The Link
He'd been tending to the garden that his late wife had taken so much pride in, when Carys had arrived, taking a seat, and simply watching him go about the task.
Gawain had never liked gardening, but it was his way of keeping the woman's memory alive, and as he finished pruning a particularly thorny rosebush, he turned towards his waiting daughter.
"You know, I don't think my back will take too much more of this," he chuckled.
Carys offered him a smile as she helped him into another of the chairs.
"You're not so old."
"Not yet," Gawain murmured, "but I feel the years catching up to me. Anyway, what is it you want? I know that look, girl. You didn't come here to just watch my suffering."
"I didn't," Carys agreed. "I need to speak with you, Father."
"Go on," Gawain urged.
Carys seemed to not know how to broach the subject she wished to, and she began pacing back and forth.
"I would like to travel," she suddenly declared. "I want to see the lands my mother came from."
Gawain nodded his understanding.
"Is this because of the Englishman you have been spending time with?" he asked amusedly.
Carys' eyes widened and she began stumbling over her words, frowning as Gawain began to chuckle.
"There is little that does not reach my ears," he pointed out.
"It's not just because of John," Carys denied. "He has offered to be my escort, but it is something I have been thinking about for some time now."
"I know," Gawain comforted. "I've been waiting for this day for a while now. If it is what you want, then you have my blessing. I would not keep you here against your will."
Carys positively beamed as she threw her arms around his neck and squealed.
"Thank you!"
Gawain shook his head amusedly.
Ever since the day he had revealed who her mother was, he'd expected that Carys would one day leave their lands for different pastures, and who was he to stop her?
No, he would not attempt to do such a thing, though he did have his reservations.
"Isn't he a muggle, this Englishman?"
Carys took a step back, her expression falling before it was replaced by one of stubbornness.
"He is."
Gawain hummed.
"Do you plan on telling him what you are?"
"I've not thought that far ahead," Carys answered. "John is a good man who has offered to help me. That's it."
Gawain held up his hands.
"I trust you," he assured the woman, "but I need to know I can trust your life in another man's hands if necessary."
"John is capable, Father."
Gawain relented with a nod.
Carys was very much channelling her mother and how the rest of the conversation would go was on a knife-edge.
"Okay," he placated, "but if I were you, I would avoid mentioning your mother or anything to do with the Gaunt family. They have never been well thought of, and their reputation has only suffered more in recent years. I do not expect you would be welcomed by them or the magical community at large."
"But I am a Peverell."
Gawain smiled proudly and pulled the woman into his arms.
"You are," he whispered warmly.
"Besides, I'll have to travel as a muggle anyway," Carys pointed out. "I'll tell John if the need arises. I'm not looking for trouble, Father, I just need to see it for myself."
"I know," Gawain sighed. "Do you trust this John?"
Carys nodded.
"I do."
"I would still like to meet him," Gawain instructed. "You didn't really think I would let you go without doing so, did you?"
She rolled her eyes at him.
"You mean now?" she asked when Gawain simply stared at her.
"There's no time like the present. Go and fetch him. I'm content with waiting."
Carys could only shake her head, though she did offer him a smirk before taking her leave of the garden.
When he was alone, Gawain allowed his smile to waver for the first time.
He did not want his daughter to leave. He would miss her terribly, but he knew he could not stand in her way.
Gawain had never understood that loving something meant that it should be set free, but he did now.
Besides, the prospect of Malory Gaunt haunting him in the afterlife was not a prospect he wished to consider, and he had no doubt the woman would.
He'd kept his promise to her all these years, not that it had ever been a burden, but he would not break his vow now.
It had not always been easy.
Arthur and Glynn had found it difficult to accept that he had fathered a child with a woman not their mother, but they had grown to love Carys just as much as him.
They'd both long left home and had children of their own, something that only made Gawain feel older, though he had no complaints.
The circumstances in life had not always been ideal, and it had only made him love and respect his father all the more for having raised him.
Ignotus Peverell had been there for Gawain through everything; his first steps, his first words, and even when he'd fallen ill on his thirteenth name day.
Gawain shuddered at the thought of being pursued by the cloaked figure, a memory he'd done his best to put behind him, though could never escape.
Arthur and Glynn had both experienced much the same as their magic had changed to the same cold and unyielding force.
It truly was unlike anything else Gawain had experienced, and something Carys had not seemingly inherited.
It had not escaped Gawain's notice that his daughter had never mentioned the cloaked figure nor fallen ill around the same time as he and his sons.
Perhaps it was that the Gaunt magic had seemingly taken precedence within her, or it may simply be that it did not infect the females of the Peverell family.
It was moments like this that Gawain wished his father was still here.
His magical knowledge was second to none.
"Father?"
Gawain was pulled from his thoughts by the voice of his daughter who had returned with a young man standing nervously next to her.
He seemed strong, but his brown eyes were kind.
Gawain believed you could tell a lot about someone from looking into their eyes.
John was tall too with the wiry build of someone who lived an active life.
"Hello, Mr Peverell," the man greeted him, offering a hand.
Gawain accepted the proffered limb.
"You must be John," Gawain replied. "Do you have a family name, John?"
"Evans. John Evans."
"Well met, John Evans," Gawain returned. "I understand that you wish to accompany my daughter on her travels?"
Harry gasped as he was returned to his room within the Peverell home.
"No," he whispered in disbelief.
Could it be?
He shook his head.
The Evans name was common enough, but was it not too much of a coincidence that an Englishman carrying it had wound up meeting one of his ancestors?
Harry wished so much that the vision hadn't ended there but there was nothing to be done, though he could not help but believe he had witnessed something of deep importance.
Carys was birthed by Malory Gaunt, a parselmouth, and had met a muggle named John Evans.
The two had evidently travelled to England together, and some centuries later, Harry had been born to an Evans and had the same ability to converse with snakes.
He had learned that the trait was all but unheard in Britain, other than for those who had come from the Slytherin line.
Had his mother unknowingly been born to it?
The more pressing question was whether she did know she had been?
Harry could only shake his head.
If Lily Potter had known, she certainly had not made it common knowledge.
What Harry had already concluded before seeing the vision was that whomever Malory's sibling had been had married Gawain's cousin, a son of Cadmus Peverell.
Was Harry somehow descended from Ignotus on both sides of his family?
It seemed unlikely, but the unlikely things in life seemed to happen to him, and he certainly could not ignore the inherited ability of parseltongue.
Regardless, he would get no answers by pondering it, only a headache like the one that was beginning to set in.
Today, he would be returning to Hogwarts to begin his third year of magical education. His thoughts, however, were so far removed from his schooling and had been for the past month.
The changes within him were undeniable, and though he was still adjusting to what had been done to him by the cloaked figure, he was learning more about how he was now with each passing day.
He had woken in front of the fire several hours after the odd encounter, as cold as when he had lost consciousness, but it was no longer uncomfortable.
Harry could feel it in every part of him, a comforting presence of the very same magic that his cloak had been made from.
It was almost as though he had been reborn in the days that followed, somehow different but very much the same at the same time.
It was difficult to put into words just what it was that was different about him other than the magic the cloaked figure had given him.
He could feel it in everything he did and in every spell he cast.
Truthfully, were it not for Ignotus's book, Harry would not feel so calm about all that had transpired, but the words of the man were reassuring enough that he hadn't felt the need to panic.
If you are reading this, then I can only assume that you are the descendant in which Death spoke of the night we convened. It appears that Fate has plans for you, and for that, I can only offer my deepest apology for what we brought upon you.
Had we not summoned it, perhaps things would be different.
Since that night, I have dedicated my life to understanding the magic we have been afflicted with, and the cloak I received as a gift.
I cannot say that I have been wholly successful, but I am hopeful that my ramblings will be of some use to you.
At the very least, you will have a foundation to build upon, and if Fate possesses any inkling of kindness, she will grant you time to do so before you face what she requires of you.
Live well, son of my son.
I pray to Death that they will watch over you in your times of need.
Ignotus Peverell
The book appeared as though it had been penned only the day before, and already, it had proved to be a wealth of knowledge for Harry.
Over the past month, he had digested every page several times over, and though, as he had become accustomed to, much went over his head, he knew that he would understand it all one day.
Well, he hoped.
Along with his findings, Ignotus had included a list of spells he'd managed to cast using the Peverell magic with the addendum that he believed that he had 'only scratched the surface'.
It would be up to Harry continue the man's work, something he was looking forward to including in his 'magical journey', as Nicholas called it.
Of course, he had mentioned nothing of what had occurred.
Where would he even begin explaining all he had experienced since he'd received the cloak?
The heartache, the joy, the confusion, and the knowledge were his as much as it was his ancestor's, and Harry got the impression that it was not to be shared.
Even when he considered mentioning it to Nicholas or anyone else, it was as though the magic itself warned him against it.
In this and likely many other things to come, Harry was in it alone, and in truth, he preferred it that way.
What the cloak had shown him was the closest thing he'd ever experienced to having a family, and though perhaps it was selfish, he wanted it all to himself.
"Harry, it is time for breakfast," Perenelle called from the other side of the door.
"I'll be there in just a minute," he assured the woman.
As her footsteps faded down the hall, Harry double-checked that he had packed everything before making his way into the kitchen.
Again, he'd had to purchase new robes due to him growing considerably over the past year.
By the end of term, his old ones were a little too short, and as the summer ended, they had only gotten shorter, the hem swinging above his ankles.
"Good Morning," Perenelle greeted him warmly, her gaze roaming over him speculatively as it always did.
"Good morning," Harry returned, whispering an incantation, and presenting her with a rose.
Perenelle tutted amusedly and Nicholas chuckled.
"She will keep that," the man assured him.
Perenelle quirked an eyebrow at her husband as she placed the flower into a vase.
"You're not jealous are you, Nicholas?" Harry quipped. "I can always conjure a flower for you if you're feeling left out."
"Oh, he thinks he's funny," Nicholas grumbled good-naturedly as Perenelle laughed. "Eat your breakfast before you say anything else that will land you in trouble. You should never mess with an alchemist, Harry. We play with chemicals for fun."
"I was trying to be nice," Harry sighed dramatically.
Nicholas hummed, the corner of his lips tugging into a smirk.
As ever, Harry knew he would miss the Flamels.
They had been so gracious to him, had given him a home and taken care of him like no one else.
One day, he would make it up to them.
Today, however, it was time to return to school where he would have new subjects to begin studying.
Still, he could not ignore the dark cloud that hung over him.
Sirius Black remained at large and although Harry was not foolish enough to seek the man out, he'd never forget what Black had done to his parents.
(Break)
King's Cross was as busy as any other time Hermione had visited throughout her life. When she had been younger, she often came to the station enroute to visiting one of the many museums London had to offer with her parents, all before she had learned that she was a witch.
Some of her happiest memories had been leading her father on a tour through the archives, speaking animatedly about the exhibitions, much to the man's amusement.
It all seemed so long ago now, however.
She would be fourteen in only a few short weeks, long passed the age where she needed her parents to accompany her here.
They did still when Hermione was returning to Hogwarts.
It had been quite the adjustment for her parents with Hermione being absent for much of the year.
She scanned the crowd, looking out for either a large group of redheads, or the darker hair of her other friend.
Harry hadn't made it on the train last year, but he'd assured her in one of his letters that he would be here today.
"Boo."
The word was whispered, but Hermione all but jumped out of her skin and turned, finding herself looking up at a chuckling Harry.
"You bloody prat!" she huffed, her eyes widening at how different he looked.
He was taller, that was plain to see, but he didn't look much like the boy she had met during her first year of Hogwarts.
Harry was no longer unhealthily thin nor timid but stood firm and confidently.
He looked older too, but there was something else about his presence that Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on.
"Nice to see that you missed me," he said dryly. "Hello, Mr Granger."
Hermione's father offered Harry a nod, doing his utmost to hide his smirk.
"You're blushing, young lady," he observed.
"He scared the life out of me!" the girl defended irritably. "Don't do that again!"
Harry grinned in response.
"Ron's late?"
"Isn't he always?" Hermione returned.
Harry nodded, turning towards Hermione's mother as she cleared her throat.
"You must be Harry. Hermione has told us a lot about you."
"Nothing bad, I hope?"
Her mother shook her head.
"Are there bad things we should know about?"
Harry held up his hands innocently.
"No," he denied.
Hermione's mother hummed, her eyes twinkling in amusement.
"Come on, we will wait for him on the train," Hermione muttered, bidding her parents farewell as she all but dragged Harry through the divide between platform nine and ten.
"Good luck getting a compartment," Harry grumbled noticing that most of the students had already boarded the Express.
"We'll find something," Hermione assured him as she led the way onto the train.
They wandered down the length of the carriages, all which were indeed occupied. It wasn't until they reached the very last one that they found one man inside.
"Should we leave him?"
"And sit where?" Hermione asked. "Oh, nice of you to show up," she added to a breathless Ron who had seemingly just made it before the train had departed.
The redhead muttered something about the twins causing trouble with Percy.
"Who's that?" he asked, noticing the stranger.
"Professor R.J. Lupin."
"You know him?"
Hermione rolled her eyes as she pointed at the battered suitcase the slumbering man clung to.
"Do you think we should wake him up?"
Hermione shook her head.
"He must be tired if he's sleeping through that racket," she whispered as she closed the door behind them. "Best leave him be."
It wasn't ideal to share the compartment with a sleeping professor, but the trio made the best of it by catching up with what they had been up to during the summer, though as ever, Harry spoke little of his time away from school.
"What about this Black business?" Ron whispered excitedly. "When we went to the alley, it was crawling with aurors."
Harry's expression had darkened very briefly at the mention of the man, but when Hermione looked again, he appeared to be normal enough.
Black's escape had shaken wizarding Britain to the very core.
Being the first prisoner to ever escape and doing so with none the wiser as to how he had managed it was deeply unsettling.
"The aurors will catch him, won't they?" Hermione asked.
Ron shrugged.
"They haven't yet, and it's been weeks. Merlin knows where he is now."
Hermione frowned.
She was certainly no auror, but she too was wondering just how Sirius Black had managed such a feat, and why now?
Had it taken him the best part of twelve years to plan his escape?
"Are we there already?" Ron questioned, checking his watch as the train began to slow.
Seeing out of the windows was almost impossible with how much rain was falling, but they couldn't possibly be at Hogsmeade yet.
"Bloody hell it's cold," Ron muttered as he began to shiver.
It had come so suddenly, and Hermione felt as though she had been plunged into a freezing bath, though the chill was not merely skin-deep. She felt it in her very core, and an overwhelming sense of fear and sadness washed over her as her most unpleasant memories came to the forefront of her mind.
"W-what's h-happening?" she stammered.
None replied, but Harry's eyes narrowed as he stood, drawing his wand.
Out of the three of them, he was the only one that didn't seem to be suffering from effects of whatever was occurring.
Hermione watched him closely as his grip tightened around his wand and his nostrils flared as though he was waiting for something.
"H-Harry?"
He said nothing but held up a hand and Hermione recoiled in her seat as the door was slid open with considerable force.
Before Harry was a cloaked figure, and the emotions she was experiencing became overwhelming.
"Leave!" Harry snarled angrily.
The room somehow grew colder as he spoke, though it was not the same kind of coldness that permeated from the creature.
It was oppressive, dangerous even, but Hermione did not feel threatened by it.
"Get out!" Harry spoke again.
The cloaked figure seemed to listen to him, and Hermione would later swear that she had even seen it offer her friend a bow before it did as it was bid.
When it was gone, Harry slammed the door shut, and slowly but surely, the warmth began to return.
"Now, that was quite impressive," a voice spoke.
Professor Lupin had evidently woken up during the altercation, and he stared at Harry in a mixture of shock and curiosity as he held his own wand.
"It is not the traditional way to defend yourself against a Dementor, but quite effective, apparently. What did you do?"
"Nothing," Harry denied immediately.
It was clear that Lupin did not believe him, nor did Hermione for that matter, but she knew they would get nothing from Harry.
"Here, it will make you feel better," the professor spoke as he offered squares of chocolate around to the those in the compartment.
Harry refused the chocolate, his look one of irritation as he pondered what had just happened.
"I will return shortly," Lupin announced. "I wish to have a word with the driver."
The man left and the train continued on its way towards Hogsmeade, reaching the station after a silent final leg of their journey.
Lupin did indeed return but did not try to engage them in further conversation, and judging by Harry's expression, he was in no mood to talk.
"First years!" Hagrid's booming voice echoed across the platform as they departed the train.
"How do we get to the castle?" Harry asked.
"Carriages," Ron replied, nodding to where they would be located.
Harry merely nodded in response and followed the redhead.
Hermione had seen him change over the past two years that she'd known Harry, but the most recent ones were undoubtedly the most drastic.
What had happened to him?
She watched with interest as he hesitated when they reached the carriages and was confused as he approached the front.
"What are these?" he whispered.
"What are you talking about, mate?" Ron huffed. "There's nothing there."
Harry reached up and began seemingly petting something quite large.
"You can't see them?"
"Thestrals!" Hermione said in realisation. "I read that they pull the school carriages in Hogwarts: A History."
"Thestrals?"
Hermione nodded as she tried to remember what little she had learned about the creatures.
"They're supposed to be bad luck," she murmured sadly. "People can only see them if they have seen death."
Harry's gaze snapped towards her.
"Death?"
Hermione swallowed deeply.
"If they have seen someone die."
Harry seemed to relax somewhat as he continued petting what only he could see for another moment before whispering something to it.
"Come on, I'm starving," Ron groaned.
A moment later. They were trundling towards the castle where Harry was once again silent.
Of course he could see the thestrals. He had seen his mother die before he'd turned two.
Did he remember that?
Hermione did not see how, but the evidence was clear, and more than ever, she felt terrible for what had happened to her friend.
If he could see the Thestrals, he undoubtedly did remember it in some capacity.
Taking his hand, she gave it a sympathetic squeeze, not knowing what else to say.
"It's fine," Harry said dismissively as he squeezed it back, and despite the undeniable changes of her friend, Hermione took confidence in knowing the same boy she had met on her first day at Hogwarts was still very much there.
(Break)
Sirius gazed at the castle in the distance, his hackles raised knowing that he was so close, yet so far from the rat.
He had arrived in Hogsmeade more than a fortnight ago now.
Often, he found that he still had to live off the land, but there was much more opportunity for him to scrounge the scraps thrown out by the woman who ran The Three Broomsticks and sometimes some cake from Madam Pudifoot's.
He did have access to the cellar of Honeydukes, but he did not wish to draw attention to stock going missing by taking too much.
No, life was not grand here, but it was much better than travelling the length and breadth of the unknown parts of the country.
Still, he needed to plan his next move.
Wormtail would flee at the first whiff of him, and Sirius's efforts would have been for nothing.
He would watch for some time and strike when it was right to do so.
(Break)
The feast had been as welcoming as ever, and though Katie had met with Angelina and Alicia over the summer break, she was glad to be back at Hogwarts with them for another term.
It wasn't that she didn't enjoy being at home with her family, but her oldest brother had already moved out, and Chris, the middle of the three of them, had lost interest in playing Quidditch altogether.
Katie didn't see much of her parents outside of work.
Her father worked in The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and her mother ran the magical plants business as a Herbologist.
Unless she went to work in the shop, she spent much of her time alone flying in a nearby magical park.
Not that she had anything to complain about.
She loved flying.
"Are you ready for another win this year?"
"Already, Oliver?" Katie huffed. "I've not even unpacked my bras and you're already getting on my case?"
"Champions never rest," Wood said dismissively. "Oi, Potter. Come here."
Katie watched as Harry approached, a questioning frown marring his features.
He'd grown a lot over the summer, and as Katie stood to see just how much, she pouted.
"What's wrong with you?" Harry asked, noticing her expression. "Has Wood upset you already."
"That's nothing new," Katie muttered. "You got taller."
Harry nodded.
"Well, I wasn't going to stay that small, was I?"
Katie scowled at his sarcastic tone.
"She's upset because we can't call you Little Harry anymore," Angelina interjected.
Harry grinned as he realised he was around an inch or so taller than Katie now.
"I can just call you Little Katie," he declared, patting her on the head.
"You'd better not!" Katie warned as the others laughed at her expense.
"Oh, how the tables have turned," Harry said gleefully before turning his attention to an amused Oliver.
"Can you still play Seeker?" the older boy asked seriously.
Katie and the other Chasers rolled their eyes collectively.
Of course Oliver would shift the conversation to Quidditch.
"Why wouldn't I be able to?" Harry asked.
"You're taller," Wood sighed. "It will affect how you fly."
"I can fly just fine," Harry assured him. "I was doing it yesterday without any problems."
Wood breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good, because first practice is tomorrow night. Seven o'clock. Don't be late," he added to the group before taking his leave.
"Bloody hell, he's keen," Harry grumbled as he shook his head and headed back towards the twin's little brother and the girl he spent most of his time with.
"What happened to him?" Alicia asked.
"He got taller," Katie pointed out.
"And quite handsome," Angelina added with a smirk.
Katie grimaced.
"That's Little Harry you're talking about," she reminded them.
"He's not so little anymore is he, Little Katie?"
Katie growled as she threw a pillow at her fellow Chaser.
"Don't call me that!"
Angelina held her hands up to protect herself from another projectile.
"We won't," she giggled.
"But Harry will," Alicia added amusedly.
Katie narrowed her eyes at both girls who seemed determined to annoy her.
"I'll tell him what you said," she threatened.
Angelina shrugged.
"I'll tell him myself," she replied before turning towards where Harry was sitting. "Potter?"
"What?"
"Alicia said you're looking hot!" she called across the room.
Harry immediately turned red and did his best to melt into the background whilst Alicia could only look on aghast at what her friend had done.
"I can't believe you!" she hissed. "You said he was hot!"
Angelina merely shrugged and looked rather pleased with herself.
Katie continued to watch Harry who had been set upon by the twins who were undoubtedly doing their best to wind him up some more.
He did look good.
Harry was not half as shy as he used to be, and he was growing up to be a good-looking boy.
Katie shook her head of that thought and shot a glare at Angelina.
She wouldn't even have noticed if her so-called friend had not said anything.
(Break)
"You saw it?" Remus asked as Albus emerged from the pensieve.
"I did," Albus whispered.
In all of his years, he had never heard of a Dementor behaving in such a way let alone seen it for himself.
It had listened to Harry and had even bowed before him.
"What does it mean, Albus?" Remus asked.
What did it mean?
Albus had long believed that the true power of the Hallows was not simply within the objects themselves, but in the very blood of the Peverells.
The headmaster could not even begin to comprehend the reasoning behind the outcome of the interaction between Harry and the Dementor, but he suspected that it had something to do with his bloodline.
"I do not know," he sighed. "It is something I must look into, Remus. For now, mention it to no one. I will speak with Harry when the time is right."
Remus did not seem certain, but he acquiesced with a nod before taking his leave of the office.
Albus leaned back in his chair as he pondered the boy.
There was undoubtedly something different about Harry Potter. What that was, he didn't know, but it became more obvious with each passing year that he would not prove to be a normal student.
Albus was interested in seeing just how the boy would grow and change over the coming years.
(Break)
There was something comforting about waking up in his bed at Hogwarts.
For Harry, it meant that he was home, though the same could be said of Godric's Hollow. He had spent so much time there throughout the visions that it had begun to feel like that.
Perhaps when he got around to addressing what remained of the house he had been born in, he would find himself living in the village when he was older.
That, however, was for another day.
Thus far, he'd already worked through his Occlumency exercises, something that came much easier since he had placed the diary in the pouch he had purchased from Diagon Alley.
Still, he did feel the benefit of having been exposed to the magic for such a prolonged period of time.
His mind felt stronger, and his regular practices took considerably less time to complete.
Progress.
He had been studying the Mind Arts for only a little over a year and felt he was doing well.
Harry was far from being an expert, but he no longer felt like a complete novice.
Something that proved to be useful the previous evening.
His expression darkened at the memory of the Dementor entering their carriage.
He had felt it just like the others; the oppressive coldness wash over him, and even heard the screaming of his mother as his worst memory was brought to the forefront of his mind.
Harry managed to prevent the effects taking hold of using his rudimentary skill in Occlumency.
At first glance, he had thought that it was the cloaked figure itself that had arrived, but no.
The coldness of the Dementor was not the same, not as strong, and certainly not as intimidating.
At best, it was a facsimile of Death, nothing more.
It was odd how angry its presence had made Harry.
To him, it was as though the creature made a mockery of Death, and it resonated quite deeply within him.
Death was much more than a cloaked figure pretending to be something it wasn't. Death was the creator of the Hallows and the reaver of souls, the gatekeeper for this world and the next.
The Dementors were thieves.
They had no right to feast upon the souls that did not belong to them.
They belonged to Death and should be returned to him upon someone's passing.
An abomination.
That was what the Dementors were, and Harry would not stand to have them in his presence.
Much to his surprise, however, it had listened to his command to leave them be, evidently realising that it was indeed no match for the magic Death created.
"Is it time to get up?" Ron asked sleepily, pulling him from his thoughts.
"It was time to get up about half an hour ago," Harry chuckled. "Hermione is going to be furious if you make her late to get her timetable."
Ron cursed under his breath as he all but jumped out of bed and began rifling through his trunk.
"Why didn't you wake me up?"
"I tried," Harry replied with a shrug.
Ron scowled as he got dressed and made a token effort to tame his hair.
"Come on," Harry urged as he chuckled.
Hermione was pacing back and forth in front of the fire as they arrived in the almost empty common room.
"We're going to be late!" she huffed irritably as she headed towards the portrait hole.
"Told you," Harry murmured.
Ron could only shake his head as they followed the girl, and with the pace Hermione had set, they reached the Great Hall in record time.
"Watch out, Alicia's there," Ron teased, nodding to where the Chasers were seated.
"Shut up," Harry muttered, doing his best to ignore the redhead's teasing.
Fred and George had been bad enough the night before. He certainly didn't need it from Ron.
Harry wished Angelina hadn't said anything.
He knew the girl was only joking, but the twins would use it against him for weeks.
"There's Casanova," one of them called.
"Bugger off," Harry replied as he took his seat.
The twins guffawed and Harry again did his best to ignore them. No easy feat when they insisted on blowing kisses at him across the table.
"Gits."
Ron nodded his agreement.
"I've been telling you that since we met," he pointed out.
"Professor McGonagall is coming!" Hermione whispered excitedly.
The woman reached them only a moment later and began consulting a sheet of parchment.
"Mr Weasley, you have Divination first this morning," she informed Ron before tapping a blank sheet with her wand and handing it to him.
"Mr Potter, it is Ancient Runes for you with Professor Babbling."
Harry nodded as he accepted the piece of parchment, excited for his foray into studying Runes.
"Miss Granger, this is your timetable."
Hermione took the parchment, glanced it over and placed it within her robes, smiling brightly as Professor McGonagall moved along.
She spent the next several minutes fidgeting restlessly in her chair until Harry finished his breakfast before he relented and was pulled from the hall, managing only to wave Ron goodbye.
"We've got ages yet," Harry groaned.
"We want to get good seats, don't we?"
Harry could only shake his head.
They were indeed the first to arrive, followed by who Harry could only assume was Professor Babbling around five minutes before the lesson was due to start.
She was a young woman, much younger than any other Professor within the castle, and was rather attractive.
"My, you are keen," she commented amusedly, flicking her blonde, wavy hair over her shoulder. "You can wait inside if you like?"
Hermione didn't need a second invitation, and Harry once more felt himself being dragged by the girl until he was placed in a seat at the front of the classroom.
It wasn't so long after that the other students began to arrive, mostly Slytherins and Ravenclaws, but Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff joined them.
"Welcome," Professor Babbling greeted warmly when they were all situated. "We will begin today with an introduction in the Study of Ancient Runes and where we will begin. Now, it is a complex branch of magic and breakthroughs are always being made. I will make you aware of any of these that will affect your time here."
Already, Hermione was scribbling away on a piece of parchment, taking down every word that was spoken.
"Can anyone tell me what runes are used for?"
Immediately, Hermione's hand shot up.
"Runes are used for several tasks and creations. They can be incorporated into enchantments or used as a standalone branch to erect powerful, magical protections. They can also be used in ritualistic magic and for offensive purposes."
"Excellent," Professor Babbling praised. "That is indeed several ways in which they can be used, but it is not as simple as carving them into something and activating them. Runes are very much adaptable and will change when paired or grouped with other particular runes from the same alphabet, and more so when used in conjunction with other groups entirely. It is a very dangerous undertaking becoming a Runemaster, and your theoretical work must be outstanding before attempting anything of a practical nature. Many have lost their lives because they made an amateur miscalculation, and I would prefer that it didn't happen to any of you."
Professor Babbling's warning was an ominous one, but Harry knew not to take it lightly.
"As we progress through the syllabus over the next five years, you will gain an understanding of several runic languages, how they behave when incorporated with others, and even how the concept of magical numbers is an important factor in creating runic arrays."
Hermione raised her hand once more and Professor Babbling gestured for her to speak.
"What are magical numbers, Professor?"
Babbling nodded thoughtfully, evidently trying to find the best tway to explain it.
"Magical numbers are a simple enough concept and are a proven determining factor in runic undertakings. For example, it is agreed upon by Runemasters that the numbers three and seven often produce the strongest outcome when implementing runes. So, you could take three groups of three runes from three languages and arrange them in three different arrays to create an effect. That runic creation would be stronger than if you replaced the number three with the number five because of its magical properties. Do you understand?"
"But what makes a number magical?"
Professor Babbling smiled at the question.
"No one truly knows," she replied. "As I said, the study of ancient runes is forever changing."
"What other magic numbers are there?" Harry asked.
"Well, there are many that have been proven, but it is not only just the number itself that must be considered. It is how that number relates to runic arrays, magical conduits, and even time in many cases."
"Time?"
Babbling nodded.
"Often, time denotes into seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and rarely, years and decades when it comes to runic magic, and other branches. Some practitioners are so superstitious that they will only undertake any physical work if the timing coincides with what they are doing. If we take our groups of three concept and add the factor of time, most will choose to carry out that particular task on the third hour of the third day of the month. Those who are even more cautious would wait until the third month too. Not only does it make the work safer, but also stronger."
Harry was surprised by how deeply the subject was considered even before anything was attempted.
"What about the number thirteen?" he asked curiously.
Babbling's smile widened.
"The number thirteen is considered to be quite unlucky in many cultures, but it has proven to have exceptional power when it comes to runic magic, especially when used within rituals. Unfortunately, such magic is heavily frowned upon by the Ministry of Magic, and much of it has been deemed illegal under the same laws of practicing the Dark Arts."
"It's considered a Dark Art?" Hermione asked.
"It is, and for good reason, I suppose," Professor Babbling sighed. "Many people have abused this type of magic, and the consequences can be extremely dire. Where Mr Potter's question comes into it is that the number thirteen, although a bad omen, is widely believed to be the most optimal magical number that has been explored to date."
Was that why the cloaked figure had come to him on the thirteenth hour of his thirteenth birthday?
Harry had his doubts that both things were coincidental, and though his brain was already awash with all the new information he had learned already, he knew he had made the right choice by studying Ancient Runes.
It was already proving to be quite the fascinating topic and one that was raising more questions than answers.
He was very much looking forward to seeing what he could achieve when he became competent in the art.