Voldemort noticed the pale length of his old yew wand in the grip of this most dangerous foe, but the unleashed barrage of magic his opponent set free at that moment, distracted him from musing further on the fact.

','

Hermione stumbled her way toward the seventh floor, massaging her jaw and trying to work out the kinks in her neck and shoulders. She was quite certain there were rules which prevented professors from making their students do things like that during detentions. There had to be! It was just wrong, an abuse of power. That's what it was.

Not that it wasn't fun at times...

Damn it!

The girl was ruining her.

She spoke the password, passed the gargoyle, and made her way up the animated staircase. When Hermione was seated across from the headmaster she began her well-rehearsed complaint about the evil Defence Professor.

"I would like to become your apprentice Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione.

What? That isn't what I intended to say at all!

"Outstanding," Dumbledore responded with a wide smile. "However if you are to be my apprentice I must insist you call me Albus as tradition dictates."

"Of course... Albus," she tentatively finished.

What the hell's going on? Hermione racked her brain. Why can't I object to... Oh! That sneaky bint.

"While there are many things I wish to share with you Hermione, I believe in the current climate, a more combative approach to magic should be our focus." Albus proceeded to discuss some of the more logistical aspects of her instruction, while she was still a more or less normal student of Hogwarts.

Tam told me I'd neglected to sign my class work, Hermione remembered. She must have put a glamour on a Secrecy Scroll. That's why I can't talk about what happened in the detention! Oh, I am so going to make her pay.

After an hour's discussion with the headmaster, Hermione left. They would meet up for two hours each evening save Saturdays, and Albus would teach her everything she could learn. They'd signed the apprenticeship agreement using a nasty Blood Quill, and the contract would no doubt be announced by tomorrow morning in the Daily Prophet.

It was a momentous day, but Hermione's thoughts were solely directed toward revenge.

','

Voldemort slumped to the ground.

That had been far from easy. Fun. But far from easy.

The ever victorious Dark Lord set about crafting a metallic left arm of coppery green, then a right foot of using the same process. He healed, closed, and cauterised all his other wounds, while idly resolving not to get hit anytime soon with Demon's Light.

When finished he walked over to the mirror—now reflecting his own image—and took in the disfiguring blemishes of his face and body. Strangely enough he liked them, they had been well earned this day, and Voldemort hoped he wouldn't have to go through another Rebirthing Ritual for a while.

"Champion, you have completed the Triad," declared the hollow voice of fire and menace. "What boon do you request?"

"There was never any doubt of my triumph for I am Lord Voldemort!" stated the Dark Lord grandly. "You know the reason I am here and what I require of you."

The mirror rippled and revealed the branch he sought. Plunging his hand through the reflection and grasping his prize, Voldemort admired the trophy as he stalked through the room's single door.

When he reached the mouth of the cave the Dark Lord found it to be midday and winced at the bright light. One of the minor annoyances which came with the enhanced body he was using, was that his eyes were painfully sensitive to intense illumination. It caused twinges he could easily deal with—and was not the kind of thing he would admit to any of his minions—so he usually ignored it. Nevertheless the irritation did not fit well amid today's triumphant disposition.

With a casual swish of his sphinx wand, Voldemort conjured a pair of sunglasses he vaguely recalled seeing on a troll, from the cover of one of his Death Eaters' magazines.

Dark glasses in place on the ridge of his noseless face, Lord Voldemort made his way down the mountainside, and back to civilisation.

','

Weeks later it was Halloween and Voldemort was once again atop his obsidian throne. Helga and Rowena had come to a startling conclusion when commanded to research the method by which the boy had destroyed his citadel. It had not been magic at all, but those terrifying weapons the Muggles foolishly created, in an effort to end the mundane side of the war against Grindelwald.

The two Founders had clearly been as appalled as Voldemort when sharing this news in private. That any Magical would commit such a crime was abhorrent in the extreme, and simply confirmed in their minds that the correct course of action was conquering such fools.

Although Voldemort did idly wonder whether his immortality would have survived, had he been in the city at the time of detonation. Given that his shade form was incorporeal he probably would have. Nevertheless it was not be something he would seek to confirm in the near future. Perhaps he could have one of his Death Eaters create a Horcrux at some point and put it to the test.

The wandmaker was escorted into the room, shaking Voldemort from his thoughts. If the man had completed his work on this day—Samhain, Halloween, a day of such cosmic significance—then things could only bode well for his plan.

"You have accomplished your task Master Gregorovitch?" hissed Voldemort.

"Yes My Lord," confirmed the old man. He was visibly excited, eyes alight with exultant success. "I have been crafting wands for ten decades. I can say without doubt this is by far the greatest I have ever, and likely will ever create." Greorovich snapped open a finely crafted wandcase, and there for all to see was a fifteen inch stick of creamy white wood resting on a bed of black satin. "This is a masterwork to make any masterpiece jealous."

The Dark Lord came down from his obsidian throne and the pale digits of his right hand hovered above the proffered wand in hesitation. This was it, if this wand did not choose him, Voldemort knew the only avenue remaining to him was to claw back his yew wand from the waif's cold dead fingers. Something he would do regardless of course, but for now this was his last chance.

Voldemort took the wand. Feeling sudden warmth in his fingers he raised the wand above his head. The Dark Lord brought it swishing down through the still air and a stream of green and silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, pulsing again and again with a long forgotten pull last felt at age eleven, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

Blissful exultation lasted a long moment, and when he returned to the room Voldemort noticed the wandmaker desperate to ask some questions.

"You wish to identify the components which I charged you to use," he stated to the man in sibilant tones.

"The heart you gave me was unusual I admit," said Gregorovitch. "Yet I discovered it to be human, albeit one half again normal size."

"Correct Master Gregorovitch," agreed Voldemort. "It was carved from my own corpse for you to use."

"Yes, your own... I see... fascinating." The man stared into the distance clearly lost in thought. "Conversely the wood you gave me. I have never in all my days seen the like..."

Hoping the Dark Lord would humour him Gregorovitch trailed off. Seeing a sinister smile on his face, Voldemort nevertheless shared knowledge with the man who had done such admirable work. Bringing up the wand for the old man to see, the Dark Lord spoke simply:

"Yggdrasill and Wizard Heartstring, Fifteen Inches."

The man choked. Rightly so. It was no small thing to have come across a wand quality branch of the world tree itself.

"My Lord to stand in your way would take the Wand of Destiny, an artefact I have held in my own hands, and even then..."

"Yes?"

"Any wand, even one of legend like this," Gregorovitch gestured to his creation, "any wand can be beaten."

Pale wand in hand the magic leapt from Voldemort's fingertips, it was time to begin moving once again. And even spoken to himself alone, the declaration was met by an almighty thunderclap.

','

The last two months had sped past at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry had been spending all of his free time in the room they had commandeered, practising the Runic Array, and a series of malicious, spiteful pranks were directed at the Defence Professor, but nobody could figure out who was behind them.

Hermione had changed a little also. She seemed more focused, and her hair always had this wavy quality to it which garnered a number of jealous looks from Hogwarts' random assortment of girls. News of her Apprenticeship with the world renowned Albus Dumbledore had sent shockwaves throughout the wizarding world, most notably in Britain because her Muggleborn status seemed to offend a certain cross section of society and their delicate sensibilities.

Everyone had been so busy that it was a surprise Voldemort, the Death Eaters, and the war was taking up barely any of their time. The Dark Lord's forces seemed content to take things easily after their last routing, and the loss of their main base. Laying low and licking their wounds, that was how the Daily Prophet was playing it at least. Even if Harry, Tam, and Dumbledore all agreed the quiet was a little ominous.

So now the group found themselves back where it all began, Godric's Hollow, precisely fifteen years to the day since the Dark Lord had been defeated for the first time.

There was a thunderstorm.

Harry decided this was a good thing. He'd have to ask at some point whether what they were doing caused the thunderstorm, magic itself knew a thunderstorm was appropriate, or if there being a thunderstorm in progress was merely a coincidence.

The Shroud, the Stone, the Stave.

Brother cores of phoenix feather, and an imposing black cube six paces on each edge.

A time to live and a time to die.

Today was All Hallows' Eve.