The Wand
It was with a furrowed brow that Harry's gaze swept over the various newspaper articles from over the past week. Staring back at him in every image was scenes of devastation, the silhouettes of broken bodies and demolished buildings, and hanging above them all so imposingly, the Dark Mark.
The war had finally taken the turn he'd expected, though had hoped wouldn't come.
Voldemort had seemingly experienced enough setbacks, enough failings to drag him from the shadows. The man himself had yet to have been photographed, but the survivors had spoken of a tall, pale figure who had unleashed a plethora of hellish magic upon them leaving Harry in no doubt who was behind it.
He knew it was only a matter of time before a photo was taken and the world at large would set eyes on the man that had once haunted Harry's very worst nightmares.
Despite the unpleasant attacks that had followed, and perhaps selfishly, it was something of a relief that the war was no longer so clandestine, that the lines had been drawn.
Those that could, would err on the side of caution, remaining out of the conflict as best they could, some with the intention of only choosing a side when and if the outcome was clear.
There would be those that would flit between the two from a distance, and those who would ultimately choose the losing side and claim they had always supported the victors.
So much to consider, and yet, there was much more to come before any of that truly mattered.
No. There were many battles to be fought, blood to be shed and lives to be lost before any of that would become important.
Harry released a deep breath as he took in each scene.
It had become a nightly occurrence now, ever since Rufus Scrimgeour had vanished. The man had died the very same night Harry had searched for him, and the very first attack following mere hours later.
Sirius had assured him Voldemort had learned nothing of worth. He'd implemented a strict system with those he worked with to prevent this eventuality taking place.
At the end of every meeting, a copy of the memory was taken and then each of them were obliviated by one expert, other than Sirius's own. He had not disclosed the location of the copies and the Obliviator was kept in protective custody in a place only known to the Minister.
He was leaving no loose ends to keep vital information safe, something the former government had failed to do during the first war.
From the night Scrimgeour had been murdered, the tension that had gripped the nation was an oppressive one marred with uncertainty and paranoia, as it had been during Tom Riddle's first rise to power.
Neighbours no longer spoke to one another, many had already gone into hiding, and some students had not returned to Hogwarts after the holiday. Some had been confirmed dead, others missing, and a few vanishing without trace.
It was disconcerting and made for a deeply unpleasant atmosphere within the school, something that Harry would be addressing this very night.
For him, it was not difficult to identify those that supported the Dark Lord. Foolishly, they had banded together somewhat, appeared to stand a little taller, each with the slightest smirk about their lips as each newspaper arrived with the morning post.
The smugness would not last.
Harry had no doubt that Sirius was already planning much, as was Dumbledore in his own way. It would serve to assuage the concerns of wizarding Britain to see the Ministry taking a proactive role, but ultimately, the war hinged on Harry and Voldemort.
Although it had not been known, Harry had been fighting for what seemed to be his entire life against the threat lurking in the shadows. However, that very same threat had now stepped out of them, and yet, the fight remained the same for him.
Nodding to himself, Harry set the stack of newspapers ablaze with a flick of his wand and withdrew the invaluable map from within his robes. Consulting it, he could see his target was in the Great Hall.
Tonight was the scheduled Quidditch practice for the Slytherins which meant that Nott would be without the company of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle; the perfect opportunity for Harry to gain some much-needed information, and perhaps provide the boy with a way out of his own predicament.
Preferably, it would have been addressed the moment he'd arrived at the castle in September but knowing Nott would return home for Christmas and would likely be questioned on the progress of their task, Harry had to exercise patience and caution.
That was no longer the case, however.
Malfoy would have to act before the end of the school year, and with no scheduled breaks before then, there was little risk to Nott now, if the boy proved to be intelligent enough to cooperate.
If he did not, it would become his own problem.
Harry may have promised Isabella he would do what he could to help her brother, but he would go out of his way to do so to his own detriment.
Although he didn't know it yet, the time for Theo to make a decision would be upon him imminently.
(Break)
"He is consumed by his lust for power," Severus murmured gravely. "He has never been reasonable, but even less so now. I fear for what is to come."
Albus nodded tiredly.
Dark days lay ahead of them with no end seemingly in sight. Rufus had given the Dark Lord nothing, and it only seemed to spur him into action with such a violent vigour.
It was as though Britain had been plunged into the very peak of the first war overnight. Muggles were being attacked along with wizards, and it was Sirius the country was looking to for a solution.
Albus took a small amount of comfort knowing Cornelius was no longer in charge, though Sirius's position was not an enviable. He would need to take affirmative action.
It was frustrating that the man chose to be so reticent to share his plans, even with Albus.
He had, however, assured him that things would soon be in place that would be a considerable pushback against Tom and his ilk.
"As do I," the headmaster murmured.
"What of Potter?"
Albus shook his head.
"He remains as tight-lipped as his godfather," he sighed. "I have no doubt he is doing what he believes is necessary, but he has shared little with me. I must speak with him regarding another matter. I will attempt to garner something from him. How is he faring in the classroom?"
"The students have nothing but praise for him," Severus admitted begrudgingly.
"And he will be able to fill in for you if necessary?"
"Need you ask?"
Albus leaned back in his chair as he surveyed the other man.
For one only in his thirties, Severus looked older than his years, the task bestowed upon him a burdensome one at best.
"If it is too much…"
Severus held up his hand.
"Nothing is too much to see the end of him," he said firmly. "I will never be absolved of my own guilt for all that has happened, but I would see it done with, Albus."
"Then let us hope it is not a drawn-out affair."
"Potter is not ready, not yet. The war will not end as quickly as you hope."
Albus deflated as he nodded his agreement.
"Then we continue on," he offered.
Severus seemed to have been hoping for some assurances from him, but Albus had none to give. It was the harrowing truth. The war would not end quickly, and Tom would not face Harry until he absolutely had to.
He would see the boy suffer through the trials and tribulations ahead before granting what he believed would be the mercy of death for Harry.
"If only he knew," he whispered, his hand closing around the handle of the elder wand that would no longer be in his possession shortly.
"If only he knew?" Severus asked confusedly.
"Just a thought," Albus said dismissively. "Any word on Mr Malfoy?"
Severus's expression darkened.
"He met with the Dark Lord," he revealed. "I do not know what was said, but Draco did not leave the meeting in good health. He will be desperate now."
Albus nodded his understanding.
"Unless he can be deterred, I fear there is little I can do for him. Harry will not wait much longer to act against him in whatever way he sees fit. I will no longer be able to dissuade him."
"I am surprised he has held off this long," Severus replied.
"As am I," Albus returned with a frown. "I expect he has his reasons. I will discuss it with him as a priority. Things may seem bleak, Severus, but I believe in him as much as I do you. I only ask that you have faith in him."
The man nodded as he headed towards the door, pausing as he gripped the handle.
"If I did not, I would not take such risks, Headmaster. It may mean little to most, but he is her son. I am reminded of that every time he looks at me."
It was a rare mention of Lily Potter and as Albus listened to Severus's retreating footsteps, he felt his own belief in the man strengthened.
Severus Snape had many regrets in life, but none more so tormenting than what had happened to Lily Potter. That alone had seen him remain at Hogwarts for so long, waiting for the day his former master returned to resume his struggle for power.
Not that any would ever know that.
Severus would sooner see them all question his loyalty than for his reasons to be exposed to the world.
That just wouldn't do.
"Fawkes, I would like you to deliver this to Harry at the most opportune moment," he instructed as he scratched away with a quill. "Do be discreet, old friend," he added with a smile, knowing the phoenix's proclivity towards theatrics.
Fawkes trilled loudly as he vanished in a burst of impressive fire and Albus drew the elder wand.
It seemed to hum in anticipation, seemingly knowing it would finally be returned to where it belonged.
"One man with three Hallows," Albus whispered.
Were it any other than Harry who would be in possession of them, he would be deeply concerned by the mere thought. However, he felt something of a compulsion to give the young man the wand, to witness the Deathly Hallows be united as one with the blood they were created for.
Soon enough, he would and he could not deny how intrigued the very notion was.
(Break)
Theo could not help but notice that Draco looked as unsettled as he felt himself; paler and even sickly. He shuddered at the memory of being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse by his own father, at the behest of the watching Dark Lord.
He had not spoken of it to Draco, but Theo had no doubt the blond had endured the very same treatment.
The Dark Lord had been furious at their lack of progress, and Theo had experienced the man's wrath first hand.
He'd watched as his father had been punished for 'raising a pathetic, imbecilic son' and felt himself filled with dread as he was instructed to punish him in turn.
He would never forget the look of loathing and agony that crossed his father's features as he levelled his wand at him, nor the pain that tore through him.
Theo remembered the screams of his mother and sister mingling with his own.
"NOTT!" Draco hissed, pulling him from his thoughts.
Theo had started to perspire and he wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
"You need to look whilst I'm training."
Theo nodded.
His situation was an impossible one. Despite having seemingly been punished too, Draco's fanatical loyalty to the Dark Lord had not wavered. If anything, he'd become more determined, though that could be attributed to the same fear that plagued Theo.
Regardless, it mattered not.
They knew their task and what awaited them if they were to fail.
"I will."
Draco nodded as he took his leave of the Great Hall with the rest of the team and Theo dawdled, ignoring the questioning looks of his peers as he followed suit, his already lacking appetite all but gone.
Shaking his head, he made his way up to the fourth floor to continue his search, pausing at every brick, portrait, and statue as he slowly progressed, his search bearing no fruit.
The Dark Lord had given them instructions which had proven to be useless, even the one pertaining to the hidden room on the seventh floor.
He had been particularly furious that they had been unable to access that one.
It truly was an impossible situation unless they were to achieve a significant discovery.
Taking a moment to lean against the wall as he pondered his lot in life, Theo took a deep breath, only for his vision to dance as he was hurled through a nearby door to an abandoned classroom.
Before he could get his wits about him, let alone draw his wand, he found himself caught in a vice-like grip around the throat and staring into a pair of burning, green eyes.
"Hello, Nott," Potter greeted him.
Theo tried to swallow as he shuddered from the chill of the fear that crept down his spine.
What could Potter possibly want with him? Had he somehow discovered the plan?
No, that wasn't possible, so why was he confronting him in such a way? Theo had never even spoken to the other boy.
"Potter, you're choking me," he managed to wheeze.
He was quickly relieved of his wand as Potter's gaze continued to bore into his own.
"Behave yourself, Nott," he warned.
Theo could only nod, collapsing to his knees and gasping for breath as he was released.
Potter's wand was trained on him as he looked up, and he knew he held no advantage here. Still, Theo wondered what he wanted.
"I know," Potter said simply. "I know exactly what you and Draco are planning, and I am giving you one chance to be honest with me. Your life is hanging by a thread and I'm the only one that can help you."
Theo swallowed deeply.
If Potter knew and he hadn't killed him yet, then the Dark Lord undoubtedly would when Potter's knowledge of the plan came to light. It wasn't as though it was going to be allowed to come to pass.
It was nothing short of an impossible situation for Theo, and all the stress, the fear, and helplessness that had accumulated over several months suddenly overwhelmed him in the form of a choke.
"He'll kill me," he croaked.
"Voldemort, or your father?"
Theo winced.
"Both."
Potter nodded and offered him a hand. Theo eyed it warily but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet in a bid to salvage a modicum of dignity from the situation.
"They will," Potter agreed, "and I will if you continue going through with it. Is it worth dying for, Nott?"
Theo shook his head.
"Then I will help you," Potter offered. "You will help me and I will help you. I can get you away from Voldemort and your father, out of the war."
Theo frowned suspiciously.
"Why?" he asked.
"My reasons are my own," Potter said dismissively. "You either accept my help, or you don't. That's your choice, but it is not an offer I will make twice."
He meant it.
Just one look in Potter's eye told Theo that this was the moment that he needed to make a choice, and once more, he was gripped by fear but also the slightest feeling of hope.
Still, why would Potter help him?
Theo didn't know, but it seemed he truly had little choice. He had no doubt that his father and the Dark Lord would kill him if he failed, and now that Potter knew of the plan, that was inevitable.
"My mother and sister," Theo murmured. "I won't leave them there."
Potter actually seemed to be somewhat proud of him and even nodded.
"I will help them," he replied simply. "Your father is another matter entirely. I will not help a man that tried to murder me."
Theo nodded his understanding.
His father had never been an affectionate man towards any of the family. He was cold, bitter, and prone to fits of temper that he took out on them all as he saw fit.
For Theo, watching his mother and sister suffer had always been worse than being the target of his father's ire.
"You give me your word," he said firmly. "If you help us, I will tell you everything."
Potter shook his head.
"I need more than that, Theo. I need you to continue the ruse of helping Malfoy. I'll even give you what you are looking for."
"You know a way into the castle?"
"More than one," Potter answered. "Do you agree?"
Theo released a deep breath as he pondered a life away from his father for him, his mother, and sister. It seemed too good to be true, and he wasn't even certain he could trust Potter.
Again, he considered what choice he had.
Putting his life in Potter's hand did not sit right with him, but he reminded himself that the boy could have killed him already, or even ensured Theo failed.
He knew the plan before he'd confronted him and was even offering a lifeline.
"I accept," Theo answered cautiously. "How will you get my mother and sister out?"
"I have my ways, Nott," Potter assured him. "You will keep me informed of Draco's progress, and I will give you the way in when the time is right. I will make sure your mother and sister are safe before Draco can act. When he does, and he is dealt with, you will be taken to them. Not a soul other than me will know of your location."
Theo nodded.
"I still don't get why you're helping me," he sighed.
"I'm sure you will know when this is all over," Potter replied. "Go on, and not a word. I cannot save you or them if you do anything stupid. I'll get a discreet message to you when…"
He paused and Theo ducked as a ball of fire erupted in the corner of the room and a piece of parchment glided towards Potter.
He read it before pocketing it.
"It will be much more discreet than that," he snorted amusedly as he offered Theo his wand.
He took it tentatively before placing it up his sleeve, somehow feeling better than he had since returning to Hogwarts in September.
"Thanks, Potter," he offered sincerely.
"Thank me when you're out of here, Nott," the boy murmured. "Go on, I expect Malfoy will be looking for you."
With a nod, Theo took his leave of the room, bewildered by what had happened, but equally grateful. If Potter proved to be a man of his word, then this could be the best outcome he could expect, unless the Dark Lord won the war.
He shuddered at the thought but did not regret the choice he had made.
This way, there was at least a chance, however slim, that he, his mother, and sister would survive what was happening outside the walls of Hogwarts.
(Break)
Daphne flicked her wand into her hand absentmindedly as she admired the holster Harry had gifted her. It truly was as beautiful as it was thoughtful, and she only took it off whilst showering.
She'd rushed to Diagon Alley the moment she'd disembarked the train at King's Cross to purchase the set of rune-carving tools. It was one of a kind, and she'd intended on getting it for herself, but it only seemed right to give it to Harry.
The note she'd received from him shortly after Christmas had only proven she'd made the right choice. It was short, as was his way, but heartfelt.
Daphne,
Your gift is most appreciated and it will be well taken care of.
Thank you.
H x
She smiled at the memory of receiving it, only for her expression to fall as the one that followed was less pleasant.
"Who is that from?" her mother asked.
"Just a friend," Daphne replied dismissively.
"A friend?"
"Oh, is it Har…"
Daphne placed her hand over Astoria's mouth to shut her up, but her mother and father had heard enough to deduce who it was from.
"Daphne…" the man sighed. "I do not think it is wise for you to get close to the boy. Not with everything that is happening."
Daphne frowned at her father.
"So, I should just turn my back on a friend?"
The Lord Greengrass was not a man so easily intimidated, but she could see the concern in his eyes.
"I would not see you hurt because of your association with him. You know as well as any what happened to the Bell girl."
"That wasn't Harry's fault," Astoria interjected heatedly. "You make it sound as though he killed her himself."
"I did not say that."
"You may as well have."
"Astoria!" their mother chided.
The girl stood and shook her head.
"Harry Potter has been teaching us how to defend ourselves!" she protested. "For almost a year now, he's been teaching everyone who wants to learn. What a shit way to repay his kindness by taking away our friendship. I'm still going to his lessons."
Daphne was proud of her stubborn younger sister and she nodded her agreement.
"Me too."
Her parents shared a look of concern.
"And what if they decide to take exception to that? You would risk all of our lives for a boy?"
"He is not just a boy!" Astoria bit back. "He is going to win the war."
"And what if he doesn't?"
"He will," Astoria reiterated firmly. "We have all seen what he is capable of, even you with what he did in Diagon Alley. Harry Potter is different."
"As is the Dark Lord," their mother broke in. "You are too young to remember what it was like, but what we have seen is only the beginning. I'm sorry, girls, but we have lived through this before, and every person that has stood up to him has died. Harry's Parents died."
"Harry won't," Daphne snorted humourlessly. "I've seen more than any of you what he can do, what else makes him different. I'm just as scared as you but I believe in him. There's nothing you can say that will change that. You'll see that I'm right."
"We really hope so, Daphne," her father sighed.
They hoped but Daphne could see they didn't believe. She simply could not bring herself to doubt him. She had listened as he had spoken of helping those in need, how he cared about others without most caring for him. She didn't know what his life had been like before he came to Hogwarts, but she had come to know him, and well, she believed.
At least enough to see that he could be the change the world around them needed.
The likes of Lucius Malfoy had run amok for too long, had bribed and intimidated their way to the top for too long. Change was needed, and in her heart of hearts, Daphne believed in Harry Potter.
She shook her head at the thought.
Had any told her this before her third year, it wouldn't be so. Harry had always been quiet, observant, and quite the irritation to Draco who, despite his best efforts, could not outshine Harry in any way.
Daphne had thought that maybe he was as arrogant as Malfoy had professed, as self-absorbed and egotistical, but he wasn't.
Harry was both the nicest and most dangerous person she had met.
He was kind, often to a fault, but so utterly ruthless when he needed to be.
It surprised her still that he had not been sorted into Slytherin, but she understood it. He could be as cunning as he was ambitious, loyal as much as he was witty and intelligent. But above all, it was his courage that stood out.
Where most would have buckled under all that he had been burdened with, he shouldered it defiantly and without wavering.
Her parents could think as they would, but Daphne knew better. Harry Potter had become her friend, someone she admired, and someone she could envision emerging from the war more enigmatic than after the first had seemingly come to an end.
She laughed to herself, falling silent as Draco entered the Common Room with his lackeys in tow.
Perhaps she should have been sorted into Hufflepuff. Despite her fear of what was to come, her loyalty was to Harry. He had earned that at the very least, and as Daphne looked at the expressions adorning many of her housemates eyeing Draco with contempt, she doubted she was alone in her thoughts.
(Break)
Dumbledore was unusually solemn as Harry entered the headmaster's office. The man was seated behind his desk, stroking Fawkes' plumage, a deep frown marring his features.
"I understand you confronted Mr Nott."
"I did," Harry confirmed. "He has agreed to help me in exchange for helping his mother and sister escape his father."
Dumbledore nodded as he surveyed Harry.
"And Horace?"
Harry shook his head.
He had been tasked with convincing the man to part with a memory pertaining to Voldemort. Thus far, he had only managed to make the man wary of him after he'd mentioned it.
With everything else Harry had been focused on and distracted with, Slughorn had not been a priority, though he knew he would have to do more. Dumbledore was insistent that the memory was of the utmost importance.
"I have every faith in your success, Harry. Horace has his weaknesses, and I expect you'll find them. Now, let us discuss the reason I asked you to join me."
Harry nodded and waited for the man to continue.
Before he did, however, he drew a wand from within his sleeve, one that Harry did not fail to recognise. For a moment, the headmaster simply stared at it reverently, placing it on the desk with a smile.
"I must say, I am surprised that it has taken so long for this to happen," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.
"I haven't been ready," Harry answered truthfully. "Between becoming familiar with the cloak and stone, the wand would have been overwhelming."
Dumbledore nodded.
"What are you expecting?"
"I don't know," Harry sighed. "Both the cloak and stone have given me so much. The wand…I cannot say. I was urged from the very beginning to not rush in obtaining them all. I just knew I wasn't ready."
"And now?"
Harry's gaze shifted to the elder wand and he could feel it reaching out to him, caressing the magic of the cloak and stone already in his possession, and even him in the very same way.
It was an odd feeling of anticipation that gripped him, and though he'd never truly felt it calling to him, it did now and he knew now was the time to unite the Hallows as one, as Death intended when he'd gifted them to the Peverells.
Releasing a deep breath, he reached for it, and Dumbledore looked on with equal curiosity as to what would happen.
The closer his hand came, the stronger the pull grew, and the more his own magic and the other Hallows began to react as though knew what was coming.
After only the briefest moment it was in his hand, and Harry gasped as he felt the elder wand meld with his own magic, and the three Hallows simply became one with him.
The room faded to the very same greyish hue he witnessed in the visions, and the cold feeling he'd become so familiar with since he'd obtained the cloak was no longer a mere presence.
Harry was the presence; he was the cold; the absolute manifestation of Death amongst the mortals of the world.
In many ways, it felt so wrong, that he shouldn't be here, but it equally felt so right. He was Death's chosen, just as much as Fate had shaped his existence so many centuries ago.
It ran through every fibre of his being, even his very soul.
"Harry? Dumbledore asked worriedly.
He looked at the headmaster, the man's own power radiating in the rippling air surrounding him, and though it was a power most men could only dream of, it was still the power of but a man.
Harry's own was different, gifted from something he thought he'd begun to understand until this very moment. He'd not understood it at all. He knew Death better than any, had experienced the grief of loss and the mourning that never truly ended more times than he would like.
To him, death had always brought nothing but misery for those left behind, but now, he felt it so differently. Death was a mercy in its own way, a relief mostly reserved for those who had lived a full life and who were ready for an eternity of peace.
But it was peace for all who passed on.
Katie had spoken of her own contentment, and with magic he had felt so familiar with truly becoming a part of it, Harry finally understood it. He felt that same contentment and was even envious of it.
One day, he too would have that eternal peace, but not before many others.
He would ensure that his enemies souls were harvested first.
He breathed in deeply as his gaze shifted to the corner of the room where the cloaked figure was observing him, everything else seemingly having come to a standstill.
"Now you are the embodiment of my champion," the figure declared. "Rise Harry Potter. There is much for you to do."
He gasped as the greyish hue faded, and his breathing came in heavy pants.
"Harry, are you well?" Dumbledore pressed, his expression on of concern.
Harry nodded as tried to adjust to the assimilation of his magic with that of the Hallows, the connection unlike anything else he'd experienced on his journey thus far.
He'd expected changes, but nothing so drastic.
Now, he felt complete, as though something had been missing, even if he hadn't ever noticed it. Bringing the Hallows together had done something to him, something he could not explain but that he could feel.
Closing his eyes, he brought the elder wand to bear for the first time, his magic feeling so different, yet somehow as familiar as ever. With only a wave, he sensed it spread throughout the room, that coldness that invaded him whenever he donned the cloak or used the stone.
Now, it emanated from him in foreboding waves and it brought a smile of understanding to his lips.
Singularly, the Hallows were powerful artefacts. Wielded by a Peverell, they were at their peak. With all three united by the blood of the Peverell as Fate had decreed, they were a power unto themselves.
He met Dumbledore's and nodded.
"Never better," he answered honestly.
The headmaster nodded.
"I can see that," he whispered. "I can feel it."
Curiously, he drew his own wand, the one he had obtained from Ollivander. His connection to it was as strong as ever, but it paled in comparison to that of the elder wand. It saddened Harry to acknowledge it.
He had grown deeply fond of it over the years, and yet, he felt no resentment from it. If anything, the wand was accepting of what had happened, and even felt as though it was proud of him.
"How do you feel, Harry?"
He swallowed as he pondered the question for a moment.
"Different, but very much the same. They feel as though they are now a part of me, like limbs I never knew I had."
"I must say, it was rather incredible to witness, even if Fawkes did not appreciate it," he added with a chuckle.
Harry nodded.
A creature of immortality being inundated with the magic of Death was quite the contradictory and likely volatile combination. It would have been deeply unsettling for the phoenix.
"It is done," Dumbledore sighed. "I am not sad to lose the wand. If anything, it is a relief to know it is where it should have always been. It has been on quite the journey. I expect it feels as though it is home."
"It does," Harry agreed. "It could never have worked at its best unless it is wielded by a Peverell."
Dumbledore nodded as a frown creased his brow.
"I do find it odd that the magic has manifested itself so strongly within you. I've met wizards and witches who are descended from the same line, none of whom exhibited anything of your abilities, even without the Hallows."
Harry chuckled to himself.
"I expect it is because the magic has been diluted over the years," he mused aloud. "James Potter was descended from the line, but it never mixed over the many centuries again. Not until he met my mother."
"Your mother?" Dumbledore asked confusedly.
Harry nodded as he smiled proudly.
"She too was descended from Ignotus Peverell."
Dumbledore's eyes widened almost comically.
"How? I researched the lines thoroughly and found no possible link."
"You wouldn't have," Harry sighed. "It wasn't documented, and nor was the other connection she shared."
"Other connection?"
"The son of Ignotus Peverell, Gawain, had two sons."
"Arthur and Glyn. Glyn died young."
"He did," Harry confirmed, surprised Dumbledore had managed to learn of it. "What isn't known is that Gawain also had a daughter after his wife had died."
"A daughter?"
"Carys," Harry said with a smile, enjoying that there was much Dumbledore didn't know. "Her mother died shortly after giving birth to her, and Gawain raised her until she left Wales. She met a travelling Englishman and wanted to see the land her mother came from. They married and settled in the south-east."
"I cannot say I was aware," Dumbledore murmured.
"You've seen the graveyard in Godric's Hollow. Have you noticed the one amongst the Peverells marked as 'Mother'."
"I have," Dumbledore whispered excitedly. "It has remained a mystery to those who live there. Many have speculated its origins."
Harry smiled once more.
"Carys's mother," he confirmed. "Gawain didn't carve her name into the stone to protect his daughter from her reputation."
"Her reputation?"
"Her name was Mallory Gaunt, a direct descendant of…"
"Salazar Slytherin," Dumbledore gasped. "I have heard the name. She gathered quite the following but suddenly vanished."
"Captured by Gawain Peverell," Harry explained. "She managed to trick him by using a lust potion. She escaped and was captured again whilst she was in labour. She gave birth to Carys shortly afterwards and died, her last wish being that Gawain loved their daughter, despite the circumstances of her birth."
Dumbledore shook his head.
"Unbelievable," he whispered. "And Carys…?"
"She married a man named John Evans."
It took only a second for the headmaster to gasp in shock as it all fell into place.
"You are a descendant of Slytherin?"
Harry laughed heartily as he nodded.
"It came as quite the surprise to me," he replied. "John and Carys had magical children, but their own children did not until…"
"Lily Evans."
"My mother," Harry confirmed. "I'm not sure if she ever learned the truth."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair.
"So, Tom…"
"Is my cousin, I suppose," Harry acknowledged contemptuously.
"Is he aware?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, and it wouldn't change a thing," he pointed out.
"It would not," Dumbledore agreed. "Does that mean…?"
He let the question hang, and though he seemed to anticipate the answer, he was no less surprised as Harry conjured a snake and began conversing with it.
"That will prove to be quite the advantage. Tom will often implement his parseltongue ability in a duel. I can tell you from experience that it is most difficult to counter."
"Not when you can understand what is being said," Harry assured him. "It is like any other branch of magic. When you have such a deep understanding of it, it becomes like any other."
"And you have that understanding?"
Harry merely nodded as he closed his eyes for a brief moment.
"I've been taught more than enough by the very best."
Dumbledore visibly recoiled in his seat at the appearance of the ghostly figure.
"Harry Potter, it is good to see you again," Salazar greeted him.
"It cannot be," Dumbledore whispered.
"Professor, I'd like you to meet Salazar Slytherin. Salazar, this is Albus Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts."
Salazar offered Dumbledore a bow before glancing at the many portraits that adorned the walls.
"It warms me to see the school still running as we intended," Salazar said happily. "You are all a credit to Hogwarts."
The headmasters and headmistresses of the past were as in awe as Dumbledore, each lost for words at the appearance of the founder.
"As you can see, there is much more to the Hallows than is known," Harry spoke, having returned Salazar back to whence he came.
Dumbledore nodded somewhat dumbly, and Harry chuckled at the unusually overwhelmed countenance of the man.
"I do not suppose you will share?"
Harry shook his head.
"The secrets of the Hallows are mine to keep. Even if I was inclined to, I do not think I could begin to explain. Death gifted them to the Peverells as both a blessing and a punishment. Both are equally my burdens to bear."
"Then I will respect that," Dumbledore replied, inclining his head towards Harry. "Perhaps they are the power the Dark Lord knows not."
"Maybe," Harry conceded, "but I do not think so. The Hallows are powerful, but only as much as the person that wields them. He marked me as his equal," he pointed out. "Maybe I would have grown to be powerful enough without that, maybe not. I suppose we will never know. The important things is whether I can defeat him or not. That is far from a given. He has done things to gain his own power. When I fought him in the graveyard, it was not even close. He was better than me in every way. Even now, the gap is likely considerable, but I will get there. When the time comes for us to meet at the very end, we will be truly be equals. Fate will see to that, and it will be Death who will claim the spoils."
"You seem rather accepting of that."
"What choice do I have?" Harry sighed. "No matter what I do, it will come down to me and him. I'd rather be ready, and if I die, I will do so knowing I did all I could."
"That is all anyone can ask of you, Harry."
Harry nodded as he stood, feeling as though he was whole for the first time in his life.
"Come Death, come," he murmured, eliciting a questioning look from Dumbledore.
He offered no explanation and chose to take his leave from the office, his grip tightening around the elder wand he was keen to begin putting to use.