The Blessing

A/N

And here is another few chapters for you guys to enjoy.

As ever, FF continues to be difficult when dealing with documents, but I am working with it as best I can.

For those interested in reading the completed version of this, you can find the links to my discord on the profile which will take you to my website.

Also on there is another story, a Harry/Amelia Bones venture, which will be there in full in the coming days.

Currently, I am writing a Harry/ Arthurian legend crossover featuring a Harry/Morgana Le Fay pairing.

So, do make your way to the website to gain access to these.

Anyway, enjoy what is to come here.

TBR

It was a sense of relief that washed over Harry as he stepped out of Gringotts and back into the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. The goblins really were rather unfriendly creatures and very unwelcoming.

He had been here for a week already and staying at The Leaky Cauldron that Nicholas and Perenelle had booked for him.

At first, Harry had been quite put out that they had done so, but he found he was indeed enjoying his time living amongst the witches and wizards of Britain.

In the short time he had been here, he had learned much of the magical culture, as the Flamels had expected he would.

It had been around a week before the end of term that he'd received the letter explaining that they would be unavailable for the first part of the summer, but that they had made arrangements for Harry to stay in Diagon Alley.

So far, Harry had ventured into muggle London to buy some clothes that fit him.

He had browsed the wizarding shops but found the fashion not to his liking, even by his own low standards.

Still, it was the first time he had been able to buy things for himself, and though he did not wish to waste the money he had been left by his parents, the clothing was an essential purchase.

He'd had a look around the alley at his leisure when he was taking a break from completing his homework, this task being made much more pleasant with the inclusion of the ice cream provided by Mr Fortescue.

Now, however, his work was complete and Harry was quite keen to take in the rest of the shops he had yet to visit.

Along with his clothes, he had bought one other item that proved to be most useful, and rather eye-opening.

On the surface, it appeared to be a simple, velvet bag that was sealed shut with drawstrings. What it provided for Harry was not only a place to store things, but a lesson in magic he had sorely needed.

The bag itself wasn't of particular note, but what it did was something Harry was exceedingly grateful for.

According to the Enchanter that sold it to him, the bags were used by Cursebreakers to encase the effects of items found during the course of their work.

An item of questionable origin needed to only be placed within and the ambient effects it produced would immediately be stifled.

Harry had bought one to store the diary in and immediately felt the oppressive magic he had unknowingly been plagued alleviated.

It was a testament to both how powerful the diary was, and how inexperienced as a wizard he was that he did not even notice how heavily the magic had been weighing on him.

With it gone, his mind felt clear and his mood had improved significantly.

He would certainly not be so foolish again to assume that something so seemingly benign for the most part wasn't much more dangerous than it appeared.

Well, he certainly hoped he wouldn't be so dense.

As it was most days, the alley was awash with a variety of people and Harry took a moment to look around to see what shops he would visit today.

Quality Quidditch Supplies was immediately added to his list, and there seemed to be more stalls set up along the length of the street than usual.

Pausing at one of them where the smell of fresh bread was emanating from, he nodded at the plethora of pastries that were on display, his mouth watering.

He hadn't had breakfast yet, and this seemed as good a place as any to sate his hunger.

"I'll take one of the honey and cinnamon rolls, please."

When he received no reply, he looked up to see the vendor, a fairly young man simply gawping at him.

After a few seconds of awkward staring, he snapped out of his stupor.

"Of course, right away, Mr Potter," he said cheerily, though Harry couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be rather nervous.

"How much do I owe you?"

The man waved him off.

"It is on the house."

Harry frowned as he shook his head.

"No, I can't take it for free," he refused politely. "I'd like to pay for it."

The man chuckled as he wrung his hands.

"Two sickles," he relented.

Harry handed the coins over and immediately took a bite of the baked good when it was given, nodding appreciatively.

"What do you think?" the vendor questioned.

"It's the best bread I've ever had," Harry answered truthfully.

Not that he had much comparison over the years.

At best, he was only allowed the heel of the loaf at the Dursleys, only because neither Vernon nor Dudley would eat it.

Other than that, the bread at Hogwarts was deliciousness enough, but certainly not the same as what he had just sampled.

"You really think so?" the man whispered.

Harry could have sworn he had a tear in his eye, though his observation was interrupted as the stall was all but mobbed by more than a dozen or so people demanding they had the same as him.

Harry was thoroughly confused by what was happening and could only look on as they were each served by the flustered man.

"Does this always happen?" Harry managed to ask.

The man shook his head.

"Never," he replied, seemingly experience a bout of shock. "They saw what you had and wanted it for themselves."

"They bought it only because I had it?"

"You endorsed it," the vendor pointed out. "They saw Harry Potter order something they probably never would have looked twice at and they wanted it."

"That's bloody stupid," Harry muttered.

"But very good for business," the man chuckled as another wave of people rushed over.

Again, Harry found himself dumbstruck with the vigour in which they did their utmost to get served, and more than once, he heard his name being mentioned amongst the crowd.

Deciding that being here was not likely a good idea, he bid a hasty retreat to put some distance between himself and the growing crowd.

Were people so easily led?

With a shake of his head, Harry headed inside Quality Quidditch Supplies which he found to be considerably less busy, much to his relief.

"It seems as though you cause quite a stir, Mr Potter," the shopkeeper said amusedly.

"I've been here all week and that hasn't happened."

"There are very few who would openly approach you," the man explained. "Most will keep a respectful distance, but they watch from afar. You are quite the enigma to most after, well…"

He trailed off as his gaze shifted towards where Harry's scar rested just above his brow.

"Anyway, let us not discuss things that will dampen the atmosphere," the man suggested. "What can I help you with today, Mr Potter?"

"Am I really that recognisable?" Harry asked.

The shopkeeper nodded.

"There are those that remember your father well enough. You look very much like him when he was your age, though I doubt that you are half the troublemaker he was."

"Troublemaker?"

"Quite the little scamp at times," the shopkeeper chortled. "Mind, he was an excellent Quidditch player, as you seem to be proving yourself. I heard quite the rumour that you jumped from your broom from quite the height to catch the Snitch."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"It was a stupid thing to do," he murmured.

The shopkeeper chuckled.

"It's only stupid if it goes wrong, Mr Potter. It was all the kids in here spoke about last summer. They wanted to know if I had any Harry Potter jerseys for sale."

"Bloody hell," Harry grumbled. "You don't, do you?"

"No, but that might change one day. Gwenog Jones and Alan Tilbury have told me themselves they are watching you already, and they're the only two I know of."

"Alan Tilbury?"

"He's the coach of the Montrose Magpies, soon to be the coach for the England team, if what I've heard is true."

Harry could only shake his head.

"I'm not sure if Quidditch is in my future," he replied honestly. "I've not really considered it."

"You're only twelve," the shopkeeper pointed out. "You don't have to have it all figured out yet, but it is something you may want to consider. The gold alone makes it worth it. Then again, you don't need that or the fame," he added apologetically.

Harry waved him off.

"Is there anything you would recommend a Seeker owns?"

"Well, other than the best broom money can buy, a good set of weather-proof goggles and gloves wouldn't go amiss. I just got these in from the Firebolt company. They're a little pricey, but they are the best on the market," the shopkeeper explained, pointing to the garments inside the display case in front of the counter.

Harry nodded appreciatively.

"What are they made from?"

"No one knows," the shopkeeper answered. "The Firebolt lot keep everything close to their chests. They wouldn't want the competition copying them."

"That's understandable," Harry murmured as he gazed at the gloves and goggles.

They would be a useful addition for when the conditions were poor.

"I'll take them," he decided.

The shopkeeper offered him a smile as he removed them from the case.

"If you could just put the gloves on, I will size them correctly."

Harry did so, and as the man went about his task, he couldn't help but marvel at how light and flexible they were.

It was as though he was not wearing them at all.

"How do they feel?"

"Good," Harry answered, opening and closing his fists a few times. "How much?"

"One hundred galleons."

Harry whistled at the price.

He didn't quite know just how much it equated to in muggle money, but he knew it was a lot.

Still, it would be a worthwhile investment.

Removing his recently replenished bag of coins, he handed the fee to the shopkeeper and the man placed goggles and gloves in a mahogany box.

"I can resize them as you grow," he explained. "Just bring them in and I will ensure they remain in perfect condition."

"Thank you," Harry said gratefully.

"Not a problem, Mr Potter. You wouldn't happen to be interested in the broom that goes with them?" he asked amusedly as he pointed to the next case along.

Harry read the description of the Firebolt, his eyes widening as he did so.

"Speeds of over 150mph?" he choked.

The shopkeeper nodded.

"There won't be a better broom than that for decades, if ever."

"How fast does the Nimbus 2000 go?"

"It maxes out at around 90, and the 2001 will get to 105, give or take."

"The extra speed didn't help the Slytherins last year," Harry snorted.

"A broom will only ever be as good as the person flying it," the shopkeeper mused aloud. "I was reluctant to sell the brooms to Lucius Malfoy when he came in, but I couldn't turn that much business away. I'm glad it seems that he wasted his gold."

"He hasn't tried to buy seven of these, has he?" Harry asked, nodding towards the Firebolt display.

"No, not even Malfoy would spend so much for the bragging rights of a school Quidditch team. If you think the gloves and goggles are expensive, the price tag of the broom will make your eyes water."

"How much?"

The shopkeeper released a deep breath.

"For the man on the street, it will set you back a few thousand galleons. I expect if you were to reach out to the company, they would give you some discount, especially if they have heard how promising a student you are."

"That's a lot of gold," Harry said with a frown. "No, I quite like to be challenged at the very least. If my broom is double speed of the rest, it would be ridiculous. Maybe when I finish school I'll think about it."

The shopkeeper nodded approvingly.

"You'll learn nothing from always winning with ease, Mr Potter. It is always best to face and overcome adversity."

Harry had not heard truer words spoken.

"I'll remember that," he vowed, offering the man a wave as he took his leave from the shop and found himself amongst the excitable crowd once more. "Again?" he groaned.

"READ ALL ABOUT IT! SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN AND IS ON THE LOOSE!"

It was then that Harry realised that the people gathered in Diagon Alley were not caught up in a furore around the baker's stall but were in a state of panic and shock at the breaking news.

Wherever Harry looked, he could see men and women, gazing furtively around the alley, and even those with children rounding them up and taking their leave of the area as quickly as possible.

Only a moment later, the alley was teeming with people garbed in red robes, ushering the crowds along, urging them to follow suit and go home.

"Is this normal?" Harry asked one of the vendors who was hurriedly packing away his stall.

He shook his head.

"No one has ever escaped from Azkaban before," he said worriedly. "It's only worse because it's Sirius Black."

"Who is Sirius Black?"

"A mass murderer. Killed twelve muggles and a wizard at the end of the war," the vendor revealed. "Didn't even put up a fight when the aurors came. They dragged him off laughing. He found it funny. The man is a lunatic. Best get yourself somewhere safe, lad. You wouldn't want to bump in to Black."

With that, the man shrunk his trunk with a tap of his wand before heading towards the apparation point at the other end of the alley, tipping his hat towards Harry as he did so.

Black sounded like a dangerous man, but Harry couldn't fathom that he would go to the effort of escaping just to take a stroll down the most public place in wizarding Britain.

Nonetheless, he did sound as though he was quite insane, so it was possible, even if completely stupid.

"You boy, get yourself out of here," one of the aurors instructed. "Go on, move!"

Harry didn't need telling twice, and though he did not panic half as much as the rest of the crowd, he did make his way back towards The Leaky Cauldron where Sirius Black would undoubtedly be the topic of conversation for the days to come.

(Break)

It was the same process every year, but Albus took comfort in the familiarity of the tedious task of finding a new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, though this time around, he would be considering his decision more carefully.

Gilderoy had opted to leave the castle of his own accord, evidently realising that he was neither skilled enough nor cut out for teaching.

None of the other members of staff had been upset to see him go, but now Albus was once more on the hunt for another suitable candidate.

"What now?" he murmured as the fireplace flared into life.

A moment later, Cornelius's rather pale face was floating within the flames, his expression one of outright alarm.

"I take it you haven't heard the news?"

"What news?" Albus enquired with a frown.

"Black has escaped Azkaban!"

Over the years, there had been dozen of people pass through the school bearing that name, many of whom proved to be particularly unpleasant people upon graduating Hogwarts.

"Sirius?" Albus questioned worriedly.

For all intents and purposes, Sirius was the last living Black.

The others of his generation had either perished during the war or were women who had married into other families.

Cornelius nodded darkly.

"I saw him only a few days ago. He asked if he could have my copy of the paper as though he didn't have a care in the world," he explained. "The Dementors didn't seem to be affecting him at all."

"When was it noticed he was missing?" Albus pressed as he stood.

"A few hours ago. The entire island has been searched and he is nowhere to be found."

Albus's frown deepened.

"Is there any indication of how he escaped?"

Cornelius shook is dead.

"The cell door was locked and hasn't been tampered with. It's as though he vanished into thin air."

That would be quite the feat if Sirius had managed such a trick, but apparating from one of the cells was impossible.

"Portkey?"

"No, all methods have been checked and none of the guards on duty would have assisted him. They are being questioned under Veritaserum now just to be certain."

"Then how did he escape?" Albus mused aloud.

"I do not know, but the guards mentioned something rather concerning."

"Concerning?"

Cornelius nodded.

"He was talking in his sleep, the same line over again, something about someone being at Hogwarts."

Albus felt his stomach fill with dread.

Sirius would not be so foolish to attempt anything in the castle, would he?

No, he would not be so daring, not when he'd just escaped the prison.

Still, a deep frown marred Albus's features.

They were missing something, of that he had no doubt, but just what that was, Albus could not even begin to speculate.

Besides, his thoughts had already drifted to the more pressing matter.

Harry was alone in the wizarding world, and if Sirius had escaped, there was a strong chance he would seek the boy out.

"Keep me updated, Cornelius. This is most concerning."

The Minister nodded before his head vanished from the fire, and Albus paced back and forth in front of it for several moments, pondering the first days and weeks that followed the war.

Had anyone told him that Sirius Black would ultimately be responsible for Tom locating the Potters, he would not have even entertained the idea.

Never had he seen two closer people than James and Sirius throughout their years at Hogwarts; a friendship that endured for many more after.

No, Albus would not have believed such a thing would come to pass, until it did.

What was puzzling, however, was the interaction Sirius had shared with Hagrid the night he had sent the enormous man to retrieve Harry upon hearing of the attack.

Hagrid had arrived, found the babe amongst the devastation and rubble of the humble home in Godric's Hollow.

According to Hagrid, Sirius had arrived a moment later in a state of shock, but instead of attempting to kill Harry, which Albus had no doubt the man would have been capable of, even under Hagrid's protection, he had offered his prized motorcycle to ensure the boy was gotten to safety.

The next time any had laid eyes on Sirius was when he had been apprehended after killing Peter Pettigrew and the muggles.

Something did not add up about the entire scenario nor the events that followed, but now was not the time to ponder it.

No, Albus needed to find Harry, to ensure he was safe.

Scribbling a brief note on a piece of parchment, he tied it to Fawkes' leg.

"I need you to find Nicholas, old friend."

With a trill, the phoenix vanished in a ball of flame and Albus made is way towards the fireplace.

Throwing in a handful of floo powder, he drew his wand, just in case.

"The Leaky Cauldron," he called clearly before stepping into the flames.

The pub was full of revellers who would have been in the alley up until the news broke of Sirius Black escaping. They had evidently congregated here to discuss the past they thought had been left behind when the man had been imprisoned.

Albus doubted that any of them had given any thought to Sirius since it was announced he had been transported to Azkaban a little over a decade ago.

"Professor Dumbledore are you looking for him?" one of the crowd questioned when he'd spotted the headmaster amongst them.

"I have spoken with the Minister," Albus explained once the room had fallen silent. "He assures me that everything possible to track Sirius Black down is being done."

His words did little to placate them.

As they had during the war against Tom, they were already looking to him to solve the problem at hand.

Such a reputation he carried had been quite the burden since he'd confronted Gellert all those years ago.

Minister after Minister had turned to Albus, and whenever something like Sirius's escape occurred, it was the people that looked to him to make things right.

No matter how often Albus reminded them that he was a headmaster first and foremost, their reliance on him never wavered.

With the Ministry failing to mitigate Tom and his followers, it was with reluctance that the Order of the Phoenix was created to pick up the slack, and again, Albus had taken to the helm in Britain's time of need.

Sirius Black was a ministerial problem and not one he would be sacrificing his primary duties to pursue.

When Tom inevitably returned, which Albus hoped was many years from now, it would be Harry they would turn to.

The very person Albus was here to see.

Offering the patrons a bow, he made his way towards the bar where Tom greeted him with a toothy smile.

"Your usual, Professor?"

Albus shook his head.

"Not today, Tom. I am here to see a guest you currently have staying here."

"Would that be Mr Potter?" Tom whispered.

"It would."

"He returned a little while ago. Room 10."

Albus gave the man a grateful smile before heading up the staircase that was situated in the hallway behind the bar.

The Leaky Cauldron was a rather quaint establishment, one of the odd places where the magical and muggle world combined harmoniously.

Other than Godric's Hollow, there were very few of these places that existed.

Reaching the door, Albus paused as he heard a voice coming from within the room and he smiled as he recognised the murmured incantations of the boy within.

It warmed his heart to know that there were students who were going beyond what was expected of them, who wanted to push themselves to achieve their very best.

Knocking on the door, Albus waited until it was opened after only a brief delay.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry questioned as he took in his appearance. "What are you doing here?"

"I wished to speak with you, Harry," Albus replied, uncertain of how much he should divulge to the boy.

As he stepped into the room, however, he knew he could not withhold anything from him. Despite his reservations, Harry deserved the truth in full.

"You have been casting series of spells," Albus acknowledged, impressed that he was able to do so. "That is rather advanced magic. You won't start learning to do that until the end of your fourth year."

"I'm working on it," Harry replied shyly. "It's not easy, and Transfiguration is harder than Charms and other magic."

"It is," Albus agreed. "What is it you are struggling with? I'm not sure if you are aware, but before I was the headmaster, I taught Transfiguration."

The boy seemed to be surprised by the revelation, but he nodded appreciatively.

"I'm not sure, but it doesn't seem to flow as easy from one Transfiguration to another."

Albus smiled knowingly.

"Show me," he instructed.

He watched as Harry went through the motions, and though it was clear he was facing adversity in doing so, he did manage a few simple changes of the quill he was using.

"That's it," he declared when he'd finished.

"That is still quite remarkable progress, Harry," Albus praised. "You are struggling because you are attempting to make the changes too quickly. Between each one, pause and gather your thoughts before moving on to the next one. The more you practice, the easier it will become and the faster you will get."

"That's it?"

Albus nodded.

"That's it."

"Could you show me?"

Again, Albus smiled as he drew his wand and changed the colour of the quill to a blood red to a bright blue, and then into a live parrot.

"Taking a pause is key when you are beginning sequence work in Transfiguration. When you find the changes coming easily, then you can progress into faster, more advanced changes, like so."

Once more, he began casting, this time turning the parrot into a lion and the lion into pig. Finally, he reverted it back to the quill it had originally been.

"Do you understand?"

Harry's eyes were all but bulging out of their sockets, his gaze transfixed on the wand in Albus's hand.

It lasted only the briefest second before the boy shook himself from his stupor, but Albus did not miss it.

Was it possible that Harry knew what it was?

Albus couldn't see how, but the way he looked at it was as though he recognised it.

"I understand, Professor. Thank you. I will keep working on it."

Albus nodded, clearing his throat before placing the elder wand back up his sleeve.

"Now, the reason I came to see you was to discuss the escape of Sirius Black."

"I already know to be careful," Harry replied. "I heard what he did and I don't fancy being blown up if he comes to the alley, even if he would be stupid to do so. Have you seen the amount of aurors out there?"

"If only it was so simple," Albus sighed. "Do you know who Sirius Black is, Harry?"

He shook his head.

"Only what I heard the others say in the alley."

"Then I should explain," Albus said sadly, the very same mood of disappointment and distress he'd felt the night he'd learned of Sirius's betrayal washing over him.

"Explain what?"

Albus saw no point in delaying the inevitable. It would not assuage what Harry was going to learn, and if there was anything he'd learned about the boy, he appreciated honesty.

"Sirius Black was a friend of your father. They were best friends until the very end."

Harry frowned in confusion.

"My dad was friends with a murderer?"

"It is safe to say your father did not understand the true nature of Sirius. From the moment they met at Hogwarts, they were inseparable. Sirius even spent the summer holidays with your family when he fell out with his own. The Blacks are renowned for their beliefs in blood purity, and never shied away from showing it. They have a reputation for being particularly vicious to their enemies, but Sirius was different. Well, I believed he was."

"I don't understand," Harry murmured.

Albus offered him a sad smile.

"Your parents were hidden under a very powerful charm, one that requires a secret keeper to ensure their location was kept hidden. An enemy could be within inches of them and never know they were there. Sirius was their secret keeper. So long as he never uttered a word of their location, they were safe. They trusted him so deeply that they even made Sirius your godfather."

"My godfather?" Harry whispered, realising the magnitude of the betrayal his parents had endured.

"Yes," Albus confirmed sadly.

"He told Voldemort," Harry deduced, his expression darkening.

Albus nodded.

"I cannot fathom why he eventually decided to side with the other members of his family that sided with Voldemort. Perhaps he felt more affection for them than he let on, but he lost most during the war, even his own younger brother."

"So, he switched sides?"

"It is the only outcome that makes sense," Albus sighed. "I am sorry you had to learn like this, Harry, but I must implore you to not do anything foolish. Sirius Black is an exceedingly dangerous man, one of the very best we had on our side. Going after him will only get you hurt, or worse."

Harry's jaw tightened as he swallowed deeply.

"I won't," he promised. "Not yet at least."

Albus believed him, and though he did not like the addendum, Harry was sincere enough that he would wait.

With a little luck, Sirius would be long back behind bars before Harry ever felt he was ready to face him, and judging by the expression the boy wore, he was already making plans within plans.

"There is one other thing," Albus continued, pulling Harry from his thoughts.

"You're going to send me to the Dursley's, aren't you?"

Albus shook his head.

"No, I do not believe that would help you, but I must insist you tread very carefully, Harry. There will be a strong auror presence within the alley, but you must be vigilant. I would ask that you ensure you return here before dark."

Harry readily nodded his agreement.

"Thank you," Albus offered sincerely. "I will leave you with your thoughts. I am sure you have developed a way to handle them."

Harry nodded and Albus smiled sadly once more.

"Stay safe, Harry."

With that, he took his leave of the room and the bar before he could be accosted again.

He remained hopeful that Harry would stick to his word, and he did have the cloak if he needed it.

Albus frowned at the thought.

The wand.

He couldn't be certain as the expression of surprise was so brief, but he could not help but believe Harry recognised it for what it was.

How?

The boy certainly wouldn't tell him and Albus once more found himself pondering the notion of gifting it to Harry, when the time was right.

He wasn't getting any younger, after all, and unless he wished for the legend to die with him, a new owner must be found.

Harry was a Peverell, so it made sense that it would be him.

For now, Albus would keep hold of it.

He needed to be certain he was making the right choice, and besides, it wasn't as though Harry was struggling with magic.

The more he grew as a wizard, the more he would understand just how incredible the wand was, even if it had not reached the lofty heights Albus once had of it.

(Break)

Nicholas breathed a deep sigh of relief as he read the second missive he received from Albus.

"Harry will be remaining in Diagon Alley," he announced.

"Is that wise?" Perenelle asked worriedly.

"I don't know," Nicholas murmured. "I would much rather him with us, but we must look at the bigger picture. If the people of Britain are to support him when he needs it, he must be seen amongst them. I do not like it, but it is necessary."

Perenelle nodded her agreement, albeit reluctantly.

"It will make him stronger, and he will need that strength for what is coming," Nicholas said irritably. "As much as I wish to protect him from the world, it would serve no purpose. He must overcome whatever adversity is thrown his way. His enemies are great, and Harry will need to be greater. He has to rise while others fall. It is the only way to see that he will be victorious."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it, Nicholas."

"It does not," the alchemist agreed as he took his wife by the hand. "He will be with us in only a few short weeks."

"If Black doesn't get to him."

"Harry is a bright boy," Nicholas pointed out. "He will be careful."

"I hope you're right."

Nicholas did too.

He did not like this development at all, but Harry needed to flourish even at times of difficulty. Dark days were ahead of him, and Nicholas could not help but feel they would be upon Harry sooner rather than later.

(Break)

It was raining heavily and had been for the past few days now.

Most complained, but Gawain was comforted by the pitter-pattering of the drops of water on the roof. Good rain meant that the muggles that lived amongst them would not be suffering a famine or a food shortage when it came to gather their crops.

He nodded as he turned, aiming his wand towards the fireplace, lighting it and rubbing his hands together to warm them.

Life was indeed simple here but he would have it no other way.

He frowned as frantic knocking on the door sounded before it was shoved open.

A breathless, sodden Tristan entered and pulled Gawain towards him.

"We found her," he said grimly.

"Found her?"

"Gaunt!" Tristan exclaimed. "Come on."

Gawain felt a sense of trepidation come over him as Tristan dragged him outside towards a nearby cart.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

Tristan merely shook his head.

"She did not come quietly."

Gawain raised an eyebrow.

Upon his return home several months prior, he had sent a small force of five men along with Tristan to locate Malory Gaunt.

He had not expected them to find her, let alone bring the woman here, though as he peered into the horse-drawn cart, he could see how they had managed it.

"I'm as surprised to see you as you are to see me, Peverell," Malory gasped, clutching her swollen stomach.

"Shit!" Gawain cursed as he took in the sight of the heavily pregnant woman. "Is it…?"

Malory nodded.

"You were my first and only."

Tristan remained respectfully silent, though his gaze flittered questioningly between them.

"We'd best get her inside," Gawain decided, climbing into the cart and lifting the woman into his arms. "Help me, damn you!"

Tristan complied and only a moment later, Malory was laid in front of the fire.

Gawain dried her off as best he could in his panicked state and Tristan fetched some blankets from the bed.

"How long have you been in pain?" Gawain asked.

"My water came two days ago," Malory answered tiredly. "I still fought them off until this one caught me," she added with a smirk, nodding towards Tristan.

"He does that," Gawain murmured as he tentatively peered up her blood-soaked robes. "It's coming, and soon. Tristan, get the healer."

The man nodded and fled from the house.

"They won't make it," Malory chuckled humourlessly.

"He will," Gawain said firmly.

Malory shook her head and grasped him by the wrist.

"I found it!" she whispered. "The stone, I found it."

"I wish you hadn't," Gawain sighed. "You should have gone home when you had the chance. Why couldn't you just bloody go home?"

"Where was the fun in that?" Malory returned amusedly.

Gawain could only shake his head as her grip tightened around his arm painfully.

"What did you do with it?"

"I sent it to my sister and instructed her to replace the stone in the family ring with it. She doesn't know what it is."

"What if she figures it out?"

"If I couldn't, she won't be able to," Malory assured him. "It didn't work but I could feel the magic, the same magic I felt from you. It is cold, but warm at the same time."

"You tricked me."

"I did," Malory admitted unashamedly. "I needed to escape and you were easy on the eyes. You're a good man, Peverell. Too good, and too gullible for the world beyond your lands. It would eat you alive."

"Then it's a good thing that I have no intention of leaving my home," Gawain chuckled.

Again, Malory's grip tightened around his wrist.

"She's coming!"

Gawain swallowed deeply as he set to work, positioning himself to ease the babe out when the time was right.

"You need to push," he urged, spotting the baby's crown. "Now!"

Malory pushed, though not enough.

"Again!"

"I don't think I can," Malory snorted.

"You have to! Just one strong push will do it," Gawain encouraged, doing his best to ignore the amount of blood the woman was losing. "Come on, I'm here with you."

Malory nodded as she braced herself, her already pale skin a deathly white and the sheen of perspiration on her brow visible in the firelight.

"Come on," Gawain urged once more.

Malory screamed, a sound that Gawain would never forget for the rest of his days, and this time, the room filled with the cries of the new-born.

"It's a girl," Gawain declared as he cleaned the babe with a clean cloth. "She looks just like you."

"Let me see her, Peverell?" Malory demanded weakly.

With a nod, Gawain cut the cord before placing the baby in her mother's arms.

Malory said nothing as Gawain went about attempting to stem the continuing flow of blood.

"I never thought about having children," Malory whispered. "She's so…"

"Perfect?"

Malory nodded, her eyes welling with tears as she looked upon her daughter, her expression shifting to one of sadness and acceptance as she took in the bloodied cloths around her.

"I would have loved her so much," she choked.

Gawain didn't know what to say.

Already, he could see the light leaving her eyes and he was certain that it was only the sheer desperation of wanting to cradle her daughter a little longer that kept Malory here in this moment.

"She needs a name, one that is worthy of the two families she comes from."

"Carys," Gawain suggested.

"Carys?"

"It means love in my native tongue."

"Will you love her?" Malory asked worriedly. "She will need you."

Gawain nodded.

"I need your word!" Malory demanded, taking him by the hand. "Give me your word that you will love her."

"With everything I am."

Malory met his gaze, seemingly searching for any sign of hesitation or dishonesty.

Seemingly content, her grip slackened.

"That is all I needed to know," she said with a smile. "Just love her, Gawain."

With that, she was gone and Gawain could only stare at the woman still holding on to her daughter with everything she had, even in death.

"Come Death, come," he whispered as he gently retrieved Carys and cradled her in his arms.

Gawain couldn't be certain how long he stood there just staring at the babe, but it was a hand on his shoulder that pulled him from his vigil.

"The healer is here," Tristan murmured, nodding to the village elder that was attending to Malory.

"It's too late," Gawain whispered.

Tristan nodded.

"Is it really…?"

"She is mine," Gawain confirmed. "A story for another time. Her name is Carys."

"A beautiful name," Tristan praised. "What about Gaunt?"

Gawain's gaze drifted towards the sheet that covered the woman.

"She will have her place with the rest of my family," he murmured. "She birthed a Peverell, it is only right."

It was in the early hours of the morning that Gawain dug the hole without magic before placing Malory Gaunt in her final resting place.

The journey they had shared had been brief, deceptive, and unpleasant for the most part, but the woman had gifted him the most precious thing making every second worth it.

Covering the body and turning toward Tristan who was cradling the sleeping Carys, Gawain already knew what needed to be done.

Taking his daughter, it was impossible to ignore the resemblance to her mother.

For the few moments she had been awake, even her eyes were the same shade of brilliant green, an eternal reminder of the woman that had birthed her.

"Not a word, Tristan," Gawain said firmly. "No one is to know what happened."

"How will you explain her?"

Gawain shrugged.

"I do not need to explain myself to anyone," he replied, nodding towards the babe. "When the time is right, she will know the truth."

"What about your other children?"

"They will know as much as they need to," Gawain assured his friend. "Nothing more."

He took a final look at the unmarked grave and smiled, though it was not one of joy.

"Rest well, Malory. She will be loved."

Not for the first time, Harry experienced a myriad of emotions he could not begin to comprehend when he was deposited on his bed in The Leaky Cauldron; love, sadness, loss, melancholy…

There was just so many things he needed to ponder from what he had seen, but for now, he wished only to wallow in what he felt.

He knew it wasn't healthy to do so, but he could not bring himself to rid himself of it so quickly.

No, he would endure it, but when he was ready, he knew what needed to be done.

He may have promised Dumbledore that he would be careful, but Godric's Hollow awaited him.

It was time for him to visit where it had all begun so many centuries prior.