CHAPTER 40: United in Grief (Part 3)

Hogsmeade Village

November 25th, 1995

11:10 a.m.

There was a solemn mood throughout the village. The day was bright, snow danced down from the sky gently in a relatively hot day for the Scottish Highlands. But it felt as if there was an encapsulating, dark cloud darkening the buildings. The usually vibrant village was reserved - absent of any loud teens running around or contagious laughter, and replaced with the notable presence of Aurors around every corner and a feeling of despair that loomed within the very air.

For a moment, he was once again inside the Three Broomsticks. The bright flashes of deadly curses flying all around him. The sounds of explosions and screams intermingling. Blood. Bodies. Susan.

If it were up to him, he would never return to this village again. He would stay at Hogwarts, use the lack of any students to sneak off to the Room of Requirement, let the duelling simulations vent out his anger. He craved for it, the feeling of peace he got from his training sessions, having an outlet for his anger in all those poor dummies he obliterated, gutted, and turned to putrid piles of fake flesh and blood.

It wasn't that he enjoyed murdering people, contrary to popular belief. He didn't roam the halls searching for new victims to quench his bloodlust, he didn't pick fights just to get an excuse to main or kill people. The reason the simulations were so cathartic was because they were harmless. Like Dudley's violent video games, it was a way of letting out steam, a chance to clear his head as he made sure the skills he worked so hard to develop didn't waste away from lack of practice.

And yet… few people saw it that way.

It hadn't taken long for him to grow tired of having everyone flinch around him, watch his every move as if he were a mindless beast when he wasn't even allowed to use his wand for summoning a quill. Mutterings and gawks followed him around, and his skill at duelling - the same one that had driven so many of the DA students to ask him to be their teacher - had now become something for them to fear.

Sure, there were people who admired him, praised him, even thanked him as he walked from one class to another. But even they seemed acutely aware of the fact that he was considered more of an unstable time bomb rather than… an ordinary student.

Fame, glory, and attention. How naive he had been all those months ago when he had sought it out - made it his primordial goal, besides taking down Umbridge. Recognition didn't change how he was viewed, it only magnified the number of people who shunned him - even if unintentionally.

"Over here," Pansy said, pulling him out from his thoughts as they took a right turn up the hill and towards the Parkinson cottage.

Bedivere had taken his sweet time answering his request for a meeting, with Pansy only confirming that it would indeed happen the previous night. Both her and Theo had insisted on accompanying him to the meeting, which wouldn't have been a problem if Theo hadn't insisted on doing the whole trek walking rather than just having him apparate them to right outside the cottage.

They had been talking among themselves, making idle conversation about school, Quidditch, and other inconsequential topics Harry didn't bother on peering into. Dead set in the middle of them, it almost felt as they were trying to force him into the conversation, not that he indulged them.

In truth, he didn't care the school had designated him a murderer, someone to keep your distance from if you wish to remain alive and unmutilated. It was more annoyance than anything, it made him wish he could return to his spot outside the public opinion of the castle, without making any waves that equalled those of the Golden Trio. It had been more tolerable dealing with the few Slytherins that paid attention to him than what he was dealing with now. But at the same time, he didn't blame them either. Because they were right.

Three weeks ago, if asked, he wouldn't have classified himself as a murderer. Sure, he had murdered Montague, undoubtedly. But that had been something done in the heat of the moment, regardless of what Granger, Longbottom, and Weasley had been spouting about the castle. It was not something he had planned and executed with a cool head. Even two weeks ago, he would have denied those claims. In a duel, he wouldn't hold back, wouldn't allow for his enemy to get the chance to land a single curse if he could help it. After all, that was what he had trained for. For situations of life or death, when he had nothing to rely on except for his wand and his quick thinking.

But now… there was no doubt in his mind… he was a murderer.

The word had such a negative connotation, it never failed to unsettle people. They related murder to an evil act, one inflicted upon by an aggressor to an innocent victim. The immediate disregard for the context was not something Harry shared with them. Murder was one of the foundational elements of life, ever present throughout all of history - whether magical or Muggle - and found in every walk of life. The murdering of other animals for food. The murder of an attacker for self-defence. Even the murder of a certain species for the betterment of an environment.

Murder brought a certain order to a society, to neglect that aspect would be to allow for chaos and misery to grow unbridled.

Not everyone deserved to live, deserved a second chance at life to right their wrongs. The world was filled with too many people who couldn't be allowed to live. In sparing the lives of these people, in choosing to prioritize your own feelings of morality and letting a subjective definition of what's right define your actions, you sentence another life to take its place. The moment you let your feelings persuade you to bend the rules, convince you that the arseholes like Dolohov don't have to die, that people like that can find redemption, that's when innocent people die. And their blood is splattered just as much on your hands as those that did the killing.

If the Death Eaters had all been murdered, there wouldn't be a war brewing outside Hogwarts. If Voldemort had been killed properly, Cedric and Krum and all the other people who will follow them in perishing under the Dark Lord's wand. If people weren't so averse to murder… so many more lives would be spared.

So yes, Harry thought to himself as he felt his skin tingle - the small shack appearing in the distance now that they had crossed the wards. He was a murderer. And he would make sure he'd stay that way.

Parkinson Cottage

11:30 a.m.

"You're late," Kieran told them as Theo closed the door behind them.

The boy was dressed in classy gray robes, his hair no longer messy and all over the place, but pristinely combed in a way that made Harry jealous his hair wasn't as compliant. Kieran also gave a sense he belonged in those robes, with his hair all perfect and a surrounding air of class and elegance that Harry would never have - no matter how much he'd tried to emulate it. For a Gryffindor, Kieran certainly knew how to come off like a Slytherin.

"We're not late, wanker." Harry sneered.

"Where's Grandfather?" Pansy asked before Kieran could reply.

"He won't be here until after lunch." He tilted his head. "Didn't he tell you?"

"No," Pansy strolled over to the right side of one of the couches and threw herself over the arm, landing with her back to the linen comforts. "How come he summoned us at half past eleven if he wasn't going to be here?"

"He didn't… summon you," Kieran rolled his eyes. "The message explicitly stated that only Potter was to come alone."

"And leave him by himself?" Theo raised an eyebrow. "Right after he was targeted by that psychopath?"

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Surprisingly, I find myself agreeing with Potter." Kieran said, sitting down on one of the armchairs as he offered the other couches to Theo and Harry. "After all, it was he who… solved that whole situation. I can't find a reason why you two came." He reached into his robes and pulled out a silver, rectangular case. "Fag, anyone?"

"I can't believe grandfather allows you to still hit that muggle shit."

"He doesn't care," Kieran shrugged, opening the case and pulled out a cigarette with one hand while lighting it with his wand in the other. "Not as long as I don't do it in front of him."

"Toss one over." Harry caught the flying cigarette before quietly inspecting it. He had never smoked before, he hadn't left Privet Drive much after he started Hogwarts, and the Petunia would surely murder him if he ever tainted her uncorrupted home with smoke and ashes. Raising it to his mouth and holding it between his lips, Harry followed Kieran's example and used his wand to light it.

Theo shrugged and also joined them in smoking, much to Pansy's displeasure. The three of them smoked silently for a few seconds. Immediately, Harry understood the appeal, the effect was almost pacifying. There was a vague buzz as he blew the smoke out, a strange feeling of numbness combined with pleasure. It didn't last long, but man did it feel good, he thought to himself as he took another puff.

"We may agree I don't need a babysitter," Harry continued after they had all settled in to a rhythm. "But if they wanna be here, they're going to be here. Both for whatever this is and my meeting with Bedivere later."

"Director Parkinson," Kieran said firmly. "Or Sir. But you won't call him by his first name, don't be insolent."

"Whatever."

"Grandfather was right about you," Kieran took another puff before standing up and walking to the bookcase nearby. "You're in high need of some real education. You just gave me what we're going to be viewing today."

"You're starting the lessons now?" Pansy whined.

"What lessons?" Harry looked to Theo, who shrugged helplessly.

"Unfortunately, there aren't any real books on manners, so I'll have to settle for wizarding culture. I'm sure there has to be a section detailing it there."

"Ugh, I'm leaving," Pansy rolled out of the couch. "I already had all these bullshit lessons way before Hogwarts."

Theo grimaced, it was clear he was regretting coming along - something that gave Harry a sense of triumphant amusement.

"Whatever happened to not leaving me alone at Hogsmeade?"

"Whatever happened to you not needing a babysitter."

"I'm coming with you," Theo hurried out of his seat.

"Cowards," Harry muttered. "And why do I have to take these bullshit lessons anyway?"

"The mere question should be your answer. No one wants to deal with entitled, rude arseholes like you. If you want to make something of yourself, actually succeed out there in the real world, you're going to have to change this childish and frankly ridiculous way you throw yourself around. More than that, if you hope to work with us, you'll be attending these lessons. As much of a gift as they are - even if you can't see it - they are not something you can pass on. Either you take the lessons and start growing the fuck up," he took a puff out of his cigarette. "Or you pack your bags and head back to the castle."

"You know, I've had various Slytherins constantly trying to teach me how to be more Slytherin. This is the first time a Gryffindor's tried that. And for your information, I haven't said anything about wanting to join whatever your grandfather is planning, I'm only here to listen to what he's proposing."

"The gall you Slytherins have, I'm surprised Hogwarts is large enough for all your egos. Having manners isn't an exclusive Slytherin trait. Etiquette and decorum are displays of having education and being a respectful human being. Just because you Slytherins have co-opted those traits as being purely of your house doesn't mean anything - you aren't the first Slytherin arsehole I've met with fewer manners than a dirt-covered pig, and you won't be the last."

"Harry," Pansy spoke, gaining his attention. "Grandfather insisted on them, if you want to meet with him later, you'll have to do this."

"Fine," he scowled, taking another puff from his cigarette. "What are we doing today, Master Manners?"

"You stay here with them." Pansy whispered to Theo. "Make sure these two don't murder each other? I'll bring back food for the three of us."

Theo hesitated. "You're paying for it?"

"Fine." She rolled her eyes.

"Deal."

"Bring me something too," Kieran called out.

"You're twenty," Pansy said dismissively. "You can go get your own food."

The Hopping Pot

12:15 p.m.

The Hopping Pot was a stationary contradiction rooted at the dead centre of the village. One of the three pubs in the village, it wasn't as renowned as The Three Broomsticks. The clientele made up mostly of older villagers looking to escape the mass fever brought on by the excitable teens during the Hogwarts weekends. Students rarely, if ever, even entered the pub, much less stayed for a drink or lunch. However, it wasn't as disreputable as the Hog's Head, the customers generally being ordinary people whose biggest problem was often either a reliance on alcohol, a shitty home life, or unemployment. It wasn't the brewing spot for criminal activities, nor the place for moronic teenagers to seek out any of the myriad of illegal drugs that had become prevalent within the Wizarding World since the start of the first war.

The pub was relatively small, definitely not as large as the Three Broomsticks, but bigger than the Hog's Head. Though what it didn't have in size, it had in class. The hickory wood from the counter, tables and stools contrasted with the beige walls. The booths coated the walls, with the centre of the pub filled with square tables fit for four people. On the other side of the wall was the bar, with a decent repertoire of alcohol and wine sealed behind a glass door.

To most students, the Hopping Pot blended in with the other shops. There wasn't anything extravagant or calling about the establishment, and even now, there were no Aurors posted in or near it. It was the perfect place for a truly discreet meeting, one a Slytherin would take advantage of. Which was why it had gained popularity with some of the Slytherins over the past decade. An unspoken secret, though it was only a few Slytherins that knew of the advantages of the Hopping Pot, it wasn't something they actively hid. A spot where a lot of Slytherin scheming happened, one that had hosted some of the most notorious alumni to come from the house over the past ten years; Felix Rosier, Marcus Flint, Graham Montague.

And most recently, Cassius Warrington.

In truth, Pansy hadn't been that averse to staying and listening to Potter grumble and retort during every second of Kieran trying to teach him basic wizarding etiquette. In truth, she would have enjoyed it. Seeing Kieran struggle with reigning Potter in would have been more than amusing and certainly satisfying after she had been the one assigned to shadow the boy right before term started, forced to constantly putting out the fires he left in his wake.

Potter had never been her favourite person in the world. Starting off as an obnoxious, skittish boy, constantly finding the need to talk and attempting to make friends in the most irritating and embarrassing ways. Not that he preferred the arsehole persona he adopted in the latter years, Potter had proven himself to be spiteful, rancorous, and vicious - retaliating with extremely violent pranks to anyone who simply mocked his hair or tried to trip him over. However, he kept to himself and rarely bothered people if they didn't fuck with him - though some would argue they were only talking without any malicious intent.

She had whined and complained in private when her grandfather had instructed her on keeping an eye on him, and eventually getting close to him. Their first interactions hadn't been ideal either, though eventually, he became slightly less intolerable. Still, even as they developed a friendship, rocky as it was, Potter wasn't an easy person to deal with. He had some moments when he'd impressed her, there was no doubt about that, and he was even slightly likeable sporadically. But that didn't change how their friendship felt like a chore more often than not, with her feeling more like a babysitter or point of contact between Potter and her grandfather more than true friends.

Of course, their friendship began as a chore. She would have never even thought twice about talking to Potter at the beginning of the year if it hadn't been for her grandfather insisting on it. The boy just sweated danger and uncertainty, both things she often tried to avoid as much as she could. However, so much had happened between them in the past couple of months to simply look at Potter as merely an ally or a chore. They had worked together in life-threatening and hazardous situations that could've ended up with both of them either dead or sent to Azkaban. She had even witnessed Potter in situations where he was so vulnerable it felt like she wasn't meant to witness that. Whether that be his scar, the proof of the savagery he underwent with the monster turned out to be, or his reaction to Susan's death, the impact on her was still the same.

But whatever her conflicting feelings on Potter and their relationship, it didn't matter. She was still under an assignment by her grandfather. She would still remain around Potter, she would still put out his fires and help out as much as she could. She'd make her grandfather proud, prove her worth to the family and ensure a strong position in it. Her parents had already been forsaken by her grandfather as a lost case, even if they didn't know it. Their clear fascination with the Dark Lord had been a catalyst for him not disclosing anything with them anymore. It had been after that meeting when she had been brought into the fold and forced into an unbreakable vow not to reveal any of her grandfather's secrets to anyone without his explicit authorization.

Ever since she was a little girl, she had looked upon the Dark Lord and his mission with adoring eyes. It just felt… right. Their status as a pure-blood was a privilege, but it was also a responsibility. They were the ones tasked with shaping the Wizarding World, to uphold its traditions and lead to them a prosperous future. Chosen by Magic and Fate itself to be purer than the others. If it was the will of such forces, how come these Mudbloods, people with no connection to magic, decided it was their right to take power from them? To change their whole society? Implement muggle teachings and values that simply didn't fit with the Wizarding World.

Most of these people weren't even new bloods, they didn't have a magical ancestry to give them that connection to the Wizarding World. They were Mudbloods, freaks of nature, unexplained irregularities that had somehow stolen that connection to magic that had been reserved for the offsprings of families with two wizarding parents. A number that had exploded ever since the end of the last great muggle war back in the forties, leading to the sudden birth of hundreds more Mudbloods than before.

Magical people and Muggles were extremely different, it was a fact that not even the most radical witches and wizards agreed on with the conservative ones. Sure, they seemed the same, both looked like the same species, but that's a grossly simplification of the truth. Magic and Fate, two forces so powerful and important, forces that were ruled the universe at large, they impacted their lives, defined them. Muggles weren't affected by prophecies, they didn't have a destiny - they were simply lesser creatures, leading meaningless lives in the grand scheme of things. They couldn't interact with magic, couldn't channel or even comprehend the two most powerful forces in the universe.

That was the hard truth the radicals didn't want to hear. They were different, they were better. It wasn't them saying this, the universe itself had decided upon that when they had been chosen to be witches and wizards, born out of the families that followed the creed of their ancestors, dedicating their life to the will of Magic and Fate.

The Dark Lord was their answer, Fate's response to the sudden influx of entitled Mudbloods set on taking over the Wizarding World from pure-bloods. He was a New Blood. There were so few of them. For a family to be granted back their connection with the Theurgical Forces after Magic and Fate had deemed them and their offsprings unworthy of it… they only occurred once in a generation - a rare phenomenon worthy of praise and a grand welcome back into the Wizarding World. There was a reason why these offsprings were allowed to take back any assets and recognition the family had had before it had gone extinct - slowly turned into squibs.

It was the reason they followed them. Any other powerful wizard could take the name of a Dark Lord, there have been countless of them across history. Even if the Dark Lord was one of the most powerful wizards ever recorded, with uniquely impressive feats that placed him on another level. No, it was the fact that he was a New Blood that mattered, why so many pure-bloods rallied behind him. A combination of unmatchable power, a conservative agenda, and Magic and Fate's blessing were the factors that made him so successful - the biggest Dark Lord in history, even bigger than Grindelwald, who had followers around all of Europe.

And yet… her grandfather no longer saw it that way. She hadn't met him before this past summer, but the way her father always spoke of him, he was a large supporter of the Dark Lord as well. And now he was plotting against the Dark Lord, and she was helping him! Theo and Potter seemingly agreed with her grandfather, her idiotic brother as well. And now… she was at a crossroads.

She wanted to impress her grandfather, wanted to do right by her family and earn her place in the future of House Parkinson. But she believed - truly believed - in the Dark Lord's vision. She hadn't taken the mark yet, hadn't pledged herself to the Dark Lord, but it still felt wrong betraying the cause in such a way. She couldn't bring herself to betraying her family, but at the same time, she was unable to bring herself to fully watch as a plan to kill the Dark Lord once more - this time for good - was executed.

Too afraid to betray her family, to risk everything and break the status quo. Leaving her entering the Hopping Pot. With nothing she could do except continuing with her grandfather's order, she had excused herself from the boys, seeking out her latest assignment as she entered the Hopping Pot.

Finding her prey wasn't tough work, in a pub filled with gray-haired men and ladies face full of wrinkles, the young teens sitting in the booth hidden from the door stuck out like a sore thumb. Cassius Warrington, and his two lackeys, Pucey and Rowle. The same arseholes who had attacked Potter various times now, and by the way, they were whispering to each other, it seemed they hadn't learnt that lesson.

There were much more effective ways of dealing with your enemies than through violence and curses. Potter had yet to learn that, fortunately for him, she had done that years ago.

"Good pint, lads?" She asked casually, taking the seat opposite them in their booth as she grabbed one of their glasses and took a sip.

"What do you want, Parkinson?" Pucey hissed, only for Warrington to place a hand over the boy whilst glaring at her.

"Potter's sent you?" He said coldly. "Has he lost his balls?"

Pansy snorted. "God, no. From what I hear, he wants to tear you limb from limb - the three of you, as a matter of fact. He doesn't hate you as much as he hated Montague, not nearly enough, but he's no big fan of you either. If it was up to him, I'm sure he'd have your dismembered bodies hanged from the Great Hall. He's been in a shitty mood after this whole Susan business."

"Then why did he send you?" Warrington mocked, somehow still under the impression Potter couldn't hurt them.

"He didn't," she answered flatly, swallowing the pitiful look she wanted to give him. "I'm here of my own accord because, frankly, this isn't how we handle our conflicts. We're above resorting to bestial manners, the likes of merpeople or centaurs."

"Your bloke isn't," Warrington growled. "He murdered Graham. Do you deny it?"

"Tracey Davis killed Montague," Pansy smiled. "Didn't you hear? Her magical signature was found imprinted upon the knife she used. No other one."

"Don't act daft."

"Don't stray from the conversation." Pansy retorted. "Listen, lads, let's be real here. Potter just shafted half a dozen chavs who came there to kill him. It didn't look like he struggled in dealing with them, either. I'd rather not have another conflict like that, can't be bothered with dealing with the dozens of speeches Umbridge and her lackeys would put us through, as well as making the school even more of a living hell than it already is. If you take a shot at Potter and miss, you're dead. The three of you. And not even Theo or I would be able to do anything about it."

"He murdered Graham!"

"He murdered five pseudo Death Eaters, put one in intensive care - and that's without even going into the beating he gave the three of you earlier this year. This isn't a battle you can't win, one you need not fight, either."

"Piss off," Warrington spat."

"Don't cock this up," she said seriously. "Not when I'm about to give you an out."

"What out?" Pucey said suddenly, and Pansy pressed her advantage.

"Potter's anger can be focused… redirected. His girlfriend just got murdered in front of him, rather than taking that wrath on you three sad sods, it can be focused on Dolohov and whoever hired him. I can help with that, but only if you stop your ridiculous attempts at antagonizing him in a fight you'll lose - properly lose. If you stop antagonizing him and I get him to focus on the Three Broomsticks attack, you three might just make it through Hogwarts without losing your lives. Who knows, you might even work well enough together to win next week's game against the Gryffindors."

Parkinson Cottage

3:00 p.m.

Lessons with Kieran had been as fun as he had expected, a boring compilation of daft and needless rules on how to be a proper wizard. Covering the basics of everything from personal manners, hygiene (with Kieran focusing heavily on hair treatments and combing), dressing style, social etiquette in various situations - ranging from dates, balls, classrooms, and even how to act as a guest or host. With the promise of going in depth on all the areas they explored, Harry truly considered hanging himself from the high ceiling of the cottage until Pansy arrived.

Bearing gifts of food and a break from Kieran's rambling, the trio ate while Kieran went out for his own food. Sure, Theo and Pansy made a constant effort to mock him for the lessons as much as possible, with them even giving him some tips for his personal situations. It was a much more tolerable experience than dealing with Kieran, however, that didn't negate him from the retribution he was entitled to inflict against the both of them.

Kieran later came back, though Harry managed to get off from another torture session on how to turn him into the perfect ponce by Bedivere's arrival through the floo.

"Pansy, Mister Nott," he said calmly, without a hint of any emotion in his voice. "As nice as it is to see you, I must confess I do not remember including you in the invitation."

"I asked them to come," Harry answered before they could, focusing on keeping his voice as tranquil as possible. "They were here last time, weren't they? I didn't think it would be an issue."

"Clearly, they do," Kieran said snobbishly. "Why don't you two go out to Hogsmeade, I'll send Harry with you after we're done here."

"Nonsense," Bedivere said jovially as he waved away Kieran's words. "Mister Potter is right, of course, if he values and trusts them enough to have them here, I don't see an issue. After all, our meetings here at Parkinson Cottage are protected by the memory lock ritual we did last time."

"Perfect," Harry smiled at the fuming Kieran.

"Now," Bedivere said as he limped across the room before sitting down on his armchair. "You're the one who set this meeting, Mister Potter, so you will be the one to lead it. But before I allow you to do so, I want to give you my condolences for the events that occurred this past fortnight. Truly horrific events, if I had known, I would've done my best to stop them. To lose someone you care for in such a way… no one deserves that."

"Thank you, Mister Parkinson," Harry responded curtly, before cursing himself for how his quickness came off as rudeness. "I appreciate the gesture. That's… actually why I'm here today."

Harry trailed off, waiting to see if Bedivere would interject, but when he didn't, Harry carried on.

"I don't know how much Pansy has told you about that day, but it came to my understanding that this was not a chance attack. Someone had sent Dolohov, that… bastard, after me. That someone had hired him-"

"And you wish to find out who that is." Bedivere finished for him.

"Yes."

"I'm afraid I do not have a certain answer. I have my theories, of course. It could have very well been the Dark Lord, from what Pansy tells me you recently rejected a proposal from him."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.

"Well, if it was his in retaliation for that, then it was a disclosed operation. None of the Death Eaters I am in contact with even know there was a proposal made to you - to include someone so young into the inner circle of the Death Eater ranks is an… honour that only two people have been given. Nor was there a bounty placed on you to all the Death Eaters. If it was the Dark Lord, then he would have ordered a Death Eater personally to hire those men and keep the information to himself."

"You don't sound like you think it was the Dark Lord who orchestrated this." Theo said, jumping into the conversation.

"You are correct, Mister Nott. As impressive and powerful as you are, Mister Potter, the Dark Lord would consider dealing with these sorts of issues as something below him. If it was a Death Eater, one of the inner circle, it would have likely been the individual who convinced the Dark Lord to offer you the recruitment option in the first place."

"Ares." Harry said coldly.

"Indeed. The Dark Lord's most faithful servant, however you managed to gain the attention of one of the most dominant and skilled Death Eaters, I do not know. Though I must confess I'm not convinced it was him either. To me, the most likely choice is Elijah Montague."

"Montague?" Harry echoed, feeling a pull in his guts.

"Indeed." He nodded gravely, waving his hand, causing a file to suddenly appear on the table in front of them. With trepidation, Harry extended his hand and picked it up. "Elijah Montague. Born 1975 - Ravenclaw, graduated top of his class in 1994. Brother to Graham Montague, and son of Alphonse and Paralee Montague, both known Death Eaters - deceased. Currently, working to restore the lost reputation of his family as he ventures in multiple business ventures in potion development, spell crafting, as well as the creation of various new magical artefacts - succeeding in all areas unlike anything expected of him or the Montague family after their fall from grace in '80. Most recently appointed into the Death Eater inner circle by nomination of Reginald Avery - codename Poseidon - and Esther Snyde - codename Phobos. Currently going under the codename Nemesis."

"You think…" Harry stammered, forcing himself to calm down as he crumpled the parchment in his hand. "That… this bastard had me murdered? Had Susan murdered?"

"It's not that simple," Kieran said, surprisingly nonconfrontationally.

"We believe there's a conspiracy within the Death Eaters themselves." Bedivere continued, after giving Kieran a look that shut the boy up. "One that is using the Dark Lord's agenda, resources, and means to further their own goals."

"That's… that's impossible!" Pansy almost yelled. "No Death Eater would dare betray the Dark Lord… I mean…" she began looking around the room. "No other Death Eater would. And they certainly wouldn't be able to fool him, either! The Dark Lord is too powerful, you can't mean they are up to his standard."

"Oh, certainly not." Bedivere conceded. "In fact, in Britain I think there are no more than a couple of people truly as powerful, if not more, than the Dark Lord. No, however, this group thrives on secrecy. It's one whose existence I was not aware of until this past September. And if my theories are correct, they are a group that has dominated Wizarding Britain over the past two centuries, manipulating everything inside the country from the shadows, unseen. They go by… the Knights of Walpurgis."

"I had never heard of them," Theo said, his voice coloured with intrigue. "However did you find out about them?"

"I have been researching the Death Eaters for the past four months. Each inner circle Death Eater has a codename, one to protect their identity and to guarantee the success of the Dark Lord's movement in case of any intruders. While doing this, I managed to notice certain tendencies between some families interacting with each other than others. Once I noticed this, I managed to connect seven families together and began planting surveillance on them - which led me to my discovery. The Montagues just happened to be one of these families, as were the Averys and Selwyns."

"Doesn't matter," Harry growled. "It was still Montague who put the hit on me, yes? The one who started all of this because I killed his brother?"

"Yes."

"Then I kill him next, and after that, the next bellend wanker tries to put another bounty on me."

"You don't understand just the gravity of the situation, Potter," Kieran sneered. "The only reason why you murdering Graham Montague didn't end up with all the Death Eaters taking turns at murdering you is because he hadn't been initialized yet. While his brother was a Death Eater, Graham wasn't one of them. Elijah Montague is. You kill him, you won't just have the Knights of Walpurgis against you - a formidable force by themselves. You'll have the entirety of the inner circle Death Eaters wanting a piece of your flesh. Death Eaters don't take kindly to people killing one of their own. Look at your parents, the Prewett twins, the Longbottoms - anyone who has ever murdered an inner circle Death Eater - directly or indirectly - have suffered some of the most gruesome and savage deaths in the war."

"I don't give a fuck," Harry snarled, turning towards Bedivere. "They're dead - Montague and any other fucker who even thinks of fucking with me again. Help me do this… and I'll join whatever bullshit plan you have against Voldemort. Fuck, I'll even pretend I believe your bullshit about me being the fucking chosen one or whatever."

"Harry…" Theo warned, but Harry ignored him.

"Those are strong vows, Mister Potter. You're nearing adulthood, I trust you understand that as a man, it is your duty to honour your word - no matter how the situation changes?"

"I do."

"Then I'd ask for insurance. If I am to help you with this endeavour, I would be placing myself and my family at great risk. It's something I won't do without the guarantee of you following through with your promise."

"I'm not giving out my freedom to be slaved into following you unthinkingly."

"You'd not be following me, Mister Potter. If we are to defeat the Dark Lord, we must do so together, as equals. If I was searching for a mindless follower, I'd have contacted Longbottom. No, I'm searching for someone of power and skill, a man set against the Dark Lord, willing to do what must be done to win the war. One who, regardless of any circumstance that happens between anybody involved in this undertaking, will continue working with us without betraying our secrets and operations to anyone outside the circle of trust. So long as you're willing to agree to that, and sign a magical contract with me, I will aid you in avenging your friend."

Harry stayed silent for a moment, his brain whirling inside his head as everyone in the room stared at him. "Just to be clear… there won't be any clauses binding me to do your bidding, nothing that will give you or anyone else power over me? Just a vow confirming my dedication and full effort to killing Voldemort… one with various clauses I can go over various times before signing?"

"Correct," Bedivere said genially. "We can go over all of that later today. But if you're officially joining this mission, then there's one more thing we must discuss beforehand."

"What is it?"

"Your residency during this winter break. The attack two weeks ago proved that you are being targeted, the safest and most practical place for us to begin this operation would be at Parkinson Palace, along with Pansy, Kieran, and the others. You're invited as well, Mister Nott, if you so wish."

"I don't know," he said, suddenly nervous. "I'll have to ask my father, I'm not sure if he'll allow it."

"Titus Nott," he nodded solemnly. "Yes, I have crossed paths with your father various times. Ambitious man, extremely driven and ruthless - doesn't seem the type to let his son stay away with another family over the summer, though, I agree with you there."

"Yeah…" Theo trailed off.

"Not to worry, I intend to host a ball at New Year's Eve. It's clear to me that Mister Potter wants you involved in this as much as he is - I can feel that's something you share."

"Yes, sir."

"And yet, I can see you have doubts."

"No, sir," Theo almost blurted out. "No doubts, it's just… I'd rather think there are safer approaches than to antagonize the most powerful dark wizards in Britain." Harry turned to glare at him, but Theo didn't pay him any attention.

"I understand your concern, and share your view that Mister Potter's safety is of primordial concern. Which is why I've devised a solution to this, one that will ensure Potter's safety completely, as well as give us the perfect opportunity to continue with our operation without arising suspicions from outside eyes. The quarterly Wizengamot meeting is happening on the twenty-first of December, it'll be then we'll announce the Parkinson family will be taking magical guardianship of you, Harry."

"Magical guardianship?"

"A process somewhat nearing adoption, in which a family - usually a pure-blood one - takes on the responsibilities of a muggle-born or muggle-raised witch or wizard for them to be better instructed and presented into the Wizarding World. As the son of an old pure-blood family, it won't give you any extra perks within our society. However, it will allow me the power to emancipate you - ridding you of the trace and other burdens underage students have - allowing you the full privileges of a full adult. Once this is done, you can reside at Parkinson Palace without arising suspicions, as well as being able to accompany me and our colleagues out into the field."

"And you'll give me this emancipation?" Harry said doubtfully. "You won't suddenly decide to keep me under your control for a few more years?"

"Not at all. "Bedivere answered calmly. "You serve the cause more if you are free to use your magic outside Hogwarts, you won't be any help stuck inside Parkinson Palace. Another clause to explore in our contract, if you agree to it, of course."

"Definitely," Harry said instantly, picturing the faces of the Dursleys as he finally left that rotten house for good.

"Is the magical guardianship really necessary?" Kieran said doubtfully. "Wouldn't it be simpler to just sneak Potter into Parkinson Palace without announcing it to the whole Wizengamot?"

"While it does pose a risk, it's a small one. Magical guardianships are rarely objected to, and even if this one is, there's no living Potter left, no one to fully challenge us for this case, especially since they hadn't done anything to take responsibility of the boy."

"Then I'm in," Harry nodded determinately.

That's it for this chapter! Thank you all for reading!

Next chapter, we finally get some more Quidditch! As well as further development on the Warrington situation! Be excited :)

Next chapter will be posted September 13th on FFN and AO3.

By the time I'm posting this, I'm three chapters ahead and have fully finished the United in Grief arc. If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

I'm also working on two fanfiction related surprises that should be revealed fairly soon! (Maybe?) More info on that on discord as well!

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)