Wedding
'Just because the dragon claw didn't work as intended, it doesn't mean your potion is a failure. It certainly does something, we just don't know what it is yet.'
'Are you going to risk drinking it?'
Salazar chuckled as he shook his head.
'Not even Godric would risk it. What do you think the brew needs.'
'Something as equally powerful, less potent, and less volatile,' Morgana mused aloud as she eyed the deeply red and viscous brew she'd created.
The magic emanating off the potion screamed of danger, but she would not be deterred from determining exactly what it was she'd created in lieu of an elixir that would replenish lost blood.
Perhaps she would find a rat or something similar.
Maybe a pig would be better.
It's anatomy was similar enough to a humans to get an accurate understanding.
For now, however, she wished to focus her effort on the task at hand.
She'd been so close to achieving what she had set out to do, until she'd added the dragon claw.
It had inexplicably changed the nature of her potion to something completely unintended.
'Unicorn horn,' she whispered in realisation before hurriedly sketching a formula.
For several moments, she scratched away with her quill, adding and removing different elements to her equation.
'That would balance it out, but I would need something to temper the iron. Maybe some extra fig leaves would help with that, and some peppermint added to the salamander blood would help. Unicorn horn!'
'Are you certain?'
Morgana shook her head.
'No, but alchemically, it makes sense. We both know that theoretical formulas don't always produce the expected results.'
'But you never know until you try. I will procure some horn for you.'
For almost three months, Morgana had been tending to her brew.
The process could be made shorter, but for now, she did not wish to compromise her work by attempting to do so.
If and when she created the intended brew, she could look into consolidating the process considerably, but until then, she would cut no corners.
Her attention to detail had to be precise until the very end.
"Here goes," she murmured, stirring the cauldron a final time before sprinkling in the powdered unicorn horn.
For a moment, nothing happened, but soon enough, a red smoke began to roll off the top of the potion and Morgana removed the pot from the fire.
The liquid was as viscous as her previous effort, but it was not bubbling and swirling violently, and Morgana felt nothing troubling coming from the concoction.
The magic flowing through it was gentle and somehow comforting, and as she scooped a measure of it into a glass phial to inspect, a sense of excitement filled her.
Whatever the potion would do would not be harmless to her, but whether or not it would act as intended remained to be seen.
All that was left was to test it.
It was the most dangerous part of the process and as Morgana made the preparations to do so, she felt herself filled with a sense of trepidation.
"Knife," she murmured, placing the blade she'd enchanted for this eventuality on a length of fabric she'd laid out. "Potion, dittany, wand."
With each item being placed, she picked up the blade and released a deep breath before drawing it deeply across the palm of her left hand.
At worst, the inflicted wound would stop bleeding after around a minute, but until then, the blood would flow freely.
It was with a morbid fascination that Morgana allowed it to pool on the floor below her, and after only a moment, she felt the light-headedness of blood loss begin to make her vision blur.
Still, she waited until the wound healed over before clumsily reaching for the potion, breathing heavily as she drained the phial.
After such a loss of blood, she would feel quite unwell for several days whilst she recovered, but it was only a matter of moments later that the sickness began to pass and she could see clearly once again.
Her breathing remained laboured for some time after, but Morgana laughed triumphantly.
"It worked," she whispered. "It really worked."
She stumbled as stood from where she'd collapsed to her knees.
There was a weakness that lingered, but with each passing second, she felt only better and better.
"What the hell happened?" Harry asked as he caught her, preventing Morgana from falling to the ground.
"It worked," she declared proudly. "My potion worked."
"What potion? Is that blood?"
"Don't worry, I won't let it go to waste," Morgana assured him dismissively,
Harry cursed under his breath as he helped her to sit on a nearby log.
"That's a lot of it," he commented, tearing a piece of his robe away and pressing it against her palm. "I know I'm not exactly great with potions, but isn't it stupid to test them on yourself?"
Morgana shrugged.
"Only if you don't know what you're doing. Harry, I'm fine."
He nodded before shaking his head.
"You know, it's usually people having to worry about me doing stupid things. Maybe there's a little Gryffindor in you," he teased.
Morgana grimaced.
"It's not so brave when there is no danger," she pointed out.
"I'd still rather you didn't take stupid risks."
"Look who's talking," Morgana scoffed. "Aren't you the idiot who ran headlong into fight with a group of Danes in the middle of a burning village?"
"That was different."
"No, it was even riskier and stupid than I did, which means that you are stupider than mer."
"Fine," Harry conceded with a chuckle. "How're you feeling?"
"A little sick still, but it worked, Harry. This potion could save so many lives!"
"And there was me thinking you only wanted to end them."
Morgana tutted and narrowed her eyes at him as he grinned.
"Not all, but there are a few people I wouldn't hesitate in killing."
"Am I on that list?"
Morgana hummed thoughtfully.
"No," she admitted quietly. "You'd be at the very bottom of that list."
"But still on it."
"Shut up," Morgana grumbled. "Help me harvest the blood before it is unusable."
Harry released a deep sigh before doing so.
When he was done, he held up a considerable amount of her life force and looked at it curiously.
"What will you do with it?"
"The possibilities are endless," Morgana mused aloud. "I could create more protections for my home, use it for ritualistic magic, and could even turn you into my permanent slave if I could get enough of it into you," she finished with a grin.
"You could really do that?"
Morgana frowned thoughtfully.
"Maybe not with just blood," she sighed, "but if I was to attach a significant portion of my soul with the blood, maybe. That's not something I would even consider trying, so you have nothing to fear. Only a damned idiot would mess with their soul. You're lucky yours is in one piece."
"Why?"
"You were hit with the Killing Curse," Morgana answered. "Although it is still debated amongst scholars it is widely believed that the curse tears the soul from the body of the victim. It doesn't leave any other damage. They've even dissected victims of the curse to check. There are no physical indications of death other than the body is lifeless."
"What would happen if my soul was damaged?" Harry asked worriedly.
"Well, you probably wouldn't even be alive," Morgana answered with a frown. "You'd certainly be lacking things that makes you who you are. Not many people mess with their soul, Harry, and those that do inevitably meet an unpleasant end. That is why I would never delve into such magic. It is as dangerous as anything else."
Harry nodded, relieved by the explanation.
"Anything from the fairies?" he asked with a grin.
Morgana shook her head irritably.
The little creatures remained in what she discovered to be unbreakable glass. The top could not be removed, and there was seemingly no other way to free them.
It had become quite point of frustration over the past few months.
"Nothing," she huffed.
What only made it more frustrating was that Harry had explained nothing pertaining to the ethereal woman who'd appeared briefly in the lake,
Evidently, they had already met, but he remained tight-lipped whenever Morgana mentioned her
She understood that he had his secrets.
She certainly had her own too, but knowing only part of what was undoubtedly an interesting, magical story was rather irritating.
"Here," Harry said, pulling her from her thoughts as he handed her two large vials of her own blood.
Morgana was unsure what she would do with such a large quantity of something so useful, but she would inevitably concoct another experiment before long now that her potion was complete and in working order.
"So, it replenishes blood that is lost?"
Morgana nodded.
"That's exactly what it does," she confirmed, shivering as a cold chill cut through the trees.
She cast a warming charm on herself and pulled a cloak over her shoulders.
Morgana enjoyed the forest in the colder months.
The wildlife and foliage changed with the seasons, and it was her favourite time of year when it snowed and she would see the creatures born in spring venturing out of their dens to feed.
"It's the Winter Solstice. That's why you did it tonight."
"It is," Morgana confirmed with a smile. "I don't think it is necessary, but I wanted to give it the best chance of working."
"Well, it did," Harry pointed out. "What will you work on next?"
"I'm not sure," Morgana answered thoughtfully. "But since it is the Winter Solstice, maybe we should take advantage of the extra magic in the air."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Meditation. We still have to discover if there is a wild creature in there somewhere," she laughed, prodding Harry in the chest.
(Break)
'I am trying to build a world that we can exist without being persecuted against, Phillip. Surely you have experienced your share of ridicule and hatred from muggles on your travels.'
'I have, but I have also the deceptive and violent nature of muggles. They will never accept us. They would sooner treat us as animals, as beasts to be caged and slaughtered at their whim. I have seen that for myself too.'
Myrddin nodded.
"But Britain could be different…'
'Or much of the same.'
'I prefer to believe the latter. If we can live side by side in harmony…'
Strenger cut him off with a bark of laughter.
'To them, we are monster, the spawn of their hell.'
'What choice do you have but to assist me?'
'None.'
'Then I expect your assistance. I will continue guiding Arthur on his rightful path, and you will recruit our own kind. You may even give them a reason to join us, Phillip. I leave how you bring other magicals to our cause at your own discretion.'
Phillip frowned.
'You want me to stir up trouble?'
'I did not say that,' Myrddin said with a grin, 'but if it helps our cause, I will not be upset with you. When the time is right, Phillip, I will send for you to join me where you will be needed most. Arthur will be king, and our kind will have our place in the society he builds.'
Phillip was not convinced what Myrddin believed in would come to pass, but he had given his word to help the man, and he was not hard-pressed to find the desire to create chaos in Britain.
With a few clever spells Myrddin had shown him, he resembled a new man, and even adopted a new name.
For now, Phillip Strenger was no more and had been replaced by Pelleas, a man raised abroad by parents who had fled their home from a Saxon attack some years prior.
Phillip was well-travelled enough for none to doubt him, and in truth, he needed a new life after what had transpired in Hogsmeade.
He'd not intended to kill Helena.
He only wanted the young woman to return to the continent with him, and yet, his fury at her refusal to do so had been palpable.
Phillip did not remember drawing his sword, nor plunging it into the woman's heart.
The incident had gone by in a blur, and all he remembered from the moment was looking down in horror as he removed his blade from her chest before he'd fled.
Phillip swallowed deeply.
He had cared for Helena deeply, but she was gone now, and for him, life would go on; a different life than he had envisioned, but a life, nonetheless.
"Here, have another one of these. You're looking rather thoughtful again. The ale will make you forget."
Phillip nodded appreciatively as he drained his cup.
The serving woman in the tavern had been nothing but the perfect host since he'd been frequenting the place over the past week or so.
Phillip wasn't here to drown his sorrows.
He was here to learn of how the business was run; when it was at its busiest, and when it would close for the evening.
The tavern was just another target for him and those he'd sent for on the continent.
There were twelve of them in all, and three others he'd recruited along the way.
Out of the fifteen, only three were magical, but it was more than enough to cause problems for any establishment.
Six across the length and breadth of the country had been destroyed, and his group were garnering more than their share of attention.
With a nod of gratitude, Phillip placed a coin on the bar before leaving.
If Myrddin wanted chaos, the man would have more chaos than he could ever imagine.
"Shall we burn it?"
"No, not yet," Phillip replied to the disappointment of his recruits. "Not until the place is full. It will not take long."
True to his word, groups of locals began to arrive in drips and drabs, and before long, the previously quiet tavern was alive with loud chatter, singing, and the sounds of merriment.
"Bar the doors," Phillip instructed when he was satisfied no others would be coming.
His men set to work with fast efficiency, and when they had finished, he hurled a plethora of fireballs towards the tavern, nodding to himself as the desperate screams began filling the air.
"Where to next?" one of the men asked.
"Anywhere out of Wales. We have lingered here too long. We shall recruit others along the way."
"You heard him," the man barked. "We are leaving."
Phillip said nothing as they made their way to their horses not so far from the tavern.
No words were needed.
Myrddin had given him his task, and he would see it through, though perhaps not quite the way the man entirely intended.
He'd not been so specific with his instructions that Phillip couldn't gain something from his latest venture.
Many thoughts and ideas permeated as a smile tugged at his lips.
Myrddin might believe he had gained an ally, and perhaps he had, for the time being, but the Baron would be cowed by no man, and Myrddin Emrys would learn that for himself one day.
(Break)
He would not deny that Arthur and Guinevere made for quite the inspiring image of what a king and queen should look like, but Myrddin could not deny that the same uneasiness he'd felt since the two had shared their first dance had remained with him.
The young woman, garbed in a white dress, smiled politely, offered the right kind and caring words to the well-wishers, and even appeared to be a doting bride to her husband as they shared in the merriment of their wedding.
Myrddin, however, could not forget the vision he'd seen in the stars, and was in no doubt that he had seen the face of the faceless woman who could prove to be Arthur's doom.
Whether or not she had truly fallen in love with him for the time being was almost irrelevant to the wizard who knew what was to come, and despite his best efforts, Arthur had chosen his bride.
Love truly conquered all, and all Myrddin could do was watch as the wedding was planned and Arthur only fell more deeply into Guinevere.
"They make for quite the couple, don't they?" Lancelot commented.
Had he not seen the way the man looked at his friend's bride for himself, Myrddin might have believed the words to be sincere, but Arthur was not the only one to have fallen in love with the daughter of King Leodegrance.
"They do, and I wish for nothing but a thriving kingdom under the rightful king and queen."
Lancelot nodded his agreement before taking his leave of the great hall, not questioning Myrddin's own choice of words.
Arthur was the rightful king of Britain as decreed by a higher power that no other in the room could comprehend, but Myrddin did not believe Guinevere was the queen for him.
Still, there was little he could do now when the two had already given their vows to one another.
It was the one failing he'd experienced since being at Arthur's side.
The young man had taken his advice in all other matters, but the stubborn fool would not be moved when it came to matters of the heart.
Oh, Myrddin did not doubt that he was completely devoted to Guinevere, but the same certainly could not be said for his queen in the future, if what the stars had shown proved to be true.
"My good people, please, allow me just a moment of your time."
Myrddin frowned as the beaming Leodegrance stood from his chair at the main table where the most important of guests were seated.
"Most of you will not know but I met our Arthur when he was just a babe in his mother's arms. When I heard what had become of Uther and the rest of the king's family, I feared that not another Pendragon would come to us again, but I am proud and grateful that Uther took steps to ensure his legacy."
Uther had done no such thing.
Myrddin had used his cunning to convince the late king that Arthur would be better kept away from the inevitable wars.
As ever, he'd been right, but Leodegrance cared not for the finer details.
His daughter would be the Queen of Britain in the years to come.
"Uther and I were once the closest of friends, a friendship I cherished until the very end," Leodegrance continued. "I could not be prouder to call Arthur my son, and my king from this day forth. In the spirit of this, I have arranged a gift for our king. Your father gifted this to me so many years ago now, and it is time for it to grace a Pendragon hall once more."
He clapped his hands and no less than three dozen men carried a large, intricately decorated table into the room.
It was round and of the finest craftmanship, seating around thirty comfortably.
"My gift to you, my king, is what remains of the world your father envisioned a place for you to sit with your most trusted whilst you rule over your kingdom."
Arthur stood to inspect the table, and carefully ran the tips of his fingers across the polished surface.
"It is magnificent," he declared.
Myrddin joined in with the applause that followed, but his gaze never left the grinning Leodegrance.
The table was indeed a most exquisite gift, but Arthur's loyalty could not be bought.
Whether Leodegrance's intentions were pure, Myrddin did not know, but he would be watching the former king closely.
"Such a gift is insulting to us!"
"Father, sit down."
Myrddin frowned as he looked towards the disturbance and deflated at the sight of the trembling King Mark of a territory in West Wales.
The man was deep into his cups, red-faced and furious.
His bastard son, Tristan, was trying to calm him, though he had little flair for it.
Mark was an ill-tempered man at the best of times and was too foolish to hold his tongue.
Pushing his son aside, Mark stumbled forward and pointed an accusing finger at Arthur.
"You would have us all just hand our kingdoms over, wouldn't you?"
Arthur tilted his head slightly in curiosity.
"I would."
"Ha! The boy king admits it!" Mark cried triumphantly. "He wishes only to take our lands and castles for himself!"
"I would sooner that an accord can be reached," Arthur returned. "I have no desire to slaughter my fellow Britons when the threat against us all remains the Danes, Saxons, and the others who come to this country to take our land from us. I am not your enemy."
Mark snorted drunkenly.
"You're a shit and a liar," he slurred. "I'll cut your fucking balls off before you get a chance to fuck that whore of yours!"
"Oh dear," Myrddin sighed as those gathered gasped collectively.
Arthur's nostrils flared before he nodded.
"Then who am I to deny you the opportunity," he whispered dangerously. "Would someone be kind enough to provide King Mark a blade."
One of the knights of Camelot stepped forward to do so, and Mark snatched it from his hand.
Arthur shed his wedding tunic, and Ser Gawain handed him Excalibur.
"I could kill him for you," the brash man offered. "It's bad luck to kill on your wedding day, my king."
Arthur waved him off.
"It is my wife he has insulted and it will be me to fight for her honour."
Gawain nodded and Arthur turned back towards the waiting Mark.
"I'll kill you and take your wife over your corpse!" the other king snarled.
"And when I kill you, your kingdom will be mine," Arthur returned. "Your head will sit on a pike atop your keep for the birds to feast on."
Myrddin nodded approvingly,
Mercy for mercy's sake was not realistic for a king, especially when he'd been insulted so deeply by another.
Mark was a damned fool, and he would not reap what he hoped from this,
The other king licked his lips hungrily before lunging towards Arthur, who parried the blow with enough force to stagger Mark.
"Father, just apologise you damned fool!" Tristan implored.
"Shut up, boy, or I'll gut you after!"
Tristan merely shook his head and fell silent.
There was little to be salvaged for his father from this situation.
All Mark could hope for was that he was granted a sift death.
Still, it appeared he would not go down without a fight, and he continued to swing wildly with the sword, stumbling from time to time, but managing to remain upright.
That was until Arthur began his own offense, and the drunken Mark stood little chance at surviving the onslaught.
In only a few blows, the other king was sent sprawling and his sword clattered loudly on the stone floor.
Mark groaned, but before he could stand, Arthur placed his heel on his chest.
"I did not want it to come to this," the younger man sighed. "I can kill you where you lay like a filthy mutt, or you can meet your end with a semblance of dignity. What is it to be?"
Mark spat on the ground and Arthur shook his head disappointedly.
"So be it."
"Wait!"
Tristan hurried forward and kneeled next to his father.
"I will accept his punishment," he declared. "Killing him will only mean war. He is a damned drunken fool, but his people are loyal to him."
Arthur quirked an eyebrow at Tristan.
"You would die for a man who insults you and shames himself."
Tristan nodded.
"He is my father," he murmured. "I have many friends at home that I would not see slain because of his foolishness."
Arthur frowned thoughtfully.
"Then you will ride for home, Tristan," he instructed. "You will tell your people what has happened here, and those who wish to come to Camelot and pledge themselves to me will be welcomed with open arms. For now, I will not spill your father's blood. I will decide what is to be done with him upon your return."
Tristan nodded as he stood.
"I will tell them," he vowed.
"And would you accept me as your rightful king?"
Tristan looked towards his father and then back to Arthur before nodding.
"I would."
"Then you shall have a place at my table," Arthur replied. "You were willing to die for a man who did not deserve your sacrifice, and equally willing to give your life for your people. You are an honourable man, Sir Tristan."
The man was taken aback by the development, but he offered Arthur a bow.
"I shall return soon, my king," he murmured.
He left the hall and Arthur gestured for his knights to seize Mark.
"Place him in the dungeons," he instructed disgustedly, glaring at the protesting man as he was dragged away.
Myrddin nodded approvingly.
None would have held it against Arthur had he decided to kill Mark, and despite the insult levelled at his queen, he'd chosen diplomacy over violence, for the time being.
What he would do with Mark, Myrddin didn't know, but Arthur had comported himself most excellently in front f those he would have as the young king's allies in the future, if they did not follow Mark's example.
(Break)
"Are you sure about this?" Harry asked nervously as he placed his wand on Salazar's desk.
"It is all that is left to do," Salazar answered. "You have come to accept the magic, all that remains is for the magic to accept you."
"What if it doesn't?"
Salazar chuckled.
"Harry, the magic accepted you the moment it became a part of you. If it didn't, you wouldn't be able to use parseltongue. It has been waiting for you to accept it, and now, it merely needs a better way to manifest itself. Isn't that so, Godric?"
The other Founder nodded.
"It is," he agreed. "I cannot say for certain what I expect from this, but I cannot fathom it being anything negative. It is time, Harry."
He knew this day was fast approaching.
For weeks now, with the help of Morgana, he'd been able to locate and interact with the part of his magic he'd been so reserved about since learning of the origins of his parseltongue ability.
Now, however, Harry didn't have to hide that part of him, didn't have to feel ashamed or fear being branded an evil wizard for what he was.
Instead of hiding from it or ignoring what was there in the hope that it would simply vanish, he had chosen to embrace it, and upon doing so, Harry had felt a sense of freedom, as though he'd been unshackled by a prison he'd built for himself.
Nodding, he handed Salazar the fang and venom he'd been carrying around for many moons now and looked on with curiosity as the man set to work.
Harry was as nervous as he was eager to see what would happen in the coming moments but could not help but wonder if his wand would still be compatible with him.
"Even if this doesn't work, we can work on making another wand for you," Godric assured, seemingly having read his warring thoughts.
"It will work," Salazar whispered as he began manipulating the fang and venom.
Harry watched as the fang absorbed to yellowish liquid, and Salazar released a deep breath from the exertion.
"I just need a moment," he explained. "That was no easy task but adding it to the wand will be more challenging. Convincing two creatures that are so different to come together as one will be quite the feat."
He took a minute or so to steady his breathing once more before placing the wand and fang next to each other. Closing his eyes, Salazar began working once more, and after several moments of trying, he began to sweat profusely.
Undeterred, he continued with his efforts until the desk began to tremble and he was hurled bodily from his chair.
Godric snorted amusedly, and Salazar scowled at his friend as he stood, his eyes narrowing as he looked upon the still separate wand and fang.
"It won't yield," he grumbled.
"Because it is not for you to bring them together," Godric snorted. "I expected this would happen."
"But you let me make a damned fool of myself!"
"Such an opportunity rarely presents itself," Godric returned with a shrug. "Each of these things answer only to Harry. Perhaps the basilisk was willing to comply with you…"
"But the phoenix would not," Salazar huffed. "Come here, Harry."
"Me?"
"Yes," Salazar said irritably. "You will have to merge them. I will guid you through the process."
Harry wasn't so sure about the idea of him doing so, but he stepped forward, nonetheless.
"Place your hands over them, like so," Salazar instructed, demonstrating the position his hands should be in. "Good," he praised. "Now, close your eyes and feel your connection to them. Do not rush it. Allow the magic of the creatures to come to you. It should feel natural."
Both parts of the magic he could feel within him surfaced rather quickly, and Harry could feel them within himself, almost as though they were anticipating what he would do.
"Excellent," Salazar praised. "Now, concentrate, Harry. Focus on bringing them together."
Harry nodded, and much to his surprise, it seemed to take little effort on his part.
It became taxing as the feeling of his own magic became quite overwhelming, but in his mind, he could see them mingling with one another, much like they had been for some time now, but instead of remaining as almost two contrasting forces, they came together, and Harry shuddered as he became rather light-headed.
"He did it," Godric whispered. "That was truly exceptional."
Salazar nodded his agreement, and Harry peered down at where his wand and the fang had laid separately.
Now, there was just a wand, but it did not appear as it once had.
The dark brown wood had become much paler, almost a bone white, and taken on an almost reddish hue in places. The handle was now shaped like the basilisk fang, but it was decorated with intricate feathers.
Harry had always been fond of his wand. It had saved his life more times than he cared to count, but the one before him now was quite something.
"It is beautiful," Salazar commented.
He had taken the words from Harry's mouth, and he nodded his agreement.
"Aren't you going to take it?" Godric asked eagerly.
Both he and Salazar were looking on in anticipation, and Harry cautiously reached for the wand as though it might just bite him if he were to get too close.
It didn't, and as his hand closed around the handle and he lifted it from the desk, he was reminded of the feeling he'd experienced in Ollivander's the first time he'd held it, though this was a far more intense experience.
A gout of green and red fire erupted from the tip of the wand, and Harry once more felt his own magic wash over him from the inside out.
It was an exhilarating experience, and even after the magic settled, it seemed to thrum throughout every fibre of his being.
"Bloody hell," he said breathlessly.
"Indeed," Salazar murmured interestedly. "How do you feel, Harry?"
"I'm not sure," Harry answered honestly. "It will take some getting used to."
"Indeed," Godric broke in. "Perhaps we should test it, no? Come, I see no reason to delay. Are you coming, Salazar?"
"I wouldn't miss it."
Harry wasn't sure why he felt so nervous as he followed the two men from the dungeons and into the grounds, but soon enough, he found himself stood opposite a series of target and releasing a dep breath before raising his newly formed wand.
"When you're ready, Harry," Godric said excitedly.
To Harry, it felt as though his wand was eager to be wielded, that it was almost vibrating in his hand in anticipation of the moment he let loose with it.
Nodding encouragingly to himself, Harry complied and allowed his instincts to take over.
It was almost as though he was the conductor of an orchestra.
The wand seemed to react to his every whim, but it was not just the wand that felt so different; he did too.
Harry felt invigorated, full of life, and his magic was simply manifesting itself in a way it never had before.
Under the Founder's tutelage, he'd become something of a proficient wizard, though now, it was so much more, now, it was as though all he'd learned had finally come together as one, much like the very magic that flowed through him.
It was an indescribable feeling of elation, but one that felt as though it should always have been.
A slow clapping pulled Harry from his thoughts.
"Quite the impressive display. For one so young, you possess exceptional talent."
Harry turned to where the voice had sounded and found himself looking upon a much older the man, who was scrutinising him through a pair of eerily silver eyes.
"As I live and breathe," Godric scoffed in disbelief as he approached the newcomer. "Ignotus Peverell! I had thought you were no longer with us."
Peverell laughed amusedly, and smiled with a sense of fondness as Godric wrapped him in a tight embrace.
"Not quite dead yet, though not for a lack of my maker showing his willingness to take me," Peverell replied. "You have done well with the school. I am impressed."
Godric nodded.
"I can only take some of the credit," he said dismissively. "My companions have proven to me most brilliant themselves. Speaking of which, this is Salazar Slytherin."
Salazar appeared rather uneasy by Peverell, and he approached cautiously.
"Of course, I have heard of Mr Slytherin. Your reputation for being an excellent wizard precedes you."
"Lord Peverell," Salazar greeted the man. "I have heard of you also."
Peverell nodded thoughtfully before his gaze came to rest on Harry once more.
"And you, young man, what is your name?"
"Harry Potter."
Peverell quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Yes, I can see it," he murmured, "but you do not possess the distinctive accent of a Welshman, no?"
"Harry here is a mentee of ours," Godric broke in, steering the conversation away from anything uncomfortable, though Harry wondered what Ignotus Peverell had been referring to.
"And a fine job you have done with him," Peverell praised, still seemingly scrutinising Harry carefully. "But I am afraid it is not leisure that brings me here, Godric. I know it has been many years since we last spoke, but I may well be in need of your assistance."
"My assistance?"
Peverell nodded.
"Surely you have heard of the problems plaguing the country."
"Which ones?" Godric snorted.
"Indeed," Peverell murmured. "They a numerous, and I fear they only continue to grow. "Our own lands have suffered at the hands of the Danes and Saxons, but soon enough, it will be another threat we face. I understand the man behind this threat is a former student of yours."
"Myrddin," Salazar grumbled.
"The very same," Peverell confirmed. "I have taken it upon myself to visit much of the country over the past few years, and what I have seen is rather troubling, and only becomes more so. War is coming, Godric, a war like no other. I fear this Myrddin will bring nothing but death upon the people here with his foolish attempts to install a king to rule over the entire country. Already, he has taken territories in Wales and West Wales. It is only a matter of time before he marches further afield, and I'm afraid others will not give up their crowns so willingly. Some are taking quite incredible measures to mitigate the threat that Myrddin poses."
"Incredible measures?"
Peverell nodded gravely.
"Guthrum and others across the country have taken it upon themselves to double their efforts to capture magicals and slaughter them in large numbers. I'm afraid that this will only lead to more of them joining Myrddin, who is already recruiting witches and wizards to do his bidding. I captured one such man who is spying for him in Daneland whilst on my travels."
Godric cursed under his breath.
"What do you need from me?" he asked.
Peverell offered him an appreciative smile.
"My sons are forming a force to defend our lands, and beyond if necessary. They need men, Godric. Good, strong men who will fight for a just cause. They would see an end to Myrddin's foolish plans to integrate us with the muggles who only grow to despise our presence more."
Harry felt Godric's gaze shift towards him.
"How quickly do your sons intend to form this group?"
"Recruitment has already begun. For now, however, they intend only to defend our lands from outside threats in the hopes that Myrddin will fail in his inevitable campaign with King Arthur."
Godric nodded uneasily.
"I may have some that I can call upon," he mused aloud. "I will do what I can."
"Thank you," Peverell offered appreciatively before his gaze shifted to Harry once more. "I expect our paths will cross again, Harry Potter."
"Why would you think that?" Harry asked.
Peverell offered him a smile.
"I can feel that this is perhaps only the beginning of our story together. There is much to tell about a man's blood, and yours calls to me. You will find me when you are ready. I will be at home, waiting."
He shot a knowing look towards Godric, and vanished into the folds of a cloak, leaving Harry rooted to the spot with his mouth agape.
He'd only caught the slightest glimpse of it, but he was left in no doubt at what he'd seen.
"What is it, Harry?" Godric asked.
"My cloak," Harry whispered. "He had my cloak."
"Your cloak?"
Harry swallowed deeply as he nodded.
"It was the one thing belonging to my father that I had," he explained. "It was passed from father to son until it came to me."
"A thousand years from now," Godric whispered in disbelief. "Are you certain?"
"Completely. I've spent hours just looking at it, let alone hiding in it."
"An invisibility cloak," Salazar broke in. "How does such a thing last so long?"
"Because it belongs to the Peverells," Godric whispered. "They are as mysterious as any come. Somehow, he recognises something in you. Harry, and I would wager all I possess that Ignotus is thinking the very same thing that I am."
"What's that?" Harry asked with a frown.
"That Ignotus Peverell is an ancestor of yours. His family does reside in Godric's Hollow."
Harry swallowed at the thought.
As unlikely as it seemed, what Godric had said certainly made sense.
If the cloak was indeed passed from father to son throughout the generations of his family, then Ignotus Peverell was indeed a distant relative of Harry's.
Not that such a thing could be proved, but Harry could not deny that his curiosity was piqued.
"You're not ready yet," Godric warned. "There is much to do before you venture from this castle in search of answers. Even Ignotus said that you will meet again when you are ready. That time is not now."
Harry nodded his understanding, but the seed had been planted in his mind.
For reasons he could not quite fathom, Harry felt compelled to follow the path Ignotus Peverell had laid out before him and given that it seemed that there was a group of men forming who shared the same goal of seeing Myrddin stopped in his tracks, it felt right that, when the time came, he would indeed take his first steps back towards where it all began for him almost fifteen years prior.