The Guardian
Gawain braced himself for another unavoidable coughing fit as his breath hitched in his lungs.
The years had finally caught up to him, and though he wished he were not so frail and could be here for his sons and grandchildren for what was to come, he was of no use to them.
He had been bed-bound for the best part of the last four years and had needed to be cared for continuously.
Admitting that he could no longer stand unaided had been a bitter moment of acceptance, and his health had only deteriorated from there.
His hearing was not so good, and even his vision had become rather cloudy in recent months.
Nonetheless, he had long accepted that his time was nigh and he would soon follow in the steps of his own father who had walked and greeted Death so proudly.
Gawain intended to do the same, but not until he had tended to his final needs.
"Arthur?" he whispered, the voice that had once been so strong being no longer so.
"I'm here, Father," Arthur replied.
Even through his limited vision, Gawain could see the abject sadness that plagued his eldest son.
"Reach under my pillow, boy. There is something I must burden you with."
Arthur frowned as he did so, his eyes widening as he retrieved the piece of silvery fabric.
"Your cloak!"
"Your cloak," Gawain corrected with a smile, his thoughts drifting to when his own father had bestowed the garment upon him. "It is an exceptional piece of magic, and now it is yours to protect. May it keep you as safe as it has me and my father."
"I remember the story you used to tell me about this cloak," Arthur said fondly as he allowed the fabric to glide between his fingers. "That Grandfather and your uncles managed to trick Death into giving them a gift. This was what Grandfather chose."
"It is no story, Arthur."
His son looked at him sceptically and Gawain chuckled.
He too had found it difficult to believe the yarn his father had spun about summoning Death and what had happened after, but even in his advanced years, Gawain remembered vividly what he had witnessed the night Ignotus Peverell had passed on.
Death had come for him, and there was no doubt the cloaked figure would come for Gawain too.
Arthur humoured him with a smile as he adjusted his sheets.
"I expect it will be useful if our lands are invaded."
Arthur's smile faded at the mention of the rumours that were abound.
Raids had been occurring up and down the coast of Cymru and beyond the rest of the Isles. It was said those to the west were responsible, but others said the invaders came from the south.
It did not matter where. Cymru would not tolerate invasions.
"It will," Arthur agreed, his hand reaching for the pommel of the sword he'd kept tied to his belt more recently.
"Where is Glyn?" Gawain asked, not remembering seeing his younger son for a few days now.
"He took some men to scout the coast," Arthur explained. "I'm expecting him back shortly."
Gawain nodded though he could not deny he was worried that he might miss seeing him a final time.
He did not have long left.
"Any word from Carys?" Gawain asked hopefully.
It was only a matter of weeks after Gawain had been introduced to John Evans that the two of them had departed.
As Gawain had suspected, they had married and eventually settled somewhere in the South-East of England and blessed him with two more grandchildren to add to Arthur's daughter and Glyn's son who was a grown man himself now.
Over the years, Carys had returned home to Godric's Hollow only once, bringing her daughter Violet when she had been but a babe.
According to Carys, it was something of a tradition in the Evans family to name their daughters after flora.
He hadn't met Peter, her son.
Gawain suspected that Carys thought he'd be ashamed that the boy had been born a squib, but he wasn't.
Peter was as much his grandson as any of the others, and it was much to his disappointment he hadn't gotten to be blessed with his company.
Regardless, Carys was happy and had written often, and that was all that mattered to Gawain.
He had been pleased to learn that she had not travelled long.
Having heard tales of the reputation of her mother's family, she thought it best to forget the Gaunts.
Gawain had been right. The line had only worsened over the years.
Daffyd had died young some decades prior, and the Peverell name would be all but forgotten in a generation or so.
He bore no son's but two daughters who had already married their own cousins, according to what Carys had learned.
Oh how Cadmus's legacy had suffered.
Antioch has passed on without fathering any children, so, Arthur, Glyn, Carys, and their children was all that remained of the line.
"Father?"
Gawain smiled as Glyn entered the room.
"My boy," he greeted him fondly. "How are things?"
"Safe, for now," Glyn murmured. "I brought someone to see you."
It was in this moment that Gawain realised his children knew he was not long for this world, and as his only daughter entered, he knew he would die as content as his own father had.
"Carys!" he whispered excitedly, unable to prevent the tears from spilling.
Of course, Gawain adored all of his children, but it had been years since he had looked upon the face of the woman standing before him.
Carys looked terrified at the sight of him, and Gawain realised he could not be looking his best.
He truly was quite old and frail.
Far from the strong man he had once been.
"Father!" she choked as she kneeled beside him, taking one of his hands in her own.
Gawain struggled to grip it tightly, but he gave it his all.
"I'm so sorry," Carys whispered. "I should have come sooner…"
Gawain waved her off as he smiled.
"You needn't have come at all," he replied. "I do not wish to be remembered like this, but I will not pretend that I am not elated to see you."
Carys said nothing as she simply stared at him fearfully, the same way she had as a child when she sought to be comforted after a nightmare.
"You can't die," she demanded.
Gawain chuckled.
"We all must die," he declared. "Death is not something to be feared but embraced when it is your time. Come Death, come."
"What does that mean?" Arthur questioned curiously.
"I cannot say I know," Gawain snorted. "It is something my father used to say often. It is almost poetic that I was in the very same position you all are now whilst I witnessed his final moments."
"Was it as horrible as this?" Glyn asked.
Gawain nodded.
"One of the worst moments of my life, but one I would not change," he said resolutely. "It made me the man I became, and now it is my time to move on, I know that I will see him again, along with my mother. I suppose I will see your mothers too. I expect they will have a few choice words for me."
"Mother could be difficult," Arthur sighed.
"She was a good woman," Gawain declared. "I could not have asked for a better wife."
"And mine was as insane as the rest of her family," Carys huffed.
"Your mother was ambitious," Gawain countered, coughing once more. "I will not pretend to agree with much of what she did, but I choose to remember the woman I saw holding you. Birthing you changed her, Carys, and I have no doubt that had she lived, she would have been an exceptional mother."
Carys smiled, and Gawain's attention was caught by movement close to the door.
"It's here," he whispered.
"What's here?" Arthur questioned confusedly.
Gawain said nothing as the cloaked figure materialised in front of the wall behind his sons but nodded his understanding.
Death had come to claim another Peverell this day.
"My time," he said eventually. "I'm ready."
The figure approached and the last thing Gawain heard was the voices of his sons and daughter despairing over his passing.
As it had been with his father, the figure grasped him on the shoulder, and all the pain and misery that had plagued him these past years was gone.
Gawain had not managed to make it to his feet, but he accepted Death as readily as he could, and now his time truly was done.
Harry wiped away a tear as he was returned to his bed.
He had seen Gawain as a babe in arms, had watched him grow into the man he had become, and to see his passing was nothing short of a sobering experience.
These were merely visions of what had once been, but Harry could not deny the familial connection he felt towards the Peverells and losing them was akin to losing a someone he knew deeply.
He had learned so much from Gawain throughout the intervening months, and though he was pleased the man had passed on peacefully centuries ago, he felt the loss so profoundly.
Wiping away another tear, he released a deep breath, drawing his wand as he did so and circling it around himself.
Harry took only a small amount of joy from being able to place the cloak over himself as he had seen Gawain do in the vision.
It was only a bittersweet victory now where he would have been unequivocally proud of the achievement only moments ago.
With Gawain's passing, he simply knew that he would be able to do it.
With another motion of his wand, the cloak was returned to his hand and he placed it back under the pillow, sighing as he took in the weather outside.
It was miserable. Not ideal conditions for the first Quidditch match of the year.
It was raining heavily, and the wind buffeted the trees to-and-fro along the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Perhaps the game would be called off?
Harry had his doubts, and whilst the rest of his dormmates were sleeping, he worked his way through his breathing exercises in an attempt to mentally prepare himself for the match.
"Harry?" Ron called an inordinate amount of time later. "Come on, you've got to get some breakfast in you if you're going to beat Hufflepuff."
Harry nodded before readying himself and following Ron through the Common Room and into cold corridors of the castle with Hermione joining them as they did so.
It was only half-way through October, and yet, it seemed that winter was all but upon them.
The rest of the house would be sporting warm coats and scarves whilst they tried to watch the match through the storm.
Harry would be atop his broom as he attempted to seek out a minute golden ball, cold and soaking through.
It was not a favourable prospect, though he could not deny he was excited for a game of Quidditch.
"Eat," Hermione urged.
Harry didn't feel much like eating.
It wasn't the pre-match nerves that had ruined his appetite, but his experience of witnessing Gawain's passing.
How could he eat when he was in mourning?
Nonetheless, he helped himself to some toast to appease the girl, snorting derisively as Draco swaggered into the Great Hall, his arm still heavily bandaged.
It had been weeks now that the idiot had provoked Buckbeak and gotten scratched for his troubles, and he still insisted that he was injured.
He wasn't and everyone knew it, but most were too intimidated to call the boy out for his shenanigans.
Harry wasn't, and he would not see Hagrid nor Buckbeak punished because Malfoy had embarrassed himself.
Care of Magical Creatures had been exciting for that one lesson.
However, every other session had been dull.
For the most part, the class had been tending to the very few needs of Flobberworms.
The incident with Buckbeak had knocked Hagrid's confidence, and he dared not show them anything more interesting.
It was Malfoy's fault, and every time the boy smirked smugly for what he had done, Harry had to fight the urge to curse him.
Still, it was early in the year yet.
There was plenty of time for that, and Harry had no doubt the blond would give him dozens of reasons to do so before long.
"Come on, Potter," the voice of Wood pulled him from his thoughts. "It's time."
With a nod and having bid farewell to Ron and Hermione, Harry followed the seventh year out of the castle and towards the Quidditch pitch in the distance knowing that the match truly would be a miserable experience.
Harry was grateful for the temporary reprieve that the changing rooms granted, and he wasn't the only one.
The three Chasers were utterly as miserable as the weather outside and even Fred and George lacked their usual enthusiasm.
"Alright, I know we have been preparing to face Slytherin, but it's better this way," Wood spoke.
"You mean the cheating bastards won't be able to use the weather to hide what they're doing," one of the twins snorted humourlessly.
"Exactly," Wood agreed. "Harry, we could really do with you catching the Snitch early today. Diggory is a good Seeker but not as good as you. Fly rings around him and catch it. The rest of us will do our jobs."
Harry nodded his understanding.
He'd already intended on catching the Snitch as quickly as he could.
"Right, there's nothing else to say other than it's our time to remind the rest of them why we have been champions the last two years. I'd really like to win it for my last year here."
Harry hadn't thought of that.
With Wood leaving, who would take his place next year?
It would likely be Angelina.
She already took charge of the Chasers for the most part, so she would be the natural choice.
Still, the team would be down a Keeper.
Harry shook his head.
Now was not the time to consider that, not when this season was only just beginning.
"Let's get this over with then," Wood urged only a moment later, leading them from the changing and into the tunnel.
"Come Death, come," Harry whispered as he realised the conditions had scarcely improved.
"What was that?" Katie asked curiously.
"Nothing," Harry murmured. "Nothing at all."
(Break)
"How can they even see in this?" Hermione asked over the howling of the wind.
Ron shrugged, squinting as he tried to track what was occurring in the match.
At last count, Gryffindor were winning by fifty points to ten, and despite the atrocious weather, the crowd were as jubilant as ever watching the game unfold.
Hermione would not profess to be a fan of Quidditch.
Her brief foray into flying during their first year was the last time she had mounted a broom, and she had no intention of doing so ever again if she could help it.
How Harry flew the way he did, she'd never understand, and even those experienced enough in the art agreed that he seemed to defy all logic when atop a broom.
Hermione shivered and buried herself deeper into her coat.
It was exceptionally cold today. Even Scotland in October was never usually so chilly.
"Ron," she whispered as another wave of coldness washed over her.
It was different this time, though not unfamiliar.
Hermione had experienced this only once before, and as she tugged frantically on the redhead's sleeve, she scoured their surroundings.
By now, the others had noticed what seemed to be happening, and Hermione felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach as she spotted the first of the Dementors gliding amongst the Quidditch players high above.
"HARRY!" she shouted as she saw her friend appear seemingly from nowhere, flying head on into the congregating creatures.
(Break)
Albus stood as he drew his wand, furious that the Dementors had dared cross the threshold into the grounds.
He had been firm that they patrol only outside of Hogwarts.
Levelling his wand towards them, he opened his mouth to cast the spell, only to balk as a figure garbed in the scarlet robes of Gryffindor appeared amongst them.
Albus could feel it.
The coldness radiating from Harry Potter overwhelmed that of the Dementors and they scarpered with a screech, the young man pursuing firing bolt after bolt of black magic after them.
Albus's own fury paled in comparison to the expression of unadulterated rage that marred Harry's features.
It was as though he took their presence as a personal affront, and even when the Dementors had fled and he turned his attention back to the game, it was with an aggression uncharacteristic of the boy.
"Merlin, what was that?" Minerva asked.
Albus shook his head.
He had never felt anything like it.
It was one thing to witness the effect in a memory, but to feel such a coldness was something else entirely.
Whatever it was Harry had done had seemingly terrified the Dementors, and Albus could not even begin to understand just what had occurred.
"I do not know," he murmured in response.
Everyone else in the stadium were discussing the incident amongst themselves with many speculating as to what had happened.
All Albus knew was that Harry Potter possessed something that repelled the Dementors at the very least.
Perhaps there was even more to it than that.
It was impossible to say with no knowledge of what he'd done, and even as Harry snatched the Snitch from the sky bringing the game to an end, his expression of anger did not morph into one of joy at the victory for his team.
"Minerva, I would ask that you take charge in my absence for the rest of the day. I will be paying a visit to Cornelius immediately."
Minerva nodded and Albus took his leave from the stadium.
The Dementors may have been banished for now, but the Minister would be hearing of the incident.
Cornelius would not like it, but Albus wanted the Dementors gone.
Who knows what could have happened had Harry not intervened?
(Break)
It was taking considerable effort for Harry to calm himself after his encounter with the Dementors.
He did not know why they elicited such a response within him, but the anger that coursed through his veins was palpable.
He despised the foul creatures more than just about anything else he'd ever come across.
Perhaps it was that when they were near him, he could hear the pleas of his mother for Voldemort to spare his life, or it was simply that they seemed to be wishful usurpers of Death.
"Are you alright, Potter?" Wood asked as he took a seat next to him.
Harry nodded and Oliver clapped him on the shoulder.
"Thank you, for whatever it was you did," he said appreciatively. "The Dementors are nasty blighters and they could have cost us the match."
"What did you do to make them shit themselves like that?" one of the twins asked.
Harry shrugged in response.
He didn't know what he did.
It seemed to be little more than a natural reaction to their presence.
"Can you teach us?"
Harry shook his head.
"It's not something I can teach," he replied apologetically. "I think it's just something to do with my magic."
"Could be family magic," the other twin mused aloud.
"Family magic?" Harry asked.
"Some families just have an affinity for certain types of magic," Fred or George answered. "It's usually a pureblood thing. They are good at something and they keep it to themselves. It's a tradition to keep their families safe if they were to fall out with another. The Crouch's are known for their ability in magical languages, some for their skill with magical plants," he added, nodding towards Katie.
"I'm technically not a pureblood," she pointed out. "My mother is, but my father is a half-blood."
"You still inherited the ability. Maybe the Potters have their own family magic?"
Harry said nothing.
This wasn't anything to do with being a Potter. The magic that flowed through his veins was a gift from Death that had been bestowed upon the Peverells.
Is that why his magic reacted with such hostility towards the Dementors?
Did Death oppose the very existence of the creatures?
It mattered not, not really.
All Harry knew was that he had changed so much since his thirteenth birthday, in mind and in magic.
Maybe it was a combination of Death's visit to him and witnessing what he did regularly in the visions.
Regardless, he felt the differences within him.
"Anyway, party in the Common Room?" Angelina questioned.
Fred and George nodded eagerly.
"We will catch up."
"We have to get supplies. Come on Fred."
"Right behind you, George."
Harry could only chuckle amusedly.
No one knew where the twins acquired their supplies and when they were asked, they would only tap their noses in reply.
Their secrets were evidently their own, as were Harry's.
He wouldn't even know where to begin explaining all that he had learned and experienced since receiving the cloak, and judging by the last vision, it appeared that it would be Arthur Peverell he would become familiar with.
"Are you coming, Harry?"
"You can escort me back to the Common Room if you must, Little Katie."
The girl narrowed her eyes at him.
"You will stop calling me that!"
"I don't think I will," Harry decided as he stepped passed her. "I think it suits you."
Katie growled and Harry laughed as he took refuge behind the broader form of Oliver Wood who was not pleased to be placed in the middle of the disagreement, particularly when his hair was changed to a rather impressive shade of maroon.
(Break)
Sirius used the cover of the stands within the stadium to slink away, taken aback by what he had witnessed.
He'd thought that fortune was favouring him today. With a Quidditch match having been scheduled and a storm he could hide within, he'd been hopeful that he would be able to capture Wormtail.
It was not to be, however.
It was when he was making his way through the stands towards the redhead to ensure the rat was not with him that he caught sight of something that took him back to his own days at Hogwarts.
He had been so enthralled by seeing Harry fly that he had all but forgotten about his former friend.
It was just like watching James.
Harry flew so well, and in the moment, all Sirius wished for was to see his godson play Quidditch.
All had been going well until he felt them approaching.
Immediately, Sirius had begun to tremble uncontrollably, and though he knew the Dementors could not detect him in his Animagus form, he could still feel their effects.
He remembered whimpering from where he had taken refuge and then witnessing Harry of all people flying towards the creatures.
They had fled.
Sirius could not believe what he was seeing.
It was only a few moments later that the match ended, and though Sirius had squandered his opportunity to get his revenge, he did not regret how he'd spent his time.
Harry was incredible.
James had never gotten the opportunity to pursue a career in Quidditch, but maybe his son would?
As Harry's godfather, it was Sirius's responsibility to give him the best chance he possibly could, and his mind wandered to an advertisement he had seen in The Daily Prophet he had liberated from one of the bins in Hogsmeade.
His vengeance could wait another day.
Before he was undoubtedly sent back to Azkaban after finally committing the crime he had been sent away for, Sirius wanted to do something for Harry.
Cautiously, to ensure he was not seen here, he took his leave of the grounds once the stadium had emptied.
Peter would live for today, but they were indeed numbered.
He could not escape Sirius forever.
(Break)
"Albus, the public would have my hide if I removed the Dementors from Hogsmeade!" Cornelius sighed. "With what the guards heard him saying in his sleep, it would be foolish to do it."
"They entered the grounds, Cornelius. My one condition was that they did not do so."
"And they won't again, I can assure you of that," the Minister replied diplomatically. "The message will be relayed to them that they are forbidden from entering Hogwarts. I would really appreciate your support on this. Black is a dangerous man and we must be seen to be doing everything we can to apprehend him."
Albus could only shake his head as he took his leave of the office.
Cornelius would not budge.
At the very worst of times, he could be a stubborn fool.
It was fortunate that the students had only been exposed to the Dementors very briefly.
Regardless, Albus was returning to the castle as displeased as he'd left it.
It appeared that as much as he'd never coveted having it, his influence with the Minister of Magic had waned.
Albus had feared that Lucius, having escaped prosecution for his crimes, would do all he could to ingratiate himself with the administration.
The man's efforts seemed to have worked, and Albus feared for the future.
If Tom was to indeed return, as he suspected, it was likely going to be a difficult period if Cornelius remained in charge of the country.
(Break)
Once more, Harry found himself the topic of interest within the castle after all who had attended the Quidditch match had witnessed him confronting the Dementors.
Rumours of how he had repelled them had begun immediately, amongst them, the claim that he had somehow enslaved the creatures that would only listen to him.
It was a ridiculous notion, but Harry could not miss the pointing and whispers wherever he went.
"Ron, you're next," Professor Lupin instructed.
Harry looked on amusedly as the Boggart shifted into the form of an enormous spider, and what little colour Ron had to his skin vanished.
"R-ridikulus!"
The creature skittered comically on the spot as it failed to maintain its balance, and the class laughed at the sight.
It was quite the sight to behold.
Harry continued to watch as the others took their turn, pondering what it was the Boggart would turn into when he stepped up to face it.
Before he could, however, Professor Lupin jumped in front of him and banished it into the wardrobe.
"Excellent work!" the man praised. "Each of you have earned a point for your houses. Off you go to your next lesson."
Harry frowned as Lupin busied himself with cleaning up the staffroom.
"I'll catch up," he assured Hermione.
The girl left with the others, and Harry waited until the Professor was finished.
Lupin startled when he realised he was still there only a moment later.
"Is there something I can help you with, Harry?"
"Why didn't you let me face it?"
Lupin's expression fell.
"I do not think it would be wise for even an effigy of You-Know-Who to be seen within the castle."
Harry nodded his understanding, his frown deepening.
"Voldemort isn't what I fear the most," he murmured thoughtfully.
"He isn't?" Lupin probed, surprised by the revelation.
"No," Harry realised. "I don't know what the Boggart would become, but the only thing that I'm scared of is seeing the people I care about dying."
It was the truth.
As much as he was learning from the visions, having witnessed three people dying within them, it was the thing Harry had come to dread more than anything else.
Lupin was taken aback by the revelation and sat in a nearby chair.
"I hadn't even considered…"
The man had paled considerably and Harry shrugged.
"It's fine," he said dismissively.
Lupin looked at him oddly for a moment, almost as though he wished to say something, but evidently thought better of it.
"The thing with the Dementors, how do you do it?"
It was Harry's turn to be taken aback.
"I've seen it twice now," Lupin continued. "It is not a traditional defence against them, and certainly something I have never heard of."
"I honestly don't know," Harry answered truthfully.
Lupin nodded.
"Well it is effective," he chuckled. "Even the most skilled with charms struggle to fend off a few Dementors at a time. You seem to have a knack for driving away dozens."
"There's a charm for it?" Harry asked curiously.
"There is," Lupin said cautiously. "It's called the Patronus Charm. It is an exceptionally advanced piece of magic that most are unable to accomplish. It takes considerable concentration and power to achieve it in its most effective iteration."
"How does it work?"
Lupin smiled at the inquisitiveness.
"Well, the magic of the Dementors bring out the worst feelings and memories in us. The Patronus Charm acts as a guardian of sorts that is powered by our more positive feelings. Do you understand?"
"So, it is the opposite side of the same coin," Harry mused aloud. "You need to be able to concentrate on the positive emotions to allow the spell to be cast and be sufficiently powerful enough to maintain it."
Casting some types of Dark Magic Harry had read about was done so in the same way, but with the focus shift onto negative emotions.
He'd managed to cast a few of those spells, even if he didn't like how they made him feel.
"That is exactly it," Lupin whispered in surprise. "That is rather advanced magical theory, Harry."
"Can I try it?"
Lupin smiled again, almost as though he was humouring Harry as he nodded.
"There are no wand movements, but the incantation is Expecto Patronum."
"Expecto Patronum," Harry repeated as he drew his wand.
As he had become accustomed to with using similar Dark Magic spells, Harry carefully considered what memories could elicit such a feeling of joy within him.
It was no easy task, and as he had learned long ago through his practice in the Mind Arts, it was indeed easier to recall negative memories to elicit negative emotions.
Still, he would not be deterred and settled on the birth of Arthur Peverell and the sheer joy Gawain had experienced having his firstborn placed into his arms.
"Expecto Patronum," he whispered.
After only a short delay, a blinding light filled the room and Harry had to squint from the sheer brightness of it.
He couldn't help but marvel as the raw energy coalesced into a form he recognised.
"Unbelievable," Professor Lupin whispered, his gaze fixed on the thestral pawing at the ground.
The man was in utter shock, but Harry even more so.
The warmth that filled him was incredible and he held onto the feeling for several moments before allowing it to dissipate.
It truly was the opposite experience to casting Dark Magic.
Much of the time, Harry was left with something of a shadowy taint that clung to him for some time after he'd cast such spells, and it seemed that magic on the opposing side would leave him feeling quite invigorated and even pure.
It was quite the realisation, though Harry did wonder what would happen if it was implemented continuously.
Would it have a similar effect on the psyche as the overuse of Dark Magic did?
Harry didn't know, but it seemed to him that it could prove to have negative connotations in a similar way.
What they were was something he did not intend to find out for himself.
No, magic was indeed magic, but he'd quickly come to believe that neither light nor dark was more righteous than the other.
"I have never seen anything like it," Professor Lupin whispered, still shocked but coherent enough to speak. "This was your first time attempting the spell?"
Harry nodded.
"I didn't even know it existed until you told me."
Professor Lupin laughed; his eyes full of pride as he took Harry by the shoulders.
"What you just did is incredible, Harry. I can think of no one who would have managed a corporeal patronus on their first attempt."
"Corporeal patronus?"
"One that took a form," Lupin explained. "It is one thing to cast a shield successfully, but a corporeal patronus is extremely advanced magic. Very few people could manage it with years of practice. It is far beyond a NEWT level charm."
Harry didn't know what to say.
"A thestral too," Lupin chuckled. "Dumbledore's is a phoenix, but I've never seen another that is a magical creature."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Lupin replied, his smile firmly in place. "You seem to have quite the gift in Charms, or it may well be all defensive magic. Anyway, I am sorry for keeping you. You're already quite late for your next lesson. Allow me to write you a note."
The man did so, and Harry accepted the piece of parchment when he was done.
"Take twenty-five points for Gryffindor too," Lupin urged. "I am looking forward to seeing where you go from here."
Harry could only exit the room feeling rather overwhelmed by what had just happened.
Was what he had done such a big deal?
For the usually reserved Lupin to think so, it must have been, even if it hadn't been such a challenge for him.
Still, Harry was in no doubt that it was his skill in the Mind Arts that had made casting the spell possible, and it was likely if others had such a solid grounding in them, they would be able to do it too.
Not that it was likely to happen.
The Mind Arts were heavily regulated in Britain, after all.
Regardless, Harry's dedication to them had proven to be worth every second of practice, and he began to wonder just how else they would help him in his future endeavours.
(Break)
Having returned to the castle, Albus had busied himself by attending to his duties as the Headmaster of the school in a bid to keep his mind off the unsuccessful meeting with Cornelius.
He needed to find a way to ensure the Dementors stayed out of the grounds, though such an achievement would be exceedingly difficult.
So little was known about the creatures other than their ability to consume souls and the misery that lingered wherever they lurked.
Most who were unfortunate enough to encounter them were not keen on spending much time in their company, let alone for a prolonged period to study them.
Even Albus abhorred being in close proximity to them.
"Come in, Remus," he called as the werewolf knocked on the office door.
Considering the full moon would soon be upon them, the man looked well and was even smiling quite brilliantly.
"Albus, I need to discuss Harry with you."
"Has something happened?" Albus asked worriedly.
"In a manner of speaking," Remus replied. "I think it is best if you see it for yourself. May I?"
Albus gestured for the man to proceed and watched with interest as Remus added a memory to the pensieve.
With a light frown marring his features, the headmaster indulged his colleague and entered the stone basin.
What he bore witness to was nothing short of astonishing.
By all accounts, Harry's work in his core subjects, save for Potions, was exemplary and Albus had been receiving regular reports on his progress.
This, however, was something else entirely.
Not only had the boy done what even he would deem to be exceedingly improbable, Harry had proven that he was not set on a path of exploring only Dark Magic as Albus had feared.
No one who had delved so irreparably into the Dark Arts would be able to produce a patronus such as the one Harry had.
It filled Albus with hope and assuaged the concerns he'd harboured since discussing the matter with Nicholas a little under a year ago.
"That was his first attempt?"
Remus nodded enthusiastically.
"Even Lily…"
He broke off and swallowed deeply at the mention of the woman.
"She would be so proud of him," Albus said with certainty. "It is quite the feat."
Remus nodded.
"What does it mean, Albus?"
The headmaster returned to his chair, his gaze shifting towards the clock.
Lessons would be finished for the day, and there was around an hour before dinner was due to be served.
"It means that we are failing him as an educational establishment," Albus chuckled. "Would you fetch Minerva and Filius for me? I will retrieve Harry myself."
Remus nodded before hurrying from the office, and Albus followed only a moment later, heading towards the seventh floor.
"Headmaster!" the Fat Lady greeted him, surprised by his appearance.
"My dear, I have need of one of your students, if you don't mind."
"Of course, of course," the woman acquiesced, opening to allow him to enter.
The students within the common room Albus had come to know so well during his own time as one of them fell silent as they noticed him, and the Headmaster cleared his throat.
"Mr Potter, if you would follow me," he requested.
Whispering ensued as Albus turned to leave, the students speculating as to why he had personally come to fetch a student.
In truth, it had simply been much quicker for him to do so, though Albus knew he should have perhaps asked Minerva to fetch Harry in hindsight.
Still, the walk was serving him well, and it gave him a moment alone with the boy.
Harry was nervous, and Albus shot him a comforting smile.
"You are not in trouble, Harry," he reassured the boy who relaxed considerably.
"Is this about the Dementors?"
"I suppose it pertains to them," Albus answered. "All will be revealed shortly."
Harry said nothing else, and Albus led him into the office, gesturing for him to take a seat.
"I apologise for the delay," he offered. "The others will be here shortly."
"Others?"
Before Albus could answer, the door opened, admitting Remus and the curious duo of Filius and Minerva.
Evidently, the former had said nothing of the matter to them.
"Ah, thank you for coming," Albus greeted them.
"What is this about, Albus?" Minerva questioned, her gaze shifting towards Harry.
Albus smiled in response, taking no small amount of glee in the interest of his most senior staff members.
"Harry, would you kindly demonstrate what you did for Professor Lupin today?"
"You mean the…"
Albus held up his hand to cut the boy off.
"Please."
With a nod, Harry drew his wand as he stood.
"Expecto Patronum."
Albus's smile widened as the thestral appeared, the brightness eliciting protests from the watching portraits.
When it was gone, Albus received the expected reactions.
Minerva simply gaped at the boy, and Filius positively twitched with excitement at what he had seen.
"That was…"
"Incredible!" Filius squeaked, interrupting Minerva. "What you just demonstrated, Mr Potter, was nothing short of amazing. How long have you been able to do it?"
"He tried it for the first time today," Remus answered. "He did it on his first attempt. Harry asked me about the spell, and I decided to humour him. I didn't expect any results."
"Is that true, Mr Potter?" Filius asked sceptically.
Harry nodded.
"I'd never heard of it until Professor Lupin told me."
Filius bounced on the balls of his feet with excitement.
"Well, I suppose it is time," he declared.
Albus nodded his agreement.
"Time for what?" Harry pressed.
"Time that we challenged you more," Minerva interjected. "We have been monitoring you closely, Mr Potter. Professor Flitwick and I have been suitably impressed with your performance in our lessons, so it is only natural that you are to be pushed."
"Pushed?"
"We both run advanced lessons for promising students," Filius explained. "It is for those who demonstrate a particular proficiency in our subjects."
Harry's expression fell.
"I don't want to be singled out," he murmured.
"You are not being singled out, Potter," Minerva tutted. "We both have other students who have proven themselves capable. Mr Diggory from Hufflepuff is one of them, along with a few older Ravenclaw students."
Filius nodded.
"I have five seventh-years who I met with regularly," he confirmed.
"What about Hermione, she's…?"
"An excellent student," Minerva agreed, "and demonstrates a lot of promise. Miss Granger, however, already has an enormous workload with all the subjects she has chosen. When it comes to practical magic, I would say she is indeed above average, but not so much that she will begin to stagnate during her lessons."
"Oh."
"This is quite the opportunity, Harry," Albus interjected. "We would not force you, but I believe you would benefit greatly from the additional work in these subjects. You have demonstrated that you are more than capable, and I believe it would be a shame for you to not push yourself further. Tell me, do you struggle with any of the work you are assigned?"
"Not really," Harry murmured.
"Then it appears that this is the right move for you," Albus encouraged. "You will still attend your regular lessons with your peers, but you would be given additional assignments by Professors McGonagall and Flitwick to supplement your education."
"And me," Remus added. "His defensive work is already outstanding, and I can add another dimension to his work."
Albus nodded readily.
"Do you think you are up to the challenge, Harry?" he asked.
The boy seemed excited by the prospect and smiled as he nodded in return.
"I suppose there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"
Albus beamed at the boy, pleased he had accepted.
The coming months and years he had remaining at Hogwarts would be interesting to say the least, and as the Professors offered their own congratulations, Albus was already envisioning the conversation he would share with Nicholas and Perenelle.