Harry Potter and the Power of the Past

by Lord umbrex

This is a complete AU Harry Potter is a 21 year old wizard, who's on top of the world. He's rich, in love, and loved by all, but his life is turned upside down as a spiral of events leads to the ultimate battle between good and evil.

24. Danger coming Danger here

Harry Potter and the Power of the Past

Disclaimer: All JKR's, not mine.

Summary: This is a complete AU- Harry Potter is a 21-year-old wizard, who's on top of the world. He's rich, in love, and loved by all, but his life is turned upside down as a spiral of events leads to the ultimate battle between good and evil. Can Harry lead the fight for the light, but yet manage to keep his life together?

A/N: Thanks for the reviews everybody. Oh, and review again!

S/N: Happy Holidays everybody.

S/N 2: About Harry having trouble with Barty and Quirrell: those two wizards are the best Death Eaters Voldemort has, the most skilled and the most powerful. They would and could give anybody in the Order a fight. You also have to remember that Harry is still young, and though he knows a lot of magic and a ton of spells, he isn't that experienced when it comes to dueling just yet; he'll learn, and when he does he'll become better, but for now, he's still young.

Chapter 24: Danger coming; Danger here

"Stay here." Harry growled, running up the stairs, out of the chamber and up the stairwell, where he stopped in a foyer-like room, immediately before the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. Harry knew, without a doubt, that Voldemort would want the prophecy, and in order to get it, he'd have to walk right where Harry was standing. He'd have to walk through Harry or over the young wizard's corpse if he wanted the prophecy, and Harry was prepared for that.

The room was circular, made of stone, and had a reception desk off to the side. It was the perfect spot, he figured, away from the other Order Members, away from their eyes so he could use the magic Dumbledore had taught him, a magic that would equal Voldemort's. He tried to before, in the hall of the Department of Mysteries while he was fighting Crouch and Quirrell, but they, along with his attention being drawn to the other Order members, were more skilled than he originally thought, and he had only had a chance to use his stronger magic once; but it worked, since they immediately retreated, not wanting to duel him anymore. Like cowards, they left before he could round them all up, and bring them back to Azkaban where they belonged. He heard footsteps coming from the Atrium a few seconds later; nearer and closer they came, before they were right in front of him before they stopped, the sound disappearing.

There, standing not thirty feet away, shrouded in darkness, was Lord Voldemort; he tilted his head towards Harry, tightening his grip on his wand. He was garbed in long, black robes, which seemed to be made of a silk-like texture. He was tall, skeletally thin, and chalk white: his eyes, even under his shadowy hood, glowed red, as if they were literally burning with rage—though he showed no signs of being abnormally angry. His hands, with one of them being wrapped around his yew wand, were topped off with the fingers that were as spider legs. He moved not, standing abnormally still, as if he was made of stone.

The Dark Lord looked at Harry, as if he was studying him like a butcher would a piece of meat. "Harry Potter, so we meet." Lord Voldemort said—his voice was high and cruel. "You look so much like your father, it's hard not to see his dead, lifeless face as your own."

Harry growled under his breath, but did not react, not wanting Voldemort to have that satisfaction. "Lord Voldemort." He nodded, taking a step closer to the Dark Lord. "If I'm not much mistaken, I'm pretty sure we've already met—you know, when your body was destroyed when I just was a baby."

"You don't believe you were the one to defeat me, do you? Surely you can't be that dumb, could you? And here I heard you were in Ravenclaw while at Hogwarts." Voldemort mocked, a vicious smile on his pale face. "Move away, let me pass, and we shall not fight. In fact, I offer my hand out to you, Harry Potter. I offer a place by my side, together we shall rule."

"Join you, the person who killed my parents?" Harry questioned, rhetorically, standing his ground. He stared at the Dark Lord harshly, a look of contempt on his face, showcasing his dislike of the man. "Do you really expect me to say yes?"

"You're a fool then." Voldemort sneered, moving his wand in front of him—Harry did the same. "I grow tired of this. Goodbye, Harry Potter." Voldemort cackled, sending the killing curse Harry's way.

Harry ducked the green sphere, and it crashed into the wooden desk off to the side, engulfing it in flames. Harry flicked his wand casually at the table, forming the flames into a fireball, which then streaked towards the Dark Lord. Voldemort spun around, jabbing his wand out, transforming the ball of fire into a slithering mass of snakes. Hissing his orders, he commanded the snakes to attack Harry. Harry on the other hand hissed back, forcing the snakes to turn their back on Voldemort, readying themselves to strike the Dark Lord. Voldemort stared at Harry intensely, impressed by his parselmouth ability. "I see I was correct in choosing to attack you that night, Harry Potter. Maybe fate was right in choosing you to be my enemy, too." Voldemort hissed in parseltongue.

"I kind of wish you didn't choose me." Harry hissed back, dodging a curse that Voldemort sent. They volleyed, parried, ducked, and swerved quickly, throwing and defending curses with all of their magic and skills. The floor shook and windows shattered as their battle intensified, the stone around them crumbling and cracking.

Then, while distractedly dodging another curse, Harry slipped as Voldemort said Avada Kedavra: his life flashed in front of his eyes as he saw the killing curse heading straight at him. It was close; he could feel it rushing upon him, too close, much too close. As his body arched backwards, towards the floor, he lifted his wand up, and said the only spell his mind could come up with. "Avis." He yelled out, hoping against hope that something would happen to keep him from death, keep him alive. He couldn't die now; he had so much to accomplish—if he died, then Voldemort won, and that was something that could not ever happen.

Voldemort's eyes went wide as Harry screamed out the Avis spell, one that would conjure a flock of birds; a meager and useless spell that Lord Voldemort had no use of before then. The birds rushed from the tip of his wand, right into the way of the killing curse; it's green light engulfing the whole flock, before fizzling out—the birds being dead, gone. Potter had done it, Potter had figured out a way to stop the killing curse. It was at the expense of a few birds, of course, but in Voldemort's mind that didn't matter. Harry, seeing his chance, jabbed his wand out, and a great force of wind rushed around the room, as if a great beast had blown out the entirety of its lungs.

Voldemort vanished out of the way of the curse, apparating out with a swirl of his cloak. He reappeared behind Harry, and sent a stream of sickly yellow at the younger wizard; who, in response, twirled his wand, summoning a shield: it was circular, large, and made out of bronze. The curse banged off of the metal shield with a deafening clang, and from behind it, Harry sent a curse of his own. Voldemort swished it away, casually. "I am not impressed." He said, mockingly.

With renewed vigor, Harry threw curse after curse at Voldemort, throwing a Cruciatus curse in there, as well. Voldemort, of course, blocked and defended, almost making it look easy: though, and he loathed to admit it, some of the curses were difficult, even for him, to defend against. Then, with one quick slash of his wand, Voldemort took the offensive, forcing Harry to hide behind his conjured shield. Stroke after stroke of what seemed to be a gigantic serpent made completely of flame crashed against the shield, bringing it to temperatures that would normally melt such metals. Voldemort's attacks pushed Harry back, back to the point where he was on the heels of his feet just trying to stay up.

Seeing an opening from behind his shield, Harry twisted his wand in a cyclone-like way, releasing a flare of energy that cracked the floor under Voldemort's feet. The Dark Lord looked down, his eyes leaving Harry for just a second, but that was all Harry needed; with a great flick of his wand, Harry sent a dark green curse whizzing at the Dark Lord, which crashed into the wizard's arm, and there was a burning smell wafting throughout the room. With a great roar and an injured arm, Voldemort went on the offensive again, showing no mercy in his attacks against Harry, sending killing curses each everyway.

The battle spilt into the adjoining atrium: the Ministry's fountains were just a few feet to the left. Voldemort jetted his wand out in front of him, releasing a curse that blew Harry through the air, where he landed on the stone floor with a thud—his ebony wand rolling away into the darkness. As Voldemort inched towards Harry with a victorious and malicious smirk of contempt on his face, Dumbledore apparated into the atrium behind the Dark Lord, raising his wand instantly. "You shouldn't have come here tonight, Tom." He said, as his voice echoed off the walls.

Voldemort whirled around quickly, pushing his wand down to the floor, releasing a curse that whooshed across the room. Dumbledore, expecting Voldemort's actions, disapparated away, only to reappear next to Harry on the other side of the room. He flipped his wand, sending a rope, which was seemingly made completely of fire, at Voldemort; who, in response, summoned a silver shield, only dislike Harry's by its shape and the green serpent-like Slytherin S that was on its front. The whip-like rope crashed against the shield, burning out a second or two later. Both wizards stared at each other, studying one another; Voldemort banishing the shield he had created with a simple flick of his wand. Meanwhile, Harry was gazing around the room, searching for his lost wand; though he dared not leave Dumbledore's protection, knowing that Voldemort would take him out the second he did.

They seemed to act at the same time, for Dumbledore whipped his wand, summoning the water from the fountain and encasing Voldemort in a pillar of water, like a cocoon of molten glass. Before being trapped, however, the Dark Lord had managed to send a killing curse at Dumbledore, forcing the aged wizard to duck out of the way, making him lose his concentration. Using his chance wisely, Voldemort flicked his wand, releasing the pillar of water; it crashed down to the floor, spewing out across the wood. Yet, even still, having had to hold his breath for an amount of time seemed to disorient Voldemort a little, as he didn't go for the attack the second he was free.

Bellatrix Lestrange ran into the room, her violet eyes wide with either madness or surprise. Seeing Dumbledore, she raised her wand and released a great blast against the statue of the centaur that was perched in the fountain next to the aged wizard. The force, which was as close to her as it was Dumbledore, blew apart the centaur, and threw both Dumbledore and Bellatrix across the room, where they landed with a thud, both unconscious: his wand, like Harry's before, rolled out of his wrinkled hands. Harry's eyes went wide with shock, having not seen Bellatrix enter the room, and he was even more surprised with Dumbledore being so off guard.

Then, acting quickly, he dove towards Dumbledore's wand that laid on the ground, grabbed it, and rolled in front of the downed wizard. A green light was zooming at him, and, without thinking, he threw the killing curse himself. The two green bolts met in midair, and instead of bouncing off of each other like they normally would, they stuck to each other, turned gold, and connected the two wands. Dumbledore's wand, in Harry's hands, began to vibrate, as if an electric charge was surging through it. The thin gold strain splintered out, creating a golden circular dome, as Harry and Voldemort both levitated a few feet above the floor, each holding onto their wands with deathly grips. The cage-like dome above them looked like a spider web, with arching gold beams of light.

Knowing that he had to buy some time for Dumbledore to regain his wits, Harry held onto his wand tighter, not breaking the connection. The beam of light connecting the wands changed, and now it was as though a thread of large beads that slid up and down the connection. Harry's wand shuddered angrily in his hands and the beads began to slide his way, from Voldemort. Concentrating harder, Harry sent the threads Voldemort's way, where they inched slowly but steadily towards the Dark Lord. Voldemort fought but Harry would not budge, and the threads continued on their path, until, with a great lurch, they merged with Voldemort's wand tip.

At once, Voldemort's wand emitted a smoky outline of a shield, and the Dark Lord's eyes went wide with shock. Then, screams of pain echoed around the hall, before, with a great push, a head sprung out of the wand, followed closely by a torso and legs: made from the densest gray smoke Harry had ever seen was an echo or ghost of Eric Munch. "Get him, Potter." Munch growled in an echoic and distant voice, walking around the golden dome, muttering things to Voldemort Harry couldn't hear. Screams continued to emit from Voldemort's wand, clearly from Cruciatus curses that were cast upon Death Eaters and innocents. Then, coming over to Harry, Munch said, "Your parents are coming out, they'll be here soon."

But already, yet another head was blossoming, and this head, gray as a smoky statue, was a woman's. The shadow of the young woman with long hair fell to the ground, straightened up, and looked at Harry. And Harry, his arms shaking madly now due to the connection of the wands, looked back into the ghostly face of his mother: Lily Potter. "Your father's coming," She said, quietly. "Hold on for your father…it'll be alright, we're so proud of you."

And he came, first his head, then his body. Tall and untidy-haired like Harry, the smoky, shadowy form of James Potter, emerged from the end of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground, and straightened just like Lily had seconds before. He walked close to Harry, his gaze leaving the boy for just a moment. "Dumbledore's back awake," He said, lowly. And, sure enough, the great wizard Albus Dumbledore was rising to his feet, looking at the golden dome with wide, curious eyes. "When the connection breaks, we will linger for only moments, but we will give you time. We will block Voldemort's view, and use that momentary distraction to kill him, do you understand, Harry? He's hurt too many people, stop him from hurting anybody else."

More and more shadows were popping out of Voldemort's wand: Caradoc Dearborn; Edgar Bones, followed by his wife; Dorcas Meadowes; Marlene McKinnon; Benjy Fenwick (father of Court Scribe Devan Fenwick), and a slew of other past Order members. "Yes," Harry grunted, the wand burning so hot he thought it would burst into flames. "I am your son, after all." He laughed, struggling to hold onto the connection.

James' steely, concentrated gaze dropped, and in its place was pride. "Yes," He said, looking over to Lily with a smile. "You are. Know that we, that I, love you, Harry." Then, gathering the other echoes or shadows, he said, "Break it now!" The shadows rushed towards Voldemort, as Harry lurched his wand upwards, the golden cage breaking instantly. The area in front of Voldemort was a grayish haze as the echoes began to fade away, but not before Harry released a sphere of green energy: the killing curse.

"Master!" A voice cried out of nowhere. There was the unmistakable sound of footsteps, then a crash, the green light having been lost in the fray of gray haze. Once the cloud faded, the shadows having disappeared, Harry saw what it was that made the sound: Voldemort had been tackled out of the path of the killing curse by his Death Eater, Barty Crouch. They were both sprawled out on the ground, a few feet away from each other—slowly they got to their knees, Voldemort was staggering slightly.

Before either Harry or Dumbledore, who had pulled a new wand out from under his robes, could react, the other Death Eaters rushed into the room. One of them, presumably Rodolphus, grabbed Bellatrix, and disapparated out: the others following him a second later. Voldemort and Barty Crouch gave one last look at Harry and Dumbledore, before they too apparated out, leaving the Ministry. "Harry!" Tonks called out, running into the room with the rest of the group.

"Are you alright?" Harry questioned, wrapping his arms around Tonks, glad that she was okay. Last he saw of her, she was fighting Augustus Rookwood, a more than accomplished wizard who would be more than willing to kill for Voldemort.

She nodded, embracing him. "There were only a few of us left, most were stunned, when Quirrell and Crouch renerverated the Death Eaters and called for a retreat. They blocked the way back up with a few curses so we couldn't chase them, but Sirius and Kingsley managed to knock the blocks down after a few tries." Harry's eyes flicked over to the Order: they looked alright, a few cuts and bruises here and there but no lasting damage.

"What is going on here?" Rufus Scrimgeour growled from the entrance: a few Aurors and Hitwizards were behind him, their wands raised. Some of them ran off, past Harry and the Order, making sure all of the Death Eaters were gone or contained.

"They're gone." Pius Thicknesse, Head of the Hitwizard Squads, said, looking somewhat fearful. "The Death Eaters, Rufus, I saw them with my own eyes."

"I saw them, too." Gawain Robards, father of Gaetana and Head of the Magical Law Enforcement and Auror Squads, nodded in agreement. "Crunch is dead…his body is behind the front desk."

"Get Amelia here, Pius, right away!" Rufus screamed, making Pius Thicknesse leave in a hustle, the other Aurors and Hitwizards clearing a path for him. Rufus limped over to Dumbledore, his face unreadable. "You dueled him, Dumbledore, did you?"

"Harry and I did, yes." Dumbledore nodded, trying to catch his breath. His body wasn't what it used to be and the duel, which was as intense as one could ever be, took a lot out of him. "He's even more powerful than he was during the last war." Dumbledore whispered into Rufus' ear as he walked past the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Tell Amelia I'll wait in her office."

An hour later, Harry and Dumbledore sat at the Headmaster's desk, going over what transpired that night: how Harry knew Voldemort was there, their duel with Voldemort, and the Priori Incantatem. "What exactly happened? Did you drop your Occlumency shields, Harry?" Dumbledore questioned, wondering just what it was that had happened earlier that allowed Harry to see into Voldemort's mind.

"For a second, maybe." Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "It was as if, as if I was him, though I was myself at the same time."

"Hm," Dumbledore muttered, taking out a silver object that came into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. He tinkered with the instrument for a few moments, before a puff of smoke, shaped like a serpent, sprang out of it; then, as if cut by a knife, it spread apart, creating two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. "So in essence divided? Naturally, naturally." He whispered, nodding his head, seemingly having a conversation with himself. He looked back to Harry, a knowing gleam in his eyes. Then, without saying a word, he shrugged, and Harry knew the discussion was over for the time being.

Knowing full well that they couldn't keep it under wraps, the Ministry released the knowledge of Voldemort's return the next day. With big, bold headlines saying 'He Who Must Not Be Named Back!' the story threw the British wizarding world into a foray. Unfortunately, however, telling the public that Voldemort had come back didn't make them any safer. In fact, now that people knew, Voldemort would be out in the open, assaulting innocent people, building his dark empire from fear. He would attack random places around the wizarding and muggle communities, forcing the good and honorable witches and wizards to counter him, pushing their numbers to the brink and thinning them out.

"Barty," Voldemort said, his voice somewhat…nice. He sat in his throne within the manor that served as his headquarters, the room around him being made of a gray stone. "You are my most trusted, my most loyal, my strongest. You are privy to much more information than any other, you know this, right?"

"Yes, my lord." Barty smirked, bowing his head ever so slightly. He was proud, finally earning the respect and attention that a man of his caliber, of his pedigree deserved. He finally was seen for what he was, a powerful and great wizard, a fact that his tyrant of a father had never seen or noticed.

"Good, because what I'm about to say does not leave this room, understand?" Voldemort hissed, his crimson eyes burning. Seeing the man's nod, he continued. "Potter has magical potential, magical energy, equal to mine. What he severely lacks, however, is the knowledge to use that power. If he continues to live, I fear he will somehow gain the knowledge that he'll need to stand up against me. On the next raid, if he appears, send every Death Eater after him, got it? He cannot live any longer."

One such attack came a week later when he raided the Montrose Magpie stadium in Scotland during a game against the Pride of Portree. The Order of the Phoenix arrived to fight them, with a total of twenty members: the Death Eaters only had around twenty themselves. Immediately, curses and spells were flying through the air, as pairs went off, away from the group to have individual duels. Some ran away, creating distance between the two factions that were fighting, while some encircled each other, guarding one another's backs. Sirius Black was one of the ones who ran off, sending a curse at a Death Eater who was sprinting towards a small forest that was on the other side of the stadium.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't a lost dog." A screechy voice said from the shadows, making Sirius stop on a dime, allowing the Death Eater he was chasing to get away. The voice sent a shiver down his spine, and instinctively brought a sneer to his face.

Sirius alit his wand tip, holding it out to see whom it was, though he thought he recognized the voice. With a great rush of hatred rising in his belly, Sirius Black laid eyes on the balding Peter Pettigrew: the man that took away his best friend and twenty years of his life. He hadn't seen Pettigrew, except for the picture of the wizard in the Daily Prophet, in over twenty years. "Pettigrew." He spat, loathingly.

"Sirius, Sirius, Sirius." Pettigrew whistled, pointing his wand at Sirius' chest. Somehow, someway, Peter's courage was welling up inside, like a great beast standing on his hind legs. He was ready for a fight, for a fight that should have came a long time ago, finally wanting to show the world what he was capable of. Gone were the days where he'd hide in the shadows, using his unnoticeable wit to get what he wanted, now he wanted to come into the light and show how proficient he was in magic.

"You think you can beat me, Pettigrew?" Sirius scowled, circling around his former friend. Sirius internally laughed, finding Pettigrew's confidence a funny joke, a jest on the rat's part.

The pudgy, balding wizard kept his eye on Sirius, more confident than he had ever been before. "I've already outsmarted you once, Sirius, what makes you think I can't do it again?" Pettigrew mocked, chuckling slightly. "That's always been your downfall, my friend: you're too prideful, too arrogant. I, on the other hand, allowed people to treat me like dirt and ridicule me, just so they would overlook my true potential, my true smarts. When we were teenagers in Hogwarts, you never even knew that I was snooping around, learning everything I could from you and James, did you?"

"Too prideful," Sirius rebuffed laughingly, hatred rising inside. "Just like your master." He had never felt this way before, so disdainful of somebody, not even when it came to his mother nor even Voldemort, the most evil and powerful Dark Lord of the age.

"My master has a reason to be prideful, Black. He's the greatest wizard in the world…perhaps even the best that's ever lived!" Pettigrew returned, a maniacal gleam in his eyes.

"Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter are the greatest wizards alive." Sirius yelled, angrily, his wand hand tightening around the wood.

"Dumbledore's an aged fool, and Potter was lucky as a baby: he won't be alive for very much longer." Pettigrew sneered back, sending a killing curse at Sirius, igniting the duel.

"Brave enough to try and kill me, are you, Peter?" Sirius mocked, ducking the curse, allowing it to fly harmlessly over his head. "You know, it's sad that you made a better rat than you did man."

"How did you enjoy your time in Azkaban, Padfoot? Did you like it?" Pettigrew cackled, madly. Again, he sent a killing curse, trying to end the duel quickly, even before it started. This time, the curse hit a tree, engulfing it in flames. With a great roar, the tree burned through, accelerated by the magic of the killing curse, and started to crash down to the ground, in between Peter and Sirius. Peter waved through the brush, disapparating a second later, leaving Sirius alone. Scowling at the rat's seeming cowardice, Sirius turned and ran back towards the battle, knowing his help would be needed.

Cedric sent a stunner at the Death Eater he was dueling—Rodolphus Lestrange. Expertly, Rodolphus blocked it, sending an a lot more vicious curse Cedric's way. Cedric dove to the side, watching as the curse flew over his head, hitting the ground harmlessly. Then, throwing his wand out in front of him, Cedric released a rope from his wand tip—it sailed towards Rodolphus, coming almost too quick for the man to react. He, however, moved enough for the rope to miss, and it fell to the ground, useless.

Coming out of the darkness off to the side, Bellatrix Lestrange slashed her wand through the air, aiming at Cedric's outstretched hand. Like an invisible sword, the curse known as Sectumsempra, a spell created by Severus Snape during his days at Hogwarts, gashed into flesh. It happened swiftly, almost quick enough for someone to blink and miss it. Bellatrix cackled madly and Rodolphus gathered his wits as they moved in to for the kill, desiring Cedric's corpse.

Cedric's hand and the beginning of his arm, right under his elbow, had been cut off, blood was pouring out of the wound. It was a second before he noticed, but when he did, when he finally felt it, Cedric let out a primal scream of fury, falling to his knees. Remus and Hestia, running up behind him, threw curses at Bellatrix and Rodolphus, preventing them from attacking the downed Cedric: before long, the pair was deeply engaged in a duel against their opponents, leaving Cedric alone and friendless.

"Ah," Cedric screamed out, grabbing the stump of his left hand, hoping to stop the bleeding. His severed hand laid a few feet away, looking pale and dead, quickly becoming lifeless. His breathing was haggard, his face sweaty, and his body was in pain: excruciating, undeniable pain. Slowly, he looked up, across the land, hoping against hope that there was someone, something that could help him. Then, as if sent by fate, he saw Harry, his best friend, his clever and smart friend, running his way—though he didn't seem to see Cedric. "HARRY!"

Harry, over the commotion, heard Cedric's plea, and scanned the lawn, looking for him. Seeing him, he immediately sprinted over, his mouth open and his eyes wide with shock. "What the…?" Harry murmured, sliding to a halt next to Cedric. He tenderly grabbed Cedric's stump, looking at it with his intense, concentrated gaze. "Who did this?" He growled angrily, wanting revenge, wanting to punish the person who dared harm his friend.

"Bellatrix Lestrange." Cedric answered, huffing. "I was dueling Rodolphus, and she came out of nowhere, sending a curse at my wand hand—seems like it missed, don't you think?" He laughed out, though it was more of a cough. "Then Remus attacked her, and now Rodolphus is fighting Hestia Jones."

Harry nodded with his teeth clenched, knowing that Bellatrix would pay. "Look, I'll study it more later, but this should do for the time being." He said as he stood up, and twirled his wand, making a molten silver ball appeared. The silver flew around, then formed into a hand that reflected the moonlight above, and it zoomed towards Cedric, fastening itself onto Cedric's left arm. Almost immediately, Cedric seemed to get better as his color came back. "Go back to the Headquarters, stay there, I'll be there once this is finished."

"But…" Cedric motioned to argue.

"No buts, Cedric." Harry yelled, staring pointedly at the man. "Go, now!" Cedric nodded, and disapparated, leaving the battlefield. Harry got back to his feet, and turned around, finding out for the first time that he was cornered: three Death Eaters were advancing on him, masks on and hoods up.

Neville, meanwhile, ducked under a curse sent by an unknown Death Eater. The Death Eater seemed to not be paying attention, as his head was darting around, searching for something that wasn't there. Using his advantage, Neville sent a stunner towards the wizard, where it hit him square in the chest; his body fell to the ground, unconscious. Neville grinned, proud of himself for beating a Death Eater, no matter the man's rank. With a new bubble of confidence, Neville's eyes swept around the area, looking for something to do and someone to duel.

Suddenly, Neville twisted around, and his eyes immediately went wide: there, not five feet away, was the green bolt of death, the curse known as Avada Kedavra. As his life flashed before him, a boulder flew up into the air, blocking the path of the curse; it exploded against the hard rock. Neville cocked an eyebrow, confusedly, and then gazed around the battlefield. The one who sent the curse was Gibbon, who had his back turned and was already engaged with another member of the Order. The one who levitated the boulder, however, was nowhere to be seen. Then, next to the tree not thirty feet away, there was a flail of a cloak, and Neville caught a quick glimpse of his savior: with brown hair, brown eyes, and a lean frame, the man who saved him was none other than Rabastan Lestrange. Noticing Neville looking at him, he disapparated, leaving the young Longbottom thoroughly confused.

Shaking his head, Neville ran across the field, seeing five Death Eaters gaining up on one Order member. One by one the Death Eaters charged, and one by one they went down; though, their friends would rennervate them awake straight away. Neville neared the fight, and finally saw just who it was: Harry Potter. Unsurprisingly, the Death Eaters had a hard time with the man, and never got another chance as Neville, along with Bill and Charlie Weasley took three of the Death Eater's off of Harry's hands.

Off in the distance, Tonks dueled Antonin Dolohov. Truthfully, he was a better wizard than she was witch, and as such, she was one the defensive the whole time. Curse after curse came from the aged, pale wizard. She ducked, dodged, and defended, forever on the defense, though she was good at it. Then, suddenly, Dolohov released a curse, purple and hot, that zigzagged towards her, quicker than she expected. It connected with her abdomen with such great force that she was pushed back, falling down to the ground. She rolled around for a second, before going limp, unconscious and on the verge of death.

Harry, now just dueling one Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange, ducked under a killing curse, whipping his wand her way. He released a curse, one of a molten-orange color; it jetted out of his wand and rushed at the witch with great celerity. It zoomed at her, expanding to where it seemed like a throw pillow before hitting her in the face; her pale, aristocratic face. She was sent flying across the ground, her wand being thrown out of her grasp, skidding to a halt twenty feet away. She let out a scream, a painful, terrible scream, trying to rise to her feet: she fell back down on her back, unable to move, unable to think, barely able to breath. Just as her husband, Rodolphus, reached her to retreat, she fell into the darkness, though she wasn't asleep. Harry watched as they left, then strolled over to where her wand laid on the ground, and, with one quick stomp of his foot, brook the piece of wood in two, destroying it in anger over Cedric.

The rest of the Death Eaters retreated as well, leaving those in their numbers that had been stunned in the custody of the Order. Showing their complete lack of concern, they even left some who were hurt, unable to leave, on the ground, leaving them to their fate at the hands of the Ministry. Even still, while Death Eaters were down, it was only a few, no more than five, and they were weaker and new ones, rather than the more powerful members of the inner circle. Undoubtedly, their loss to Voldemort's forces would not be a huge blow, or any big set back.

"Harry!" A voice cut across the darkened night sky, calling the wizard's attention. There, hovering above a body was Viktor, prodding the downed witch with his wand. "It's Tonks!" Immediately, not even thinking, he ran, ran faster than he had run before, across the lawn to his wife, his love. Hermione took out the hair clip that was in her hair, turned it into a portkey, and disappeared with Tonks, telling Viktor where they were going.

Harry, seeing that, disapparated, knowing that St. Mungo's was his next stop. Arriving, he ran through the halls, Medi-wizards and witches jumping out of his way, heading towards the Auror ward, where he knew Tonks would be. He skidded around the corner, and immediately came in view of Hermione, who was standing next to a door, apparently kicked out of the room. "What's going on, how is she? What's wrong with her? Is she okay?" Harry questioned in a huff, staring at Hermione with his worried green eyes.

"She's being treated now, Harry." Hermione said, patting his back. "She'll be fine, you'll see." She grabbed his arm, and steered him over to the chairs, sitting him down. "Apparently, the curse Dolohov sent her way was one of his own making: I saw it, it was purple and lightning-like, something I didn't recognize. Well, when it hits someone, it messes them up internally, not externally."

Harry slumped further into his chair, his eyes staring blankly at the door Nymphadora was behind. His green eyes were locked in their steely gaze, the one in which he always got when he was solving something difficult or had important things otherwise on his mind. He knew she would be fine, something inside of him, he didn't know what, assured him of that; it whispered in his mind, perpetually assuring him that she would be okay, that he would see her soon. He sighed as Andromeda and Ted came rushing around the corner, towards him, their faces laced with worry, with fright. After explaining the situation, they all sat, Hermione moving to make room for them, and waited: impatiently and worriedly.

A day passed, and as the clock chimed ten in the morning, Nymphadora awoke from her slumber. She slowly, groggily, lifted her small head from her pillow, yawning slightly, and smiled at the sight of her mother, Andromeda. "Hi, mom." She said, lowly, stretching a little; her back gave out a low crack.

"Hello, hunny." Andromeda replied, putting the magazine she was reading down on the table next to her, and giving her daughter a bright, but tired smile.

"Where's Harry?" Tonks questioned, her eyes darting around the room, looking for her husband. She was surprised he wasn't there, next to her, waiting for her to wake up.

"He went home to take a shower. He was here the whole time you were unconscious." Andromeda answered, getting up from the chair next to the bed, and standing next to her daughter.

"Will he be back soon?" Tonks asked, wanting nothing more than to see Harry, knowing that he must have been worrying about her.

"I don't know," Her mother answered, honestly. "Your father and him just left a little over a half an hour ago."

"Oh, okay." Tonks sighed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Her eyes were closed, so she didn't see the frown that had taking form on her mother's face.

"Sweetheart…" Andromeda said sadly, staring down at her daughter. Tonks stopped rubbing her eyes, and looked up at the women, wondering what was up. "There's something…something happened during the attack." She moved her hand up the bed, placing it softly down on Nymphadora's abdomen. "I'm so sorry, darling."

"What?" Nymphadora asked, confusedly. Then, as if lightning had struck her, she gasped, grabbing the hand on her stomach, and putting her hand on top of her mother's. "No, no, no…it can't be!" She yelled, tears accumulating in her eyes. Her mother looked at her with her sad eyes, and gave a small nod of her head, knowing that was all that needed to be said in order to get her point across. "NO!" Tonks cried, breaking down. "No, please, no. Not that, anything but that."

Andromeda wrapped her daughter up in her arms, holding her close and tight, allowing the metamorphmagus to cry into her shoulder. It was terrible to lose a child, especially when that child was all but murdered right in front of your eyes. Seeing her daughter in such a state, Andromeda let a trickle of tears run down her rosy cheeks, wishing to ease her daughter's pain in anyway she could. They sat there, in each other's arms, for fifteen minutes, before the door swung open, and Harry walked in looking pale and tired with bags under his eyes. Ted came in after him, giving Andromeda and his daughter a small, sad smile.

Andromeda slid off the bed, and out the door, followed closely by Ted, leaving the pair alone. Harry kissed Tonks' forehead, then turned, and stared out of the window that was next to the bed. For a few moments, Tonks did nothing but watch Harry—he sighed every so often, but continued to look out the window, as if there was an answer to a great question out there. Not being able to bear it anymore, she wept silently, losing herself in the emotions that were inside of her. "Do you…do you still love me?" Tonks whispered, staring at the floor with teary eyes.

Harry whirled around, staring at her with shock. "Nymphie, why would you ask such a question?" He darted over to her, taking her hand in his, and wiping away the tears that were falling from Nymphadora's eyes. "My love for you in unconditional, sweetie. Baby, I love you more than anything in this world, and I'll never stop loving you until the world ends. Even when I'm dead and gone from this world, and my bones have turned to dust, my heart will still yearn for you. Don't ever, ever ask me that question again, do you understand me?" Harry ordered, a harsh yet caring tone to his voice.

"I lost our baby!" She cried out, tears flowing freely from her face. "How could you ever live with me, knowing that my ineptitude killed our child? I was the one who said the baby would be safe, that I could take care of myself and that I could fight against Voldemort. You wanted me to stay in, to be safe, to be protected, but I was the one who rebuffed that."

"Oh, hunny," Harry cooed, pulling her body close to his. He stuffed his head into the nook of her neck, kissing it softly, tenderly, lovingly. "You did nothing wrong. You did what you thought was right, and you can't blame yourself for that. And don't you even think about saying that if you had listened to me, our child would still be here, because I was wrong. You can't live in fear, Nymphadora. I wouldn't want our child to grow up in a world where people ran away from fighting for what they think is right. And that's something you didn't do, and for that I'm so proud of you. Accidents happen, and I know it hurts, I'm in pain over our loss too, but it was an accident. No one blames you, not me, not your mother, no one; and you especially should not blame yourself. If you want to blame someone, then blame Voldemort, blame Dolohov, but don't you dare put blame on yourself. You hear me?" She threw her arms around him, holding him tight, and crying out her eyes. He kissed the top of her head, holding her for however long she wanted him to.

"Now that Severus is here, I think we can start the meeting." Dumbledore said, tiredly, taking a seat at the head of the long, wooden dinner table. Sirius was to his left, but the seat to his right, which was usually occupied by Harry, was empty.

"What about Potter?" A raspy voice from halfway down the table said, noticing the second in command, by reputation rather than actual title, was missing. Those close to Harry looked down, an aura of sadness overtaken them, strangling them with despair and depression.

"We've given Harry a few days off, he needs it. We told him not to come." Sirius answered, looking down at the wizard who voiced the question: Broderick Bode, an Unspeakable, one of the spies within the Ministry.

"Tonks had a miscarriage." Cedric said, sadly. He made a fist with his newly acquired hand, given to him by Harry, angered by what had happen to his best friend. "Dolohov's spell messed up her insides, and…and the baby didn't make it." There was a collective gasp from the group, and they all turned and whispered words of condolences.

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, gloomily. "An unfortunate circumstance, indeed. I just hope that some of you, and I know you all are, will be willing to take over for some of Harry's responsibilities, allowing the man to mourn and take the time that he needs." The Order members all nodded, knowing that Harry gave so much to the cause the least they could do was help him out, doing whatever it was that he needed.

Tonks gripped Harry's hand tightly, as the wizard apparated them out of St. Mungo's and into their home. The witch was pale and tired, but she couldn't take being in the hospital any longer, so Harry had made plans for a Healer to come and visit her for a week or so at their house. She was fine, he knew, but one couldn't be too cautious, so he delegated Tonks to bed rest until she was a hundred percent, not wanting to take any risks.

"I'm so glad you're home, hunny." Andromeda smiled as Tonks appeared in the living room; Harry's arm draped around her. Tonks gave her mother a small, tired smile, her eyes barely open. Harry threw the bag in his hands down on the floor, and hoisted her into his strong arms, carrying her up to their room; Andromeda followed closely behind them. Entering the room, Harry placed her gently down onto their king-sized bed, and kissed her forehead, tenderly. After exchanging a few words, Andromeda and Harry left the room, leaving Nymphadora to her sleep, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

Late at night the next day, Harry and Dumbledore walked up the stone steps to the Headmaster's office, talking about nothing in particular, knowing the walls had ears: you never could be too careful. Entering the room, Dumbledore closed the door behind them. "I heard you beat Bellatrix Lestrange in a duel, is that right?" Dumbledore asked, his voice low. He walked around his desk, slowly, and then took a seat at his big backed leather chair; Fawkes flew down from his perch and rested on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I did." Harry nodded, taking pride in the fact that, though she wasn't caught, he beat a witch as powerful as Bellatrix. Even so, even with that pride, his mind drifted over to Nymphadora, wanting nothing more than to be with her, to hold her, to make sure she was okay, both physically and mentally.

"Good, good." Dumbledore smiled: it was big, and almost unnatural when put in context about what they were talking about. Oddly, there seemed to be a gleam of triumph in his sparkling blue eyes—it gave Harry an eerie sensation. Then, reaching into his robes, he took out a dark, black piece of wood: a wand. He placed it down on his desk in front of him, gesturing to Harry. Harry studied it, immediately recognizing it for the wand that Dumbledore had used after Harry had borrowed his in the Ministry's atrium. "Remember this wand, Harry." Dumbledore whispered, scooping the wand up and putting it back into his robes. The aged wizard raised a hand, stifling Harry's question. "We will discuss that matter in the coming week, but now," He said, gesturing to the tea tray that appeared on his desk. "Let us relax."

An hour later found Harry sitting alone in his den, very few lights were on. "Hey," Cedric said, coming into the room, a small, sorrowful smile on his face. Harry gave him a slight, tired nod, and Cedric took a seat across from the man, pouring himself a drink. They sat in silence, sloshing their drinks, each not knowing what to say or how to say it. "How are you?" Cedric asked, finally, wanting to know how his dear friend, his best friend was.

"All right, I guess." Harry shrugged, not hiding anything. His eyes moved down to Cedric's hand, silver and glossy, shining in the light of the room. "Let me take a look at that." He said, putting his drink down and reaching out to the silver hand.

Cedric instinctively moved his hand back, hiding it from view. "I didn't come here for that, Harry." He said, frowning. "I came to make sure you were okay."

"Give me your hand, Cedric," Harry replied, tiredly. "I promised to take a better look at it after you left." Hesitantly, Cedric moved his hand from behind his back, allowing Harry to take it into his own hands. He rolled up his sleeve, showing Harry where it was connected to his arm. "How does it feel?"

"Strong." Cedric answered, giving it a squeeze. Harry prodded it with his black wand, muttering something under his breath though it wasn't a spell. "I…I wanted to say thank you, Harry." Cedric began, his voice trembling. "You saved my life, I know it. If it wasn't for you, wasn't for your magic, your quick thinking, I would have died out there. Thank you, brother."

Harry's eyes flicked up to Cedric, and they stared at each other for a moment or two before he gave the man a smile. "Farbento," He murmured; Cedric's hand glowed for a second, a silver and eerie glow, then changed into a tan color, matching Cedric's skin. "There." He said, tossing his wand onto the couch and leaning back in his chair.

Cedric flexed it, making a fist, feeling the strength of it. He knew it was the same hand, that same silver hand that Harry had created for him, just a different color, but he couldn't help it; it seemed different somehow. Just then, there was a knock on the door, it was open so they saw who it was: Roger and Viktor, followed closely by Remus, Sirius, and Kingsley. They all came in, not needing an invitation, Roger carrying a bottle of mead, and took a seat on the couch, the sofa, and the chairs; Harry gave them a small, grateful smile, knowing exactly why they were there. After receiving a glass, Harry raised it into the air, saluting them before downing it, losing himself in the taste.

"Not stu…stu…stuttering anymore, huh, Quirrell?" Draco Malfoy sneered at the wizard, walking out of Voldemort's throne room as a group of six Death Eaters, all of whom had escaped from Azkaban with the Dementors, waited to enter.

"It was an act, you fool." Quirrell replied with a scowl. Before Draco knew what was happening, the wizard flicked his wand at the man, screaming, "Crucio!" The red bolt of energy traveled at Draco, engulfing him in excruciating pain. After a few seconds, Quirrell released the spell, laughing maniacally with the other Death Eaters who had watched. "Know your place," he said as the group walked into the room that Voldemort was waiting for them in, leaving Draco rolling on the floor, the pain from the curse causing his body to convulse. "Master," Quirrell whispered, bowing in front of Voldemort with the rest of the Death Eaters.

"Ah," Voldemort smiled, showing his teeth. "Quirinus, just the person I wanted to see." He said, gesturing for the six Death Eaters to stand. "I have a mission for you: I want you to lead a group into Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts, my lord?" Quirrell replied, worriedly. With Dumbledore amping the already formidable wards of Hogwarts, it would be next to impossible to get in. "Forgive me, but I don't see a way past the wards."

"Leave that to Yaxley and his boy to figure out." Voldemort answered, sneering at the very name of Yaxley: a Death Eater who would pay for his disloyalty one way or another. Before his first downfall, Voldemort had favored Yaxley, some would say even liked the wizard. But now, after living as less than the meanest ghost for twenty years, Voldemort had seen Yaxley's true colors: a coward, and a two-bit wizard.

"And who would you want me to bring with me, my lord?" Quirrell asked, looking at Voldemort with wide, excited eyes. He would get to prove himself, to showcase his skill to his lord once again; he had yearned for this chance since the day he had met the dark wizard.

"Your choice." Voldemort replied, casually. "I'm trusting you to concoct a plan that will send Hogwarts spinning, though it is Yaxley's son's job to figure out just how you are to get inside the school. Perhaps," Voldemort said silkily, looking towards the five Death Eaters behind Quirrell. "Your Azkaban fellows, those who are loyal, would like to take part? Avery? Travers? Mulciber? Gibbon? Jugson? What say you?"

"Of course, my lord." They all said in unison, smirking aggressively. Being in Azkaban for so long, away from the world, away from their magic, made them all want to stretch their wings, and get out there…to hurt, kill, maim, and torture, but most of all to use their magic again. They had a taste of it during the raid on Portree's stadium, but they wanted more—the attack didn't quench their thirst.

"Good," Voldemort nodded, pacing around the room. "Now, Quirrell, I expect you to be ready in three weeks time." He watched Quirrell nod, then gestured for the door. "Leave me." They all bowed, and left quickly, not wanting to press their luck.

Quirrell walked through the halls, heading to the apparation point, where he could return to his home: abandoned and relatively unknown to everyone. Biting his lip, he thought about his plan, what to do and how to do it. Even with the lack of information Voldemort had offered, he knew the relative idea to it: kill Dumbledore and make Hogwarts weak. With Dumbledore out of the picture, the wizarding world would stop fighting, having only Harry Potter to unite under. And with the young wizard's age, Quirrell doubted many would be willing to fight for someone that young.

The morning sun shined into Harry and Nymphadora's bedroom the next morning. The stream of light crept through the shades and splashed Tonks' sleeping form; her hand immediately jumped up to cover her eyes, as she groaned and rolled over. She patted the place next to her, expecting it to be filled by Harry, but it was empty, void of her husband. She rested up on her elbows, her eyes scanning the room; then, when she saw Harry was nowhere to be seen, she got up, and padded out, wondering where he could be.

She walked down the hall, heading to Harry's office, where the door was opened. Coming into the room, she smiled as she saw Harry asleep on the couch, a book opened up on his chest. She stood there, she didn't know how long, just watching him, her smile never leaving her face. His chest rose up and down, taking in big gulps of air, his heart beating slowly, loudly, and relaxingly. She inched closer to him, sitting on the couch and snuggling into his chest, his hand instinctively coming down to wrap around her, and before she knew it, she was asleep again.

"Velehieb!" Albus Dumbledore shouted, pointing his wand at a large golden ring, set with a black, scruff-marked stone. A jet of yellow light, the color of a sunflower, jolted out of the wand tip and rushed at the stone, hitting it a second later with a loud and echoing bang. There was a struggle for a brief moment, the curses and wards put on the ring shielding it, before the yellow energy pulsed, and cracked the stone, splitting it straight down the center. The instant the stone was cracked, an ear-splitting scream rung out, and Dumbledore dropped his wand from his left hand; his normal wand hand, his right, was badly burned and almost completely black of color. "Phineas, get Harry." Dumbledore struggled out, falling back into his desk chair, his eyes closed.

Phineas Nigellus disappeared from his frame, reappearing a few seconds later. "My descendent Sirius is getting Potter as we speak, Headmaster." He said, somewhat nicely, his contemptuous scowl not on his face.

They waited patiently, quietly, the other Headmasters and Headmistresses watching over Dumbledore, staring down at him with worried eyes. Then, with a great blast of green flames, Harry stepped out of the fireplace, his lips pursed together. Spotting the pale and weak Dumbledore, he ran over to the aged wizard, his wand out and at the ready. "Albus!" He said, incredulously. "What happened?"

Seeing what was wrong, the burned hand, Harry ran his wand over it, and then pointed its tip at the wrist, muttering incantations. By now Dumbledore's eyes were closed, and darkness was beginning to overtake him. Harry continued his spell casting, and then stopped, rising to his feet and running over to the fireplace. Throwing down some floo powder, he flooed home, needing a very special potion to save Dumbledore.

He ran through the halls of his house, skidding around corners until he came to his potion room; he threw open the door, and rushed to the worktable. He grabbed a vial of potion, green in color, and a bottle of dittany. He unstoppered the vial and bottle, dropping a bubble of dittany into the green liquid; it smoked up, and turned a brilliant gold, thick in texture. Turning back around, he rushed to the fireplace, vial of potion in hand, and flooed back to the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore sagged sideways in the throne-like chair behind the desk, apparently semiconscious. His right hand was dangling by his side, blackened and burned, right where Harry had left it. Harry rushed to the Headmaster's side, unstoppering the vial of gold potion, a healing brew, opening Dumbledore's mouth and tipping it down the man's throat. Using his other hand, he recited a spell that made Dumbldore's hand twitch, as if the aged wizard was moving it himself. After a moment or two, Dumbledore's eyelids fluttered and opened, his blue eyes shined with new life, and he seemed to chipper up a little bit. Even still, he was still considerably weakened, and dazed.

Without saying a word to him, Harry pointed his wand at Dumbledore's wrist and said a few more spells quickly; a haze left his wand, connecting with Dumbledore's hand and engulfing it. "It is a miracle you managed to return here!" Harry sounded furious. He reached down and grabbed the ring that was on Dumbledore's desk, studying it closely, examining it, and then putting it back down. "That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being."

"You have done very well, Harry." Dumbledore said, raising his blackened, useless hand, and examining it with the expression of one being shown an interesting curio. "I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Harry." He went silent for a second, looking out of the window, then turned back to Harry. "How long do you think I have?" He said, his tone conversational, as if they were talking about the weather.

Harry hesitated, and then said, "I cannot tell. Maybe a month or two, three if you're lucky. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually, it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time." It was a blow, even to Harry himself, realizing that the great Albus Dumbledore, a phenomenally powerful wizard, was to die in two months time: sixty short days.

"Death is just the next great adventure, Harry, remember that." Dumbledore smiled, seemingly okay with his imminent death. He had work to do still, he knew, but he was ready for death, ready to take that next adventure.

"If only you had summoned me a little earlier, I could have contained it, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!" Harry said, angrily. Then Harry looked down at the broken ring, questioningly. "Did you think that breaking the ring that would break the curse?"

"Something like that…I was delirious, no doubt…" Dumbledore answered, somewhat uncomfortably. He closed his eyes for a second, thinking, and then opened them, knowing Harry would continue his questioning.

"Why," said Harry, without preamble, "Why did you put on that ring? Surely you realized that it carried a curse. Why even touch it?" He questioned, confused by Dumbledore's actions; they were not cautious, and they seemed almost reckless.

Dumbledore grimaced. "I…was a fool. Sorely tempted…" He murmured, his voice cracking a little.

"Tempted by what?" Harry asked, a mix of disbelief and curiosity in his voice. What could be important enough to cause the great Albus Dumbledore to go against his nature and knowledge, to go against his immense intellect, and risk his life like that?

The Headmaster waited a moment before answering, and when he did, it was in the form of a question. "What do you know about the Deathly Hallows, Harry?"

"Deathly Hallows?" Harry cocked an eyebrow, wondering what the three mystical and magical objects had to do with anything. "You mean the story of the three brothers?"

"Ah, yes, the charismatic and illusive three brothers." Dumbledore nodded, cradling his charred hand. "The three wizard brothers who met with Death and received gifts for their ingenuity in bypassing death. One gift was the Elder Wand, made from a branch plucked from an Elder tree; the second was the Resurrection Stone, created from a stone found on the river bed and enchanted by Death; the last was the Cloak of Invisibility, which was taken from Death's very own back."

Harry stayed silent, still wondering just where this was going. He knew about the Deathly Hallows; he thought they were legend and myth, but still, he knew about them, so why the history lesson? "Go on." He prodded, wanting to know what it was that Dumbledore was talking about and why he was bringing it up. Dumbledore smiled, a wide grin, and gestured down to his desk with his left hand, to the golden ring. Harry stared at it, at the black stone set within the gold, his mind racing, and his eyes widening after a second or two. "You mean…that's…can't be."

"That's why I was tempted, Harry." Dumbledore answered. "Once I saw the ring, and I saw the insignia set in the stone, the image of the Deathly Hallows, I knew just what it was I had found, what it was that Voldemort had made into a Horcrux. Though, I doubt he knew, or else he would have held it close to him, protected it more carefully."

"How did he even get it? Who made it into a ring?" Harry said, not taking his eyes off of the ring; he stared at it, almost greedily like. Oh, what he would give to use it to talk to his parents, to see their faces just once.

"The three brothers, Harry, are the Peverell brothers: Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus." Dumbledore replied, running a finger over his eyebrow in thought. "Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, is related to Cadmus Peverell through his Gaunt blood, and he stole the ring from his uncle, and made it into a Horcrux." Dumbledore smiled. "I know what you're thinking, the Deathly Hallows are fake, they couldn't have gotten them from Death. But, and I know you'll agree with this assessment, I believe that the three brothers, being exceptionally powerful wizards, created the three objects themselves."

"So Lord Voldemort is related to both Salazar Slytherin and Cadmus Peverell?" Harry whistled, amazed at the man's pedigree. In a way, Voldemort did have a reason to be proud of his wizarding heritage.

"Yes, well," Dumbledore nodded. "He isn't the last descendant of the Peverell brothers, you know." Dumbledore said, mysteriously. "You are related to Ignotus Peverell through your father, and I, myself, am related to Antioch Peverell, the oldest brother, through my father. Along with my brother, we are the last descendants of the Peverell family: you, me, Aberforth, and Tom."

"I am?" Harry gasped, surprised. He never knew, never even thought about the possibility of being a Peverell. All he knew for fact was that, through his paternal grandmother Dorea, he was related to the Blacks.

"I believe so, Harry." Dumbledore replied, a knowing gleam in his eye. There was something that the man wasn't telling him, but Harry did not push it, knowing the great wizard had his reasons, plus, with his hand the way it was, he didn't want to cause the man any more stress. "Also, Harry, I am relinquishing control of the Order of the Phoenix into your able and capable hands."

"What?" Harry gaped, gobsmacked. Was he ready to lead the fight as the number one man in charge of the Order? Was he qualified enough, good enough to? His eyes fell to the floor as he internally debated that one question: was he ready?

"I have other things to attend to, and in order to fight Voldemort, our undivided attention must be committed to the Order. That, unfortunately, is something I cannot do, as I work on a way to defeat Voldemort for good. Therefore, I am handing control over to you, Harry, in my stead." Dumbledore recited, as if he was reading from a note card, though his eyes never left Harry's. His twinkling blue eyes poured in Harry's green ones, unflappably, a small smile on his aged and wrinkled face. He knew the young wizard was ready, more than ready, and would lead the Order just as he had.

Harry bit down on his lip, easily, then gave a small nod, agreeing. He was good enough, was prepared enough, was experienced enough to lead the light, he only had to step up. With Dumbledore's fate already written, he knew the Order would be his to lead soon, he just never imagined it would be this soon. "I'll do it," He said, quietly. A few minutes later, Harry called it a night, checking on Dumbledore's hand one last time fore flooing home and falling asleep, his dreams riddled with images of Voldemort.

AN: The etymology of the spells in this chapter.

Velehieb: releases of jet of energy that inflicts poison and pressure upon an object; it's like the strike of a Basilisk fang. Velento is venom in Italian, and Hieb is blow/strike in German.

Farbento: changes the color of an object.Farbe is color in German, and Cambiamento is change in Italian.