Hollow
His breathing was laboured, and the heat of the summer evening was almost unbearable, but he continued to hold her tightly to him.
They'd said nothing for several moments, choosing to bask in the ambient magic of the moment they'd shared.
"I feel different," Morgana whispered, leaning up to kiss his neck gently.
Harry nodded his agreement.
"It's like there is a part of you with me," he murmured.
"And you me."
Harry smiled.
He had not tried to deny just how much he'd come to care for the woman in his arms.
Over the few years they'd gotten to know one another, they'd only gotten closer, but he'd been ignorant to just what it was she felt for him, and now, they shared something seemingly unbreakable, something that held them together by the very magic that coursed through each of them.
"Was that supposed to happen?"
"I don't know," Morgana answered. "I don't think so. It was supposed to create a protection, but it was dependent on how strongly we feel for one another. I don't know what happened, but I can feel it."
Harry nodded.
He could feel something different within himself, something that had not been there before tonight, but it was not intrusive or unwelcome.
Already, his magic had accepted the change, though he wasn't certain what it meant or what it would do for them.
"Well, I don't think we can change it now," Morgana said almost amusedly. "Something tells me we won't be able to."
"Does that bother you?"
She shook her head.
"Of course not," she sighed. "Do you?"
"Not for anything."
"Good," Morgana murmured. "Come, I need a warm bath."
"It's bloody hot," Harry groaned.
"It is, but I am sore," she replied as she stood. "The least you can do is help me wash."
She quirked an eyebrow at him and Harry followed her through the trees, all but hypnotised by the sight of the nude woman.
Although he felt himself filled with lust once more, it was her beauty that captured his eyes as well as his heart, and though they had lost themselves in the throes of passion so readily, it was his urge to just hold her and not let go that became prevalent.
He watched as she lowered herself into a large pool of water some distance from her home, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Harry followed suit, and Morgana laughed at him.
"What?"
"You are covered in blood."
He was.
It was smeared all over him, but the wound had stopped bleeding now.
He inspected the mark carved into the palm of his hand and it glowed with a golden hue.
"Come here," Morgana urged, taking him by the hand.
She too inspected it before looking at her own where it glowed similarly to Harry's, though the rest of the markings that littered her body did so too.
Almost every inch of the young woman was covered in an array of runes, most of which Harry recognised.
It was quite the sight to behold to see them in all their glory.
"Do they bother you?" Morgana asked.
Harry shook his head.
"No," he whispered, tracing some of them with the tip of his finger. "They are perfect."
Morgana shuddered at his touch and Harry kissed her gently on the lips, eliciting a warm smile from her.
It truly was a perfect moment, and one that Harry intended to experience time and again for as many moons or years he had left.
"You're thinking about her again."
"I am not," Harry denied.
Godric shook his head as he grinned.
They had been on the road for the better part of a week now, but without stopping in every village or city they came to, they were making good progress through the country.
"I am happy for you, Harry. Having something worth fighting for can be the difference on whether you win or lose a fight. With your casual disregard for your own safety, I have found myself worrying for you."
"But not now?"
"No," Godric answered. "It is the rest of the world I worry for. You have been trained by the very best, and you have a cause to fight for, something to live for. I find myself worried for any other who dare try to prevent you coming home."
Harry chuckled amusedly, though the thought of someone indeed trying to stop him from getting home lit a blaze of fury within him.
"And there it is," Godric snorted. "I do not know what happened between the two of you, but it has changed you. Not in such an evident way, but there is something different about you."
"Maybe I am just determined to live."
"You weren't before?"
"I never thought I would live to see the age I am now," Harry replied honestly. "If Riddle had his way, I'd be dead, and he had a way of ensuring those he wished death upon did not live much longer. I was the exception."
"And you will continue to be so," Godric said reassuringly.
Harry nodded, though he halted his horse as they neared the summit of a hill.
"What is it?" Godric asked.
Harry said nothing as he cautiously urged Tempest on and was taken aback by what he saw in the valley below.
"The Danes are on the move," Godric murmured as he joined him.
"To where?"
"They are heading towards Daneland, so, they have either returned from somewhere, or do not live in Daneland. They are quite spread across the country."
"That is a large group for any normal journey," Harry mused aloud.
"Safety in numbers."
Harry nodded.
"They don't seem to be carrying any spoils."
"So, it is more likely they are on the first leg of the journey. Maybe the Danes are at war with one another again."
"Maybe."
There was around two thousand men, women, and children forming a long column with those able to fight spread evenly throughout.
"A transport column," Godric said thoughtfully as he seemed to notice the same thing. "Not a war party."
Harry hummed.
The Danes were heading in the opposite direction to them, so they were not a pressing matter, but seeing them served to remind him that his enemies would likely be many in the wars to come.
"Let us press on," Godric urged. "Night will fall soon enough, and I'd rather put some distance between us and them. We do not want so many Danes finding us whilst we sleep."
"We don't," Harry agreed, digging his heels into Tempest's sides, urging him forward.
In only a few days, they would reach Godric's Hollow.
Still, Harry did not know why he felt so compelled to seek out Ignotus Peverell, but it was an urge he'd not been able to ignore since he'd met the man three years prior.
In only a few days, perhaps he would come to understand the compulsion, but until then, with the Danes seemingly on the move, Harry knew he would need to keep his wits about him.
Something seemed to be afoot, and though Britain had been in something of lull for some time now, it appeared that the tense peace could be broken soon enough.
(Break)
Phillip's nostrils flared as he spotted the robed figure approaching the tavern.
Were it not for the vow he'd been all but forced to give, he'd have had Myrddin's throat slit, but even the mere thought of doing so caused a great discomfort within him.
He couldn't be certain what magic the man had called upon to seal the agreement between them. What Phillip Strenger did know, however, was that he was making the very most of the opportunity he'd been given.
His following had grown to be close to two hundred witches and wizards now, and perhaps the most formidable magical force in all of Britain.
Myrddin might be the man Strenger currently answered to, but the followers he'd accumulated through his own endeavours were loyal only to him.
"Strenger," Myrddin greeted him. "I hope all is well."
Phillip snorted derisively and Myrddin offered him a smile.
"Well enough."
"Then I am sure you are aware of the Danish movements across the country."
"I have seen them."
Myrddin hummed.
"They seem to be gathering, but I do not expect much will come from it. The Danes enjoy spilling the blood of their own too much to establish a lasting coalition."
"I do not see how that is my problem."
"It isn't, but I do not believe it will serve you well to find yourself mixed in with their affairs."
"You are hoping I will not join them."
"It would be most unhelpful should you make such an attempt," Myrddin sighed.
Phillip winced as his magic protested against his sudden to do the opposite of what Myrddin had said, and he once more promised himself that he would find a way around the magic binding him to the man.
"What do you want? You asked me here for a reason, now, spit it out."
Myrddin leaned back in his chair.
"Well, firstly, I wished to congratulate you on the work you have done thus far. Your group has grown considerably and continues to do so, but I would advise that you avoid the east for a while. Guthrum intends to deploy quite the force of his own to ambush you and yours if wander into his lands again."
"Guthrum is welcome to try."
"Guthrum has more than enough men, magical and muggle alike, to slaughter your group with little effort," Myrddin warned. "It appears that he has been recruiting our kind for himself, well, it would be more apt to say that he has found a way to ensure they serve him. I remain ignorant to his method, but it is something I intend to ascertain shortly. For now, I need your services elsewhere. The time will soon come for Arthur to begin his campaign, and he will be starting it in Cymru."
"And you wish for me to make his path easier."
"I do," Myrddin confirmed. "I have taken the liberty of mapping out those who are already loyal to Arthur, and those that will need convincing. Of course, you are not to declare that what you are doing is for Arthur's benefit. He is to be seen as a conquering hero."
Phillip frowned as he looked upon the map Myrddin slid across the table.
"He does not have much support, does he?" he chuckled.
"He has enough," Myrddin said with a wry smile, "much more than this map shows. I wish for you to focus on the other keeps I have marked for your convenience. I would see them brought into the fold quickly when Arthur departs Camelot."
"And what about the rest of the country?"
Myrddin shook his head.
"I expect Arthur will have more than enough support to take it for himself when Wales and the other western kingdoms fall. He will take them a keep at a time, whether they belong to the Saxons, Danes, or Celts."
Phillip grunted.
He didn't doubt that with Myrddin's help, Arthur would indeed be successful in his campaign.
It would perhaps take several years for Britain to be conquered in such a way, but the king was young enough to do it and seal a lasting legacy.
"Fine," he agreed. "I will lead my group to Wales and do as you have asked, but I one day expect to be freed from the vow I gave you under duress. I long for the continent once more."
Myrddin nodded thoughtfully.
"If you serve me well enough then I shall give you the freedom you desire," he promised. "Until next time, Phillip. I look forward to hearing of your exploits."
He left and Phillip's nostrils flared once more.
He would take no small amount of pleasure of plunging his sword the Myrddin's heart.
Perhaps one day, he would do so, but until he was released from his vow, he was stuck in a life of servitude to a man he despised.
For now, at least.
(Break)
Godric continued whispering his jaunty tune as they made their way through the village. Despite all that had befallen him here, this place always had a feeling of home to it.
He did his utmost to remember the good times, but it was not easy to do so.
They had become somewhat bitter from the loss he and his children had endured, and Godric knew it would always be so.
It was when they came to the church that his whistling stopped, and even Harry seemed to find himself on edge.
The young man peered around and on the cusp of drawing his wand when Godric held a hand up to prevent it.
"What is that?" Harry asked.
"What do you think it is, Harry?" he asked curiously.
Harry closed his eyes and shuddered a moment later before opening them.
"It feels like…"
He broke off uncertainly and shook his head.
"Go on," Godric urged.
"Death."
Godric nodded.
"Have you never heard of the Peverells, Harry?"
"No."
Godric released a deep breath as he dismounted his horse and looked up at the towers of the church.
"Some decades ago, there was a rather infamous incident that occurred here," he began darkly. "It is said that the Peverell brothers did something, that they invoked a magic that no man should tempt. I have asked Ignotus about it, but he will neither confirm nor deny what happened. What is known, Harry, is that of the three brothers, only Ignotus remains."
"What happened to the other two?"
"After the incident, Antioch Peverell, sought vengeance against a rival in a nearby village. He claimed to have a wand that could not be bested, that it had been given to him by Death itself. Antioch killed his rival, but his boastful ways would come back to haunt him. That very night, after celebrating, his throat was slit whilst he slept and there was no sign of any wand on his person."
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered.
Godric nodded soberly.
"What about the other brother?"
"He did not die so quickly. Cadmus Peverell had been a heartbroken man. His one true love had died and he lived alone not so far from here. Villages began reporting seeing a figure resembling his love in the window of their home. She was there, but not truly there. Sometime after these reports, Cadmus hung himself. The page who found him claims that he left a note, cursing Death and the Stone he'd been gifted."
"Is that true?"
Godric shrugged.
"People tend to exaggerate these things, and much gets added and taken away from such stories, but there is a part of me that believes something happened that night. The very magic of it permeates the air still. You knew nothing of the tale, and yet, you could sense what all the rumours speak of."
Harry swallowed deeply.
"What about Ignotus?"
Godric smiled to himself.
"He always was wiser than his brothers," he mused aloud. "I expect that using such magic would not be inconsequential, and if they did indeed manage to summon the very entity of Death, it would not have been pleased by their transgression. I cannot say for certain, but I would hazard that Ignotus would've chosen a gift that would allow him to avoid a similar fate to that of his brothers. Perhaps something that could keep him hidden, even from Death."
Godric allowed Harry a moment to digest what he'd said, and as expected his eyes widened.
"The cloak," he whispered. "You think…"
"I don't know for certain," Godric warned, "but if that is indeed the very same cloak that you once possessed a thousand years from now, then it must be something truly incredible to endure. Invisibility cloaks exist, Harry, but they do not last even close to a few decades at best."
"Well, what do you think?" Harry asked curiously.
"Truthfully, I think there is much more truth to the tales than fabrications," Godric answered. "The Peverells are a family steeped in mystery, and they are not to be trifled with. Those I have met are good people, Harry, but they are as merciless and ruthless to their enemies as they come. People say those that cross them are not long for this world, and that they personally hand the souls of their foes to the figure that bestowed such incredible gifts upon them."
Harry shook his head as he pondered all he'd heard, but he showed no regret of coming here.
Godric had spoken only the truth, and he only felt it right that Harry should be aware of the stories surrounding the man and his family.
Perhaps he should've told him before setting off from the castle, but Godric wanted to see what his reaction would be to the church, and he'd not been disappointed.
Harry's instinct for magic was rather exceptional and having witnessed the young man reach his own conclusion, Godric believed just that little more that all he'd heard of the infamous family had more than a kernel of truth to it.
"Shall we proceed?" he asked amusedly.
Harry nodded determinedly and Godric mounted his horse once more.
The two of them continued on their way, both in a thoughtful silence as they pondered one of the greatest mysteries to occur in recent years.
(Break)
He parried the blade before ducking beneath another blow that would've smashed into his helm. It had been too close for comfort, but Arthur pressed on, swinging his own blade and grazing the front of Gawain's armour.
Before he could even cheer internally at his success, he felt his feet leave the floor, and he crashed to the ground almost a dozen feet away.
Through the gap in his visor, he could see Bors bearing down on him, and Arthur lunged.
Bors was sent tumbling as he smashed into the much larger man's legs, and the king righted himself, driving his knee into his foe's chest plate and resting Excalibur against his throat.
Bors groaned, but laughed uproariously as Arthur was hurled across the training yard once more.
This time, he did not manage to offer any further offence.
Gawain set upon him quickly, and Arthur held up a hand to signal his surrender.
More often than not, he could beat either of them in a singular duel, but together, they remained an insurmountable task.
Still, Arthur would not shy away from the challenge.
If he could hold his own, even for a short while against them, it would only be to his benefit on the battlefield.
"Not bad," Bors praised as he pulled Arthur to his feet. "For a little weakling," he added.
Gawain chortled as he nodded his agreement, but it was the sound of clapping from the corner of the training yard that caught his attention.
Removing his helm, Arthur spotted Myrddin approaching.
"Well fought, Arthur," he praised. "You continue to improve with each passing day."
Arthur smiled and nodded appreciatively.
"What news?" he asked.
Myrddin had left a few days prior to meet with one of his associates, and he always brought news from across the country back with him.
"Nothing good, I'm afraid," the man sighed. "The Danes are on the move and seem to be congregating in their own lands."
"As a single force?"
"I cannot say for certain, but they would be a formidable army."
Arthur nodded grimly but Myrddin offered him a reassuring smile.
"Worry not, Arthur. I shall watch them closely."
"Shouldn't we prepare?" Bors asked.
"Not necessary," Myrddin said dismissively. "They would head east before coming west. Many of their very best soldiers have been captured over the years by Guthrum and others claiming the title of king. They will pose a threat, but not so soon. We have our own interests to consider."
"So, we are not leaving yet?" Arthur asked.
"We will soon enough," Myrddin assured him. "Do not be so keen for war, Arthur. It leaves behind only death and regret, but it is often necessary. For as long as men breathe, war will be inevitable, though it is not something we should yearn for."
"It's not as though the Danes and Saxons will just hand over their keeps," Gawain pointed out.
"They will not," Myrddin agreed, "and it is a bridge that we will cross when necessary."
Gawain nodded and frowned as a dishevelled Lancelot appeared from the keep.
"Long night?" Arthur asked amusedly.
"You could say that," Lancelot grumbled. "Apologies, I got caught up."
Arthur chuckled as he shook his head.
"It's not as though you make a habit of being so late."
"It won't happen again," Lancelot murmured. "What did I miss?"
Myrddin was eying the man curiously but did not comment, choosing to explain the unwelcome development pertaining to the Danes.
Lancelot shook his head irritably.
"We cannot avoid the fighting forever. Is it not better for us to press the enemy? In here, we are just waiting for them to come to us."
"We will begin our campaign in good time," Myrddin said firmly. "For now, we will begin our preparations, but we do not want to press to soon. It would be foolish to do so."
Lancelot was not happy but he said nothing else on the matter and remained silent, his gaze flitting sporadically towards the keep.
"What of Tristan?" Myrddin asked.
Arthur shrugged.
"I have heard nothing from him," he explained. "I expect he will be at sea by now."
Myrddin hummed.
"I do not understand why a noble Irishman would wish for his daughter to marry a man from another country. It makes little sense."
"According to Tristan, the agreement was made some years ago, before Mark gave up his crown."
Myrddin frowned.
"Well, I wish him only the best fortune," he sighed. "The sea to the west is a dangerous place. Now more than ever."
"Why?" Arthur asked.
"Because the natives are hungry for expansion," Myrddin explained. "Already they have tested our coast for weakness, but we have kept them at bay for centuries now. Even when they land their ships, they are repelled at every turn. They are certainly no concern of ours, Arthur. Now, I must rest. It has been a trying few days."
Arthur nodded and Myrddin returned to the keep.
He was worried for Tristan.
Why Mark couldn't retrieve his own bride was beyond him, but then a again, Mark had never been capable of doing much for himself. Despite no longer being allowed to drink, he remained a slovenly, bitter man that Arthur would sooner be without.
Still, many of the people he once ruled over remained loyal to him, and disposing of Mark in any way would only lead to more troubles amongst his own.
Perhaps a new wife would change the man, but Arthur had his doubts.
"Are we damned well training or not?" Bors growled. "I wouldn't mind taking a few swings at pretty boy here," he added, jerking his thumb in Lancelot's direction.
The other man complied, drawing his blade and gesturing for Bors to begin, and Arthur joined Gawain to watch the fight unfold.
Lancelot would inevitably win, but it always proved to be an entertaining affair, though if what Myrddin said was true, such things were likely not destined to last.
Dark times lay ahead.
Arthur could sense them approaching quickly now, and soon enough, he would be leaving the safety of Camelot to take the fight to his many enemies.
(Break)
"Your fighting group is more than ready," Ignotus offered comfortingly to his pacing son. "You have trained them well."
"But so few have experienced a true battle," Owain murmured. "I remember my first. It did not go so well."
"But you survived, you were victorious, and you fought well."
Owain nodded and released a deep breath.
"They circle us, Father. Our enemies are everywhere all at once."
"As is Death, my son," Ignotus said quietly. "It comes for us all, and there is nothing we can do to prevent it, but we get to choose how we meet him. Do we do so on our knees in defeat, or standing proudly and tall in victory? Besides, it is not our time fall."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Because there is destiny tied to our home. Violence and Death will come, but the Peverells will persevere yet."
"You mean the boy you met."
"I have faith in you, Owain, to ensure my words, but yes, the boy. His fate is here."
Owain eyed Ignotus with no small amount of curiosity.
"How can you be so certain, father?" he asked frustratedly.
Ignotus offered his son a knowing smile.
"Because he is here."
"He's here? Now?"
"Now," Ignotus confirmed as he stood. "Perhaps we should greet our guest and you can see for yourself what I saw in him."
Owain seemed uncertain, and he rested his hand on the pommel of his sword as he nodded.
Ignotus took his leave of the family home with his son in tow, and it wasn't so far ay from the church in the distance that he spotted the two horses trekking towards them.
"There he is."
Owain stood at his father's side and watched the two men.
The first, as expected, was Godric Gryffindor, so famous here for all he'd done in opening an exceptional school and his contributions to magic that he needed no introduction, but it was the second man Ignotus found himself fixed on.
He'd grown much in the past few years and was no longer a boy.
Now, he truly was a man, a strong man who did not lack confidence.
"Unbelievable," Owain whispered. "He looks so much like us, and his magic…"
"Is much like ours," Ignotus murmured. "Oh, it is unique, but at the very foundation of it all, it is just like ours."
"But how?"
"That, I am uncertain of, and my pleas to things much more powerful than us remain unanswered. Do you believe me now, lad?"
Owain said nothing, but he nodded, and Ignotus continued on his way to greet the two men, with many questions he hoped to find the answer to.
(Break)
A deep frown creased his brow as he made his way through the corridors of Camelot.
Myrddin had expected eventual deception from Guinevere, and he'd been watching her closely over the past few years, but evidently, not close enough.
From the very moment he'd laid eyes on Lancelot, he had sensed the man's guilt, and it took on the briefest of glances in his mind to discover the reason he'd been so late to the training yard.
Myrddin would not pretend that he wasn't saddened, disappointed, and surprised by Lancelot's betrayal.
If there was one man within Camelot he would have suspected of stabbing Arthur in the back, he would've been at the bottom of the list, but alas, he had and Myrddin was still reeling at the revelation.
He should've known.
Lancelot had been enamoured with Guinevere even before the engagement had been announced, and it seemed he'd simply never been able to control his urges not to bed the queen.
How long the affair had been going on, Myrddin didn't know, but that was neither here nor there.
Both had irrevocably proven that they were untrustworthy, but perhaps he could gain control of the situation at the very least.
With that in mind, he knocked on the door to the queen's private quarters, something she had requested be set aside for her when she moved into the castle.
Now, Myrddin understood why.
"Myrddin," Guinevere greeted him cordially enough as she opened the door. "How may I help you?"
Her smile seemed sincere, but there was an edge of tension to it.
"I was hoping to speak with you, my dear," he replied. "I shall not take much of your time."
"Of course," Guinevere agreed, stepping aside to bid him entry into the room.
It was lavishly decorated as befitting a woman of her station, and yet, it had been so recently tarnished by the deception of the woman.
Myrddin could still feel Lancelot's lingering, and he swallowed deeply as he shook his head.
"Is something troubling you, Myrddin?" Guinevere asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Many things trouble me, my dear, but none more so than the betrayal of our king. I cannot allow it to continue."
For the first time since he'd met her, the mask of the woman slipped, and she grinned at him with no small amount of malice.
"Whatever do you mean?" she asked sweetly.
"Lancelot," Myrddin sighed. "I am referring to your affair."
Guinevere laughed before tutting patronisingly.
"Oh, dear Merlin," she cooed. "What do you intend on doing about it? Do you truly believe that my husband will believe you over his sweet, dedicated, and loving wife? I see you for what you are. You are only here for your own selfish reasons. You want power, but you dare not take it for yourself, so, you are using my husband for your own gain. Do not lie to me, you poisonous viper! Arthur may be blind to your machinations, but I am not."
Myrddin shook his head.
"My only intention is to see Arthur restored to his rightful place. He is the rightful king of Britain."
"And what do you get from such a selfless act?" Guinevere pressed. "You are not a man to waste your time without gain. So, what is it, Myrddin?"
"Peace."
Guinevere laughed, and even her beauty could not hide the ugliness of the sound that escaped her.
"You are quite the convincing liar, but I will not be fooled by you, Myrddin. Arthur may be, but I am not so easily manipulated."
Myrddin released a deep sigh as he drew his wand.
"I am afraid that I cannot allow you to continue as you are, my dear," he murmured. "Now, I would not lower myself to kill Arthur's queen, but it will be best for us all if this affair was to stop. Obliviate!"
Myrddin nodded satisfactorily as his spell collided with the woman, though his mouth fell agape when she merely shook her head at his efforts.
"She said that you would stop at nothing to see your plans come to fruition. She said that I would need protection from you."
"Who did?" Myrddin asked worriedly.
"The lady who gave me this," Guinevere said with a grin, revealing an opal pendant she wore around her neck. "She told me of you long before we met. She revealed that I would be Arthur's queen, but my heart would belong to another. She said that fate could not be kind to everyone and many would fall as per the wishes of the stars. She said that a great storm would come for us all and it cannot be stopped. Many will die, but you shall be queen."
Myrddin was taken aback by the explanation, and only one woman came to mind who would intervene in such a way.
Nimue.
The damned woman had seemingly foiled him again.
"I would not do that," Guinevere warned as he raised his wand once more. "The consequences will be most unpleasant for you. My life is tied to my husband's, and after all of your work, I am certain you would not see him dead."
Myrddin narrowed his eyes at the woman.
"Come, Myrddin, this does not have to be an unpleasant scenario for either of us. You need only allow me to continue as I am. I give you my word that I will not interfere in your affairs so long as you do not interfere in mine. Why do you care who I bed? I will do my duty as a wife and provide Arthur with an heir, perhaps more than one."
Myrddin was sorely tempted to cut the woman down where she stood, but he would not put it past the Lady in the Lake to truly do what Guinevere had informed him of.
For now, he dared not act, but he would find a way to right this wrong against Arthur.
"I knew you would see it my way," Guinevere laughed as he lowered his wand. "Now, I would be alone, but I thank you for your visit. I'm sure we will see each other again soon enough."
With nothing else left to say, Myrddin took his leave of the room, once more burdened by another problem he could do without.
Although he'd expected deception from Guinevere, he had not expected to find himself so dumbfounded by yet another revelation of the stars.
The queen.
She was a dangerous woman, and though Myrddin did not know what he could do to remedy the many problems she presented, he would figure it out.
He had to.
Arthur's legacy could well depend on it.
(break)
"Harry Potter," Ignotus Peverell greeted him after he'd exchanged a few quiet words with Godric. "I was right in my assumption that our paths would indeed cross once more."
"You planted the seed," Harry replied.
Ignotus chuckled as he nodded.
"The greatest of trees grown from just a seed," he replied. "Allow me to introduce you to my son, Owain."
He was of a similar height to Harry, but Owain was a little broader on the shoulders. What was most striking, however, was the many similarities Harry could see in Owain and the few photos of his own father he'd seen.
The resemblance between them, and even Harry, was indeed uncanny.
"Harry," Owain greeted him curiously, offering his hand.
Harry accepted it and Owain quirked an eyebrow at him before looking at his father.
"Is something wrong?" Harry asked.
"No," Ignotus denied. "We can feel your ties to this place but are no wiser to how that is so."
"I was born here," Harry explained," but I was not raised here."
Ignotus nodded and continued to eye him curiously.
"Perhaps a tale for another time," he suggested. "We will inevitably get to know one another better, but I am afraid your arrival couldn't be more timely and perhaps unfortunate."
"How so?"
"War," Owain said through gritted teeth. "We are very much on the cusp of it, and perhaps on several fronts. The Danes are moving, the Saxons are preparing for it, and the damned Irish will come from the west. That isn't even mentioning the bloody king of Camelot. I fear our fight has yet begun but may already be lost."
Ignotus shook his head, but it was Harry who spoke, taking both men by surprise.
"Then what's the bloody point of fighting?" he asked. "If you think we've already lost then pack your stuff and flee."
"We?" Owain snorted.
"Yes, we," Harry said firmly. "I may not have been raised here, but it is my home too and I won't just let it be destroyed or taken by someone else."
"I have no intention of fleeing," Owain growled. "I will fight until my very last breath! Whether we win or lose, I will never abandon my home."
"Then that is a good place to start," Harry said with a nod. "What is the most pressing threat?"
"The Irish," Ignotus answered. "They will be the first to land on our west coast. Arthur remains in his keep and the others will be busy fighting in the east."
"Then we prepare for the Irish."
"You keep saying we," Owain interjected. "I do not know you from another man. Can you even fight?"
"I suppose you will see soon enough," Harry responded with a shrug. "I'm not here to prove anything to you. I came here because it felt to be the right thing to do, and from what I can see, you need my help, and you'll get it whether you want it or not, so stop being a stubborn git, shut up and stop wasting time. We have much to do, no?"
Ignotus's eyes were alight with amusement, and Owain eyed Harry thoughtfully.
"You know, there are very few people who would dare talk to me in such a way," he murmured before a grin broke out across his face. "Father, what do you think?"
"I think you should listen to Harry. He speaks sense."
Owain nodded.
"He does," he agreed. "I would usually decapitate any man who would address me the way you did."
"You're always welcome to try, but I will be returning the favour."
"Is that so?"
"It is."
Owain's expression was unreadable, but after a moment of pondering what Harry had said, he chuckled and clapped him smartly on the shoulder.
"I like you, Harry Potter," he declared. "Perhaps we should save the decapitating for our real enemies, yes?"
He offered his hand which Harry readily accepted.
"I think that would probably be best for both of us. If what you say is true, then that will be sooner rather than later."
"It will," Owain agreed.
"Come Death, come," Ignotus murmured.
"That sounds rather ominous," Harry snorted.
Ignotus smiled.
"It is, but it is not us wishing Death on ourselves…"
"But for our enemies."
"Exactly," Ignotus confirmed, his eyes alight with mirth. "Death upon our enemies, Harry Potter."