The Shack
Sirius continued whispering his jaunty tune as he dipped into a nearby alleyway and cast a disillusionment charm over himself. He'd felt the two men following him since he left Gringotts, and the Lord Black decided he didn't like it.
Nonetheless, he was an old hand at this, and any Death Eater would have to catch him on his very worst day to even stand a chance at getting to him.
Ducking into another alley, he broke into a sprint until he'd cleared it and turned into the next where he hid behind a dumpster and waited.
Only a few seconds later, the two men appeared, breathing heavily, and looking around with their wands drawn.
"Where is he?" one of them gasped.
Sirius recognised neither of them, though he did stifle a snicker at how useless they had proven to be.
"He can't have gone far. We would have heard him disapparate!"
Sirius shook his head.
He had no need of apparation when he carried a portkey wherever he went. He could have escaped his assailants at any given moment, he had simply chosen to send a message instead.
With a subtle flick of his wand, one of the men's trousers fell down and the other found himself fighting off his own shirt that was smothering him. A banishing curse sent the first into a nearby wall with a dull thud.
He fell limply to the ground with a groan and Sirius shifted his attention to the other. Binding him with ropes, he brought him to his knees by ramming his heel into the back of his leg.
"Was it Malfoy?" he asked simply.
The man nodded, whimpering at the vulnerable position he found himself in.
"Well, he must have been scraping at the bottom of the barrel to send the two of you," Sirius chuckled humourlessly. "What did he expect to achieve out of this?"
"We w-were told to f-follow you."
"Just to follow me?"
"Yes!"
Sirius frowned thoughtfully.
Why would Malfoy not want to have him murdered?
That was likely the long-term plan, but why follow him? Was this just a test to see how aware Sirius was?
It made no sense to the Lord Black. Lucius had done nothing but give his game away unless his intention was not as expected.
Follow him…
It clicked into place and Sirius's frown deepened.
Evidently, the man had deduced that Sirius was staying at Grimmauld Place but knew he could not hope to get to him there without any inclination as to what protections were in place.
Malfoy had been there before with Narcissa…
Narcissa.
The woman would not have been made privy to the security measures of the house. Had she been, Sirius had no doubt it would have been razed to the ground already, with him inside.
It was no secret that Lucius was hoping that his son would inherit the Black wealth and title, and Narcissa would have coveted it equally.
She had always been ambitious beyond her station. That was why she had been so enthralled at the prospect of marrying Malfoy. Sirius, however, suspected her life had not turned out how she'd envisioned.
Her husband may have bribed and blackmailed his way out of prison at the end of the last war, but there were many families who had not forgotten his transgressions against them.
They had been powerless, but that had changed now. Perhaps taking a page out of his grandfather's book and establishing valuable ties with some of them would be beneficial.
Nodding to himself, he stunned the man he had bound, picking up the jaunty tune where he'd left off as he activated his portkey.
"SWINE! I SHOULD HAVE THROTTLED YOU AS A BABE!" Walburga seethed upon seeing him.
"I hope I destroyed you on the way out, you old bitch," Sirius returned with a grin at the portrait of his purpling mother, pulling her curtains shut before making his way into the kitchen. "Did I miss something?"
Most of the members of the Order were gathered around the table with Dumbledore sitting at the head of it.
The headmaster nodded and gestured for Sirius to take a seat.
"Might I assume your meeting was successful?" the man enquired.
Sirius grinned as he nodded.
"A deposit of ninety-three million galleons was made into the Black account yesterday by Lucius Malfoy," he declared. "I wish I could have been there to see him sign the order."
"It will certainly upset the Dark Lord if nothing else," Albus murmured.
"Oh, I'm just getting started," Sirius said gleefully. "I will say no more for now," he added, tapping his nose conspiratorially.
Albus looked briefly concerned, but chose not to press the matter further, opting to allow his gaze to sweep over the gathered members.
"I received quite an alarming piece of news only a couple of days ago," he announced. "Having substantiated it for myself, I have taken immediate action in an attempt to remedy it, though I fear it is already too late."
"What news?" Molly Weasley asked.
"All evidence indicates that the Dark Lord has recruited the giants to his cause."
The members of the Order began murmuring amongst themselves. Those who had lived through the last war would not have forgotten the utter devastation caused by the giants, and they had every reason to be concerned.
"How did you learn of this?" Kingsley Shacklebolt queried.
"It was actually Harry that told me?"
"Harry?" Sirius choked. "How did he find out about it?"
"I do not know," Albus sighed. "His only explanation was that he had his own source. I was sceptical, as he seemed to be, but I have since confirmed it. Currently, two Death Eaters are escorting the giants through France. I expect they will reach Britain's shores in perhaps a few weeks, depending on how quickly they can progress without being seen."
"So, we are just going to let them reach here?" Remus pressed.
"I have sent Hagrid as an emissary to see if he can change their minds, but I admit, I am not hopeful of his success. I do not know what they would have been offered, but if it caters to their bloodthirsty nature, it will be all but impossible to sway them."
"Then why bother sending Hagrid at all?"
"Because there is nothing else that can be done until they reach our shores," Kingsley broke in. "Under ICW agreement, no country may engage in active combat within the borders of another without express permission from the Ministry in control of the borders. The French would want to investigate the matter before they even considered intervening or allowing us to do so. That would take weeks."
"The what can we do? Do we even know how they will cross or how many there are?" Elphias Doge questioned worriedly.
"I cannot be certain," Albus sighed. "I expect they will simply swim across. As far as numbers go, there are around three dozen of them making the journey."
"Bollocks," Sirius cursed. "Well, we can't just let them make it here. We have the advantage of him not knowing that we know about it. If we can figure out where they will arrive, we can…"
"We cannot take on more than thirty giants at once," Emmeline Vance scoffed.
Sirius conceded the point with a nod. They did not have the numbers to do that.
"What about the aurors?"
"It is possible if a credible report can be made and investigated," Kingsley mused aloud.
"Then isn't that something we should consider?" Sirius urged. "If they make it here, the danger will be…"
"Why not discuss it with Harry," Remus suggested. "He's got connections in France via the Delacours. Surely something can be done."
Albus nodded somewhat reluctantly.
"I will broach the topic with him," he assured the others.
"Where is Harry anyway?" Sirius asked. "I would have thought he'd want to be here for this."
(Break)
Little Hangelton.
A brief consultation of a muggle atlas had shown him where he needed to. Concealed beneath the cloak, he had made the journey on the back of Mallory, and here he was, back to the place Tom had made his return.
Not that there was any sign of the Riddle home nor graveyard which meant that that Dark Lord had sequestered himself within behind his own protections.
It was unsettling to know the man was so close, but Harry would not be deterred from what he had come here for. Beneath the cloak, he would be safe, well, he hoped.
He had considered visiting Azkaban prior to venturing here but had decided it was an unnecessary risk. There would be nothing of use Morfin Gaunt could tell him, and if Harry were to take it upon himself to visit the island, it would be for something much more beneficial to him and the war effort.
First, however, he needed to learn of the security measures in place.
Sirius's escape would have undoubtedly been cause for a review and revamp of them, and it would be foolish to be caught within the prison where the most notorious of men and women were kept.
Nevertheless, Harry was intent on making the trip there sooner rather than later, though now was not the moment to be focusing on that. No, he would need to keep his wits about him here.
There was no telling what unpleasantness Voldemort had employed to guard the Gaunt family ring.
"What do you think girl?" Harry whispered to Mallory. "Can you find it?"
The thestral snorted at him before taking a lap around the village and landing in something of a secluded lane where the bushes were rather overgrown.
It was here.
The moment his feet had touched the ground, Harry had felt an unsettling presence around the place. The magic was familiar to him and as he closed his eyes he could sense the cloak reacting to it too.
Keeping himself composed, he began searching the undergrowth, not wanting to use his wand unless absolutely necessary. It would not do well to draw unwanted attention to himself, and certainly not that of Voldemort.
If the man was indeed nearby as Harry believed, it would take him a matter of seconds to arrive here.
"That can't be it," Harry murmured to himself as he spotted a dilapidated shack through the thickets.
A part of the roof had collapsed inwards and much of the wood appeared to be rotten due to the many years of neglect. However, even from his vantage point some distance away, Harry could see the remains of a snake hanging limply from the front door.
It was a rather crass monument to the family that had once lived here, that had descended from one of the most celebrated wizards in British history.
How the mighty had truly fallen.
"Come girl," Harry instructed.
In a cloud of black fog, Mallory returned to the cloak where she spent most of her time and Harry braced himself, taking a deep breath before stepping through the gap in the hedgerows.
Immediately, he paused and felt for any shift in the magic that permeated around the Gaunt home. When he was certain he had not been detected, he continued on his way towards the shack, his senses on high alert for any indication he was in danger.
There was none to him, even if he could almost feel the many protections in place to ensure none could enter without considerable difficulty.
Harry was grateful for the cloak. It had always served him well, but no better than it did now.
Regardless, he had yet to step into the remains of the house, and as he looked upon the snake that had been crudely nailed to the door, he could not help but think it was a rather grim omen.
Still, he pressed on, pushing the door open and readying himself for whatever awaited him. It creaked loudly, and if anything, the result was anticlimactic.
Dust covered the floor and every surface, and what little furniture there had been rotten and broken. Nothing of a personal nature remained, yet the feeling of oppressive magic had only grown stronger.
"Where are you?" Harry whispered, his grip tightening around his wand as he crossed the threshold.
He could feel it, equally calling to him and doing its utmost to remain hidden at the same time. There were two magicks here, contradicting one another. It was odd to say the least.
Layer upon layer of different magic should complement one another, but these did not.
Was this purposeful or an oversight on Tom's part?
To Harry, it didn't matter. He was here for one thing only and as he searched the shack and came up with nothing, his frustration began to grow. It wasn't until he took a moment to ponder just where the ring could have been hidden that he remembered something of import.
It had been when his feet had touched the ground that he first became aware of the magic.
Chastising himself, he turned his attention to the floor, ignoring the ambient magic in the air as he searched for the source.
A loose floorboard creaked beneath his feet and Harry frowned. Oddly, the floor did not seem to have fallen into as much disrepair as the rest of the shack, and as he checked the others, it was the only one board that was not completely secure.
Tentatively, Harry lifted it and lit the tip of his wand only to be confronted by an endless darkness.
"Accio ring," murmured.
He should have known that the solution would not be so simple, but he was reluctant to put his hand into the abyss. Anything could be waiting for him in there.
Huffing irritably, he pondered his next move and knew there was nothing for it. The magic continued to scream out to him and it was becoming more difficult to ignore.
Difficult to ignore?
Harry took a step back from the gaping hole and took a moment to gather his thoughts.
Whatever was in there had been imbued with a compulsion charm and he had almost fallen for it. Breathing a sigh of relief, he cursed under his breath as he removed his trunk and rifled through it until he came upon what he was looking for.
Dragonhide gloves!
They were highly resistant to magic and most vicious breeds of plants. Still, Harry was not keen to put his hand in, but there seemed to be nothing else for it.
Bracing himself once more, he checked to ensure there were no rips in his glove before plunging his hand in, ignoring the sudden influx of magic that flooded his mind.
It was much more oppressive within than he had anticipated, and yet, his years of studying the Mind Arts would not allow him to fall victim to it. Grasping hold of the small box he felt, he ignored the compelling argument within his mind to remove it and place it on his finger.
Instead, Harry opened the box to ensure it was what he had come for and the warring magicks seemed to pour off the ring resting on a bed of velvet.
What struck Harry most was that he recognised both, the first being the very same magic that flowed through his cloak. The second, however, was most concerning to him.
He was delighted at finally discovering the stone, but to feel the magic of the diary he possessed that had once belonged to Tom Riddle was disconcerting. Whatever was in the ring was of the same nature, though it was much more outwardly sinister.
The diary was subtle in its way of manipulation, using charm and poise in an attempt to subvert someone's mind to its will. The ring, however, was almost feral, unhinged and making no effort to conceal what it was.
What was it?
Harry didn't know, but as he took his leave of the Gaunt shack, he knew he needed to find out. Now, more than ever, he knew he was out of his depth when it came to such magic.
But there was one person he trusted who may just be able to enlighten him to what it was he had discovered beyond the stone he had sought.
(Break)
"Might I assume that your plan to follow Black did not work out the way you intended?" the Dark Lord asked.
Lucius was in a towering rage and had been since the new Lord of the notorious family had presented himself before the Wizengamot.
"The fools allowed themselves to be caught!" the blond snapped.
Voldemort could only shake his head.
"Fear not, old friend, Black's time will come. I am more interested to know the progress of our attempts the access the Department of Mysteries."
"There are not going so well, My Lord," Lucius sighed. "If we had Rookwood…"
"Plans are already in the works to free those in Azkaban. For now, I want to know who is coming and going from the department, especially if it is Dumbledore. It would not do for the old fool to take what I wish to possess from under our noses. I want it monitored day and night, Lucius."
"Of course, My Lord," the man complied with a bow. "What of Barty? I have not seen him."
"Barty is exactly where I need him to be. With Black's escape, the security at Azkaban has changed. I would avoid a confrontation if possible, and so long as you are able to influence the Minister, a breakout will not be linked back to us, will it?"
"No, My Lord. Cornelius will see reason."
"Good," Voldemort murmured. "Nott has informed me they are on their way back with a strong force of giants, and I am expecting a reply from Greyback any day now."
"My Lord, do you think it wise…"
The Dark Lord cut Lucius off with a wave of his hand.
"He is a powerful ally, Lucius. I would rather not use his pack, but our numbers are not what they once were. I would see you begin to remedy that. Speak with those who may be sympathetic to our cause and recruit where possible. With Black now on the Wizengamot, it will make any political aspirations difficult. I expect a change of power will be necessary in the coming months. I would like a list of those you believe will be a suitable replacement."
Lucius nodded.
"Anything else, My Lord?"
"Nothing, for now," Voldemort replied.
The Dark Lord had many plans in the work. All he needed now was time for them to come to fruition, and for Dumbledore to not force his hand sooner than he was ready.
The priority was to retrieve the prophecy as soon as possible and to free those that remained in Azkaban. Everything else would fall naturally into place, and then his campaign could resume where it left off some thirteen years prior.
Dumbledore would have to die, but more than the old fool, Potter could not be allowed to live.
The Dark Lord knew the former well enough to know he posed no threat, but Potter was something of a concerning anomaly.
Three times now the boy had escaped him in one form or other, and though he was loathe to admit it, he had also shown his mettle.
Potter may only be a boy, but he had proven he was like no other Voldemort had face.
It was worrying.
Nonetheless, the Dark Lord had no doubt he would emerge victorious.
Not even the luck of Harry Potter could prevent what was coming.
(Break)
It was close to midnight when Nicholas felt a disturbance in the protections around his home, and he frowned as he placed the book he was perusing on the mantelpiece.
There was only two people who would deign to visit him at such an hour, and he had spoken to Albus on the day before. Unless an emergency of sorts had arisen, it could only be…
"Perenelle, we have a visitor," he called into the next room.
The woman arrived in the entrance way to their home only a moment later, her expression of curiosity melting into one of utter joy as Harry pushed open the front door.
"Oh, my boy," she greeted him, wrapping her arms tightly around Harry and murmuring in his ears.
The Flamels had not seen him for months now, not since before the disaster that had been the third task of the tournament he had found himself embroiled in.
They'd received letters over the summer, but it hadn't been the same, and Perenelle had been fretting.
It was good to finally lay eyes on their charge, and though Harry was clearly just as pleased to see them, Nicholas suspected it wasn't the best of tidings that brought him here tonight.
"You silly boy! You should have come home. I have been worried sick about you!"
Harry offered Perenelle the platitudes she needed, pulling her into another embrace that seemed to calm her down. Nicholas could only chuckle. Throughout all the worry he caused them, he had come to know Perenelle and her ways better than any besides the alchemist himself.
He knew how to placate her and set her mind at ease.
"What brings you here, Harry?" he asked.
The boys' expression darkened considerably, his eyes lacking the warmth that had been present during the exchange with Perenelle.
"I think I may need your help with something," he sighed.
Nicholas frowned.
It wasn't often he saw Harry so disturbed, and he gestured for the boy to follow him into the parlour he had been reading in before Harry had arrived.
"I will fetch some tea," Perenelle declared, her own countenance becoming one of concern.
Having gestured for Harry to take the seat opposite his own, Nicholas took a moment to observe him. His posture spoke of an outward defiance, of necessary strength, and yet, his eyes were full of hardship and suffering.
He may be able to hide it from everyone else, but Nicholas had known Harry before he'd become so competent in the Mind Arts.
"What is it that is concerning you?"
Harry released a deep breath as he removed two items from within his jacket and placed them on the small coffee table between them.
Nicholas frowned as he picked up the ring. The ambient magic he could feel told a tale of it recently having a series of unpleasant curses removed from it, but there was something wholly unsettling that remained attached.
It was a rather plain trinket, and at one point had housed a small stone of some description. The silver inlay where it had been gleaming, so it had only been taken out recently.
The second item was a plain, black book with a similar feel to the ring, though Nicholas felt his heart sinking into his chest as he read the name inscribed in the back.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," he whispered, his gaze shifting towards Harry who nodded. "What are these?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," Harry murmured tiredly. "I came into possession of the ring very recently, and the diary more than two years ago. I first noticed it trying to manipulate me using subtle Legilimency shortly afterwards, and when I wrote in it, it wrote back. Somehow, whatever is inside it is alive and seems to have a mind of its own."
Nicholas dropped the book on the table, his eyes widening as he realised what it was Harry had brought to him and cursed under his breath.
"Where did you find it?" he whispered.
"It was in a bathroom that had flooded on the second floor of the castle. It was around the time that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened," Harry explained. "The attacks and anything else to do with it stopped as soon as I found it. I didn't make the connection at the time, but I think the diary was somehow responsible for it."
"You would be right," Nicholas muttered as he picked up the ring.
The magic in this was more prominent, designed to entice any who may come across it to wear it, though that could merely be the remnants of the compulsion charms that had been cast on it.
"And this?"
"I found it in the home that belonged to the Gaunts," Harry explained. "Tom's mother was Merope Gaunt and his father a local muggle. It was in his muggle family graveyard he completed his ritual, which only confirmed everything for me."
"The Gaunts," Nicholas mused aloud. "Albus has mentioned them. Were they not descended directly from Salazar Slytherin."
Harry nodded.
"As am I, apparently," he said with a sad smile.
Nicholas frowned questioningly.
"I discovered that my mother came from the Gaunt family several centuries ago via the same Peverell line as my father. One of my ancestors had an illegitimate daughter with a Gaunt who died during childbirth. She met a man named Jon Evans and she moved from Wales to England where they raised a family. Over the course of the next centuries, the line squibbed out until my mother was born, and then she met my father."
Nicholas was surprised by the revelation.
"So, you are a descendant of Slytherin," he said in realisation.
Harry nodded as he drew his wand and conjured a simple corn snake. Nicholas could only gape as he began conversing with it.
"It is almost as though the stars are aligning," the alchemist whispered.
"They are," Harry sighed. "There are too many coincidences for this to all be left to chance. I don't like the idea that my life is somehow tied to Fate, but I have accepted it for what it is."
Nicholas immediately felt a sense of guilt wash over him.
Harry didn't even know of the prophecy that hung over him, and yet, he seemed to understand clearly that there were magicks out of his control at play.
He would need to speak with Albus immediately about this.
"So, do you know what these are?" Harry pressed.
Nicholas nodded.
The moment Harry had described what the diary was capable of, he'd drawn only one conclusion. He had delved into the topic himself more years ago than he cared to count and had immediately found the magic to be vile and imperfect.
He had abandoned his study of them and never looked back.
"What you have here, Harry, are examples of some of the most unpleasant magic you are likely to come across," he sighed. "They are called Horcruxes. Vessels that act as containers for a piece of the soul that has been purposely removed to ensure someone cannot be killed, even if their body is destroyed."
Nicholas allowed the boy some time to mull it over and reach the conclusion he inevitably would.
"So, that's how he survived that night," he whispered.
It was clear that Harry wished to say more on the matter as Nicholas watched him turn the information over in his mind, his eyes widening in realisation before he simply nodded to himself, speaking no further.
"It is," Nicholas confirmed. "Harry, you are extremely fortunate that you have seemed to suffer no ill-effects from having these in your possession. Horcruxes are dangerous and deeply reflect those that created them."
"I know," the boy said apologetically.
"Well, it does confirm what Albus had begun to suspect, so, at the very least, you know what it is you're facing. The problem we face now is discovering just how many of these he managed to make."
"Is there a limit?"
"I expect so," Nicholas murmured. "The soul is not infinite."
"So, I have to find them and destroy them before he can be killed?"
Nicholas nodded gravely and Harry deflated.
"I wouldn't even know where to begin," he huffed. "These just came to me in their own way."
"Perhaps the others will, Harry," Nicholas said comfortingly. "And remember, you are not alone in this. Use the help around you when you need it. I know that Albus can be…. difficult, but he truly is one of the most exceptional wizards I have ever met, and if there is anyone that knows your enemy, it is Albus, no?"
Harry nodded as he stood.
"How do you destroy them? They seem to be resistant to almost everything."
"Well, there are very few known ways of doing so as such things are thankfully extremely rare. The first is the Killing Curse, of course, but as you experienced yourself the night he killed your parents, it is dangerous to cast it on something that could interfere with the soul within your body."
"What's the other?"
"Basilisk venom, but that is incredibly rare and exceedingly expensive now."
Nicholas frowned as Harry smirked.
"Well, I do know where I can get a fresh supply of that," he said coyly. "The diary has been quite useful recently."
"Where would you get the venom?"
"From the Chamber of Secrets," Harry answered. "There's a one-thousand-year-old Basilisk in there."
Nicholas could only stare dumbly at the boy, hoping that he would burst into laughter or do anything to indicate he was joking.
Nothing of the sort occurred, and the alchemist was once more surprised by the young man before him, though this time, it was not for the best of reasons.
(Break)
Being a Prefect was not what Ron had expected. Perhaps that when the badge arrived he had not considered that he would find himself inundated with nervous first years as they attempted to find their way around the castle, or that he would be losing out on his much-loved sleep two nights a week whilst patrolling.
Nonetheless, here he was, close to midnight with Hermione making their way through the corridors of the second floor.
"Bloody hell this is boring," he grumbled.
Hermione merely rolled her eyes at him.
Making the Quidditch team as the Gryffindor Keeper did take the edge of the additional responsibilities he'd acquired, but it had been a close thing. Cormac McLaggen had missed only one of the shots taken at him by the Chasers who, despite the seventh-year's protests, had not taken it easy on any of them.
Ron had saved all of his, and he thanked the many hours of practice he had been putting in since third year.
"I just wish something interesting would happen."
As if his plea had been heard, Ron suddenly found himself blinking as a bright light was pointed in his face.
"And what do we have here?"
"What the hell was that for?" Ron groaned.
Blinking rapidly to clear is vision, he grimaced as he caught sight of Dolores Umbridge, the tip of her wand only an inch or so from his face.
"I asked what do you think you are doing?"
"Patrolling," Ron huffed irritably. "What are you doing?"
The squat woman stood at her full and unimpressive height as she levelled a glare at Ron.
"That is none of your concern, Weasley."
"Professor, we are doing a Prefect patrol," Hermione explained. "It is on the rota."
She removed a piece of parchment and handed it to Umbridge who scowled unhappily, clearly wishing to catch some students out of their common rooms past curfew.
"Very well, but do not let me catch you up to…"
Umbridge suddenly stopped talking, her eyes widening as a rumbling sound filled the corridor.
"Are you okay, Professor?" Hermione asked.
"Fine, I'm fine," Umbridge said dismissively, though the urgency with which she turned and ran suggested otherwise. Before she even made it to the corner, a louder, more unpleasant sound escaped the woman as she fled.
Ron looked on in horror and burst into uncontrollable laughter.
Hermione did not seem to find it funny.
"Harry, I know it's you," she huffed.
The boy seemed to appear from nowhere, grinning from here to ear despite his evident tiredness.
"I couldn't resist," he said simply.
"You're really going to get yourself into trouble."
"Probably," he replied with a shrug.
"Why are you… never mind," Hermione sighed. "I should really give you a detention, you know."
"You won't," Harry said confidently.
"Of course we won't," Ron assured him. "What are you doing?"
"Just walking," Harry answered unconvincingly. "I promise I am now going back to the common room."
Hermione hummed.
"Make sure you do. Come on, Ron, we'd better fill out a report on what happened to Professor Umbridge."
"Oh, please let me write this one," the redhead chuckled, turning to find that Harry had already vanished once more.
He tended to do that, and since what happened at the end of the tournament, Ron had grown only more worried for his friend. He was not the Harry he used to be, and though he understood why, Ron missed the close friendship they once shared.
(Break)
He stared at the small, seemingly unassuming stone that rested in the palm of his hand, revelling in the familiar magic that radiated from it. Harry had no doubt that what he held was the second out of three Hallows gifted to his ancestors by Death.
Just as he had with the cloak, he could already feel the stone assimilating itself to his own magic, the two coming together like the siblings that had first held them.
Only the wand remained, and Harry knew where that waited for him to claim.
Dumbledore may be reluctant to part with it, but the headmaster had no claim to it.
Not that he was thinking of the wand in this moment.
The moment he had removed the withering curse from the ring and had freed the stone, he had thought of only speaking to one person, though now that he was here, the very prospect did not fill him with the eagerness he'd thought he'd feel.
Katie.
The one person he wanted to speak to was the one person he could not quite bring himself to face.
Maybe it was that everything still felt fresh and that Harry was still dealing with his emotions from the night of the third task, or maybe he was scared.
Whatever it was that stilled him was the same thing that only made him more determined to speak with her when the time was right. The very same could be said for his parents.
He wished to speak with both James and Lily Potter, to know more about the mother and father that had been taken from him before Harry had gotten the chance to know them.
Nonetheless, it did not feel the right moment.
No, there was someone else he needed to speak with.
As much as he wished to fulfil his heart's desire to be with those he held dear, Harry knew he could not trust himself not to become caught up in them so deeply that he would lose sight of his purpose, the same way Cadmus Peverell had.
It pained him to not seize the opportunity before him, but he knew he needed to wait until it was the right time to allow himself to be brought to his knees for the moments he knew he would not be able to remain so strong.
Swallowing deeply, he turned the stone over in his palm, and recited the name of the man from whence it all began.
It was odd to see Ignotus Peverell standing before him instead of in the visions the cloak provided. He appeared just as Harry remembered from the very first encounter.
"It's you," Ignotus murmured as he stared back at him. "I felt you with me from time to time."
"You did," Harry confirmed.
Ignotus offered him a smile.
"You are the ancestor which Death spoke of, the one who is to unite the gifts he bestowed upon us," Ignotus sighed, looking at the stone Harry held. "We were fools. I had thought the stone to be lost, prayed for it truly."
"It was recovered, and now I have it, along with the cloak," Harry explained.
"What of the wand?"
"I know where it is."
Ignotus nodded.
He appeared to be proud but equally saddened.
"I do not know what path lies ahead of you, young man, but I expect it is a daunting one if it will require you to possess all three of our trinkets."
"It is," Harry confirmed.
"Then let us not waste time. You brought me here for a reason. How can I be of service to you?"