Coalition
The was not a person in Godric's Hollow that had not ventured from their homes today to pay their respects to Ignotus Peverell. All were in mourning for the man who had kept them safe over the past decades, and it was with a sincere sadness that they gathered in the cemetery of the church where the man was to be laid to rest.
Both Harry and Morgana were among them.
They'd left Taran with the Founders.
He was not yet old enough to travel by magical means, and Helga had volunteered their services so that both could attend the funeral.
Harry had said his goodbyes, had shed his tears for Ignotus, but watching him be lowered into the ground between both of his brothers hurt no less than he'd expected, and he gave Owain's shoulder a comforting squeeze.
By the time the churchyard had emptied, the grave was not visible because of the amount of tributes placed upon it, and it was only Harry and the son of the man beneath that remained.
"I feel so lost, Harry."
"I know, and your father would understand, but he'd kick your arse if you neglected your duty to them," Harry replied. Nodding towards the village. "They all loved him, Owain, magicals and muggles alike, and they love you too."
Owain snorted amusedly.
"I suppose I love them," he sighed.
Harry nodded.
"You've risked your life for them, you ensure they are all fed and cared for, just as your father did before you took over."
Owain frowned.
"Before I took over?"
Harry shook his head.
"He may have never officially handed the reins to you, but he stepped back years ago because you were already doing everything he once did. Even when you were recovering from Camelot, you were still there for them. I've never seen Ignotus so proud, not even when we returned from defeating the Irish."
Owain nodded thoughtfully.
"I suppose I have been doing it all, I just never really thought about it."
"Because you didn't need to, so don't get any ideas about feeling sorry for yourself or thinking you're not ready for this. I'll slap the taste out of your mouth if you do."
Owain chuckled as he nodded, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulder.
"I bet you would too. I just miss him, Harry. He's always been there to pick me up when I needed it."
"And you were there to do the same for him these last months, Owain. You cared for him, and he left us peacefully. It was no less than he deserved."
Owain released a deep breath.
"Then it's up to us now, isn't it? We have to make sure this place is cared for and protected, just as we have been doing," he added with a frown.
"Just as we have been doing," Harry echoed.
He still missed Ignotus.
His lack of presence in the village was palpable, and Harry expected it would take much time to get used to the man no longer being there.
He made a point to visit Godric's Hollow regularly already to tend to the farmland belonging to him and Morgana, but he made sure he was more available to those that might need his assistance.
Not that it was only him and Owain who had stepped in to fill the enormous shoes of his father.
Hook was often seen helping others, and even Gwyneth joined him from time to time.
Harry had been taken aback by just how much her son had grown upon their return.
Maxim had been eight years old and was now on the cusp of his tenth birthday. Already, the boy was training with a sword, something he had inherited the talent for from his father.
Not that Arthur knew of the boy.
It was something that Harry often considered, more so since the birth of his own son.
Still, the king's bastard son would not be looked upon favourably by the queen, despite being conceived before she and Arthur had been married.
Such a thing would mean nothing to Guinevere, and Maxim would be scorned by most.
No, until Harry felt it was right, it was safer that Maxim remained hidden.
Harry looked down at his own son with unwavering fondness.
At little over only a moon since his birth, and he still not believe he was a father.
It seemed that with each passing day, Taran was changing, and as he looked up at his father with the same brilliant green eyes, Harry beamed from ear to ear.
"We made this," he said proudly, holding the boy aloft.
Morgana shook her head amusedly.
"I know, Harry. I birthed him."
"You did well with this one."
"Well, you can forget any bright ideas you might have of making another one, for a while, at least."
Harry grinned at the woman.
"Maybe a girl next time?"
"I'm afraid I don't get much say in that, but I'll see what I can do," Morgana replied dryly. "Come on, hand him over. It's time for a feed."
Harry did so reluctantly, and Morgana rolled her eyes at him.
"He's not going anywhere," she pointed out. "You can have him back when he's done. Honestly, maybe you should've been his mother."
"There's nothing wrong with being a proud man."
"No, there isn't," Morgana agreed with a smile. "I think it is endearing just how much you love him."
"No more than I do you," Harry assured her. "It's just a different kind of love."
Morgana hummed as she quirked an eyebrow at him before leaving the kitchen to sit more comfortably in her nursing chair.
Harry was enjoying fatherhood, and knew he would only continue to do so the older Taran became. Already, he had plans within plans for them, and he couldn't wait to experience the many things with his own son that he had with Godric and Salazar.
He would take Taran up and down the country on horseback, show him Britain, and teach him all about the world around them.
Such a thought, however, caused him to frown.
Perhaps such a thing would not happen if the world continued to crumble.
Slowly but surely, that's what was happening.
With the goblins still plotting, and the ongoing issues between the magicals and muggles, the world would likely be a very different place when Taran was old enough to see it for himself.
Harry could only shake his head as he pondered it.
He had yet to see anything to suggest the creatures were indeed plotting a rebellion, save for what Godric had been told, which was as concerning as it was enlightening.
It meant that the goblins truly trusted none outside of themselves.
Harry had been listening for any sign of an uprising, and not even a whisper had reached his ears.
The same, however, could not be said for what was transpiring between the muggles and magicals. Rumours of unpleasant incidents were rife, and each he had investigated over the past moon all contained at least a kernel of truth.
Harry's apprehension of the group he had come upon in Theotford had done nothing to deter others from continuing with their efforts, and he'd found himself intervening in a further few situations he'd found himself witnessing.
Not that he'd taken the perpetrators to Camelot.
He had of course been considering Arthur's request, and though he was reluctant to accept the offer, he understood the necessity for it.
Magical transgressions against their counterparts was a persistent concern across the length and breadth of the country, and with the Wizard's Council doing nothing to put a stop to it, Harry knew someone would have to.
Even Myrddin, someone seemingly on Arthur's side was seemingly content to ignore it too, and it was only a matter of time before the muggles would fight back, doing the opposite of what it was Myrddin proclaimed to want to achieve.
He claimed he wanted harmony amongst all peoples of Britain, but what was happening was the opposite.
It was confusing to say the least and only made Harry question Myrddin's true motive.
If harmony was truly what he wanted, why would he allow the magicals to act in such ways towards the muggles.
Hary didn't know, but he was determined to find out.
That chance would come soon enough, but until then he intended to spend a little more time with his son.
Perhaps meeting with the Wizard's Council was a risk, but he'd put it off for long enough now. He needed to get a measure of them, to understand the motivations of the collective group before deciding his next course of action.
He released a deep breath at the very thought.
Somehow, he expected to be disappointed by those that considered themselves the authority over all magicals, and if that was indeed the case, he would need to truly consider what he would do next.
Hermione had always said he had a thing for saving people, and Harry could not help but think she was right.
He could not in good conscience allow the persecution and mistreatment of muggles, even if those he'd known growing up had been amongst the most unpleasant people he had met.
"Where are you meeting with them?" Morgana asked as she entered the room.
Harry frowned as he unrolled the reply he'd received from the Wizard's Council.
"Canterbury," he answered with a frown, consulting the brief missive to check he had missed none of the pertinent details.
"Not London?"
Harry shook his head.
He had little understanding of how the Wizard's Council had become the Ministry of Magic based in the capital. Perhaps it would move in the future, but for now, Canterbury is where they held their meetings.
Harry was cautious at best about meeting with them.
Rookwood's father would certainly not be accommodating, but he was interested to see the reception he would receive from the other thirty-nine members, if they were indeed all in attendance.
Regardless, Harry was taking nothing for granted and was prepared for all outcomes.
He just hoped there would be no egotistical displays of foolishness or political posturing.
The Wizard's Council held no real authority, not yet at least, and Harry would not be cowed by them.
Nonetheless, he would be respectful of their positions.
Being at odds with such a powerful entity was something he would rather avoid, which is why he'd yet to discuss Arthur's idea with him further. There was merit to it, that he wouldn't deny, but accepting such a position would inevitably be troublesome.
The Wizard's Council would certainly not take kindly to it.
Once more, Harry found himself in quite the predicament, but if he could not reach an accord with the council themselves upon discussing his concerns, then his hand might just be forced.
(Break)
News of the death of Ignotus Peverell had reached Camelot, though not until after the man had been buried. Arthur had never met the man himself, but he'd been saddened for both Harry and Owain.
Out of respect for the agreement reached between the Peverells and Myrddin, he'd not attempting to visit Godric's Hollow to pay his respects, but he'd ensured a suitable tribute had been sent to Owain, who was evidently the new lord of the land.
The letter he'd received in response had been as humble as he'd expected with the man expressing his gratitude for the consideration, but it was the conversation with Myrddin that had followed the revelation of Ignotus's death that had irked the king.
"Arthur, this could be an opportunity to renegotiate the standing of the land and bring it under your rule."
Arthur shook his head.
"I will not break the agreement," he said firmly. "Besides, do you wish to meet Harry and Owain on the battlefield? I certainly do not. I consider them both friends, first and foremost, and the deadliest of foes. You have seen what they are capable of."
Arthur saw no need to stake a claim for the land Owain no commanded, especially considering the troubles that plagued him and the part he hoped Harry would still play in remedying them.
The king knew his position was precarious without the cooperation of the magicals, and his hold on Britain tenuous at best if they took exception to him in any way.
That thought alone kept him awake at night, and Harry's silence on the matter did not help.
Had he asked too much of the man?
Perhaps, but Arthur knew he would be remiss in his duties if he did not find a way to nullify such a potential threat against his kingdom.
Myrddin certainly could not be relied upon to keep his kind in line, after all. He'd proven that already with the handling of Dustin Rookwood.
It had been rather humiliating for Arthur, though no more than the suspicions he harboured surrounding his wife.
Already, there were several among his men who caused him to be suspicious of them. Many had been absent from gatherings recently, but when Arthur pondered that, it wasn't something new.
Often, there were those that had their duties to attend to, so he could not rely on the presence of his knights.
It was frustrating to say the least, and Arthur doubted he would get no closer to either confirming of dispelling his suspicions unless he caught Guinevere in the act of infidelity, something he was reluctant to do, though something that was quickly becoming necessary.
He'd almost taken the plunge already, had even been ready to hide near the hidden entrance to her rooms, but had been unable to bring himself to do it.
Arthur did not fear his wife.
On the contrary, his lack of affection for Guinevere gave him hope that there was a reason to finally be rid of her, even if that very thought sounded unkind in his own thoughts.
Nonetheless, he could not ignore that every one of his instincts was telling him that she was disloyal to him, that she had not upheld the wedding vows they had exchanged the same way he had.
No, Arthur no longer loved his wife, but he had remained true to her, even if she had not to him.
How he would manage such a fallout, he was unsure, but it was next to impossible to ignore any longer, and he now realised that as unpleasant as what was to come would be, the sickening truth was worse than the lie he was living.
Soon.
He would need to confront what was happening behind his back soon.
The king just needed to prepare himself for just how deep the seeds of betrayal had been sown and allowed to flourish.
(Break)
Canterbury was not somewhere Harry had frequented regularly. He'd visited only a few times and only once recently to find that it was a quiet place with little troubles amongst the people.
Knowing that this was where the Wizarding Council conducted its affairs explained the peace here. It wasn't as though the members would tolerate such problems on their own doorstep, after all.
The cathedra itself stood quite the magnificent building in comparison to most and had already been established here for more than three centuries.
It wasn't the architecture that brought Harry here, however, and as he approached the building, he ensured that his wands and cloak were in reach should he need them.
He hoped there wouldn't be the need for either, but he was taking no chances.
It was a robed man that greeted him upon his entry, and he eyed Harry curiously from beneath a hood.
"Harry Potter?" he questioned gruffly.
"That is me."
The man grunted in response and merely beckoned for Harry to join him.
He was led into the vestry where a large tapestry adorned the wall. With a wave of his own wand, the image depicting Jesus on the cross became transparent, and there was a tunnel evidently leading to a hidden room beneath the cathedral itself.
"Down there," the man instructed, gesturing for Harry to enter.
He did so, readying himself for what is what to face, and as the tunnel opened up, Harry found himself in a large cavern, facing dozens of men and women sitting on stone benches that reached the ceiling.
It wasn't unlike the chambers of the Wizengamot he had visited briefly during his return home, only somewhat less grand and smaller.
"Ah, you must be Harry Potter," a much older man greeted, his eyes roaming over Harry speculatively. "I must say, we do not take kindly to delayed responses to our missives."
"And I do not take kindly to being interrupted whilst I am mourning and caring for my new-born son," Harry returned evenly.
Those within the room murmured amongst themselves.
"Then you have both our condolences and congratulations," a woman replied firmly, shooting a look of warning towards her colleagues.
She seemed sincere, but Harry was taking nothing for granted. Nonetheless, he offered the woman an appreciative nod, and once more found himself under scrutiny of the gathered members.
Despite being here, he still knew little of how they operated, but he suspected it was much the same as what he'd learned of the Wizengamot.
All may be members, but it was the richest and most influential who held all the true power.
"Harry Potter," one of the other men addressed him. "Some years ago now, your name was on ever pair of lips up and down the country. I have it on good authority that you single-handedly killed a dragon, banished a sizable group of wraiths that often plague Britain, and even defeated an army of the dead created by the darkest of witches hailing from East Anglia. Those are some exceptional feats, and yet, you seemed to have faded into obscurity," he finished questioningly.
"I went home," Harry answered with a shrug.
"And now you are back," the man returned. "Why?"
He leaned forward interestedly.
"Because something deeply disturbing caught my attention," Harry answered. "Let us not stand on ceremony. You did not summon me here for us to regale one another with tales. There are those among you who would have me punished for intervening when it was necessary, when I put a stop to a most morally abhorrent incident. Had I not done so, you would remain ignorant of it, or simply didn't care enough to stop it yourselves, but I will make one thing clear. I did not know that the perpetrator was one of your sons, and if I did, what happened would've been no different."
He had spoken firmly, but with respect, and the members of the council began murmuring amongst themselves once more.
"You are right, Harry Potter," the first woman spoke again, holding her hand up whilst she broke down in a f it of coughing. "Excuse me. There are those here who believe you should be punished…"
"Under what law?" Harry interjected. "What written and ratified law did I break?"
The members of the Wizard's Council were taken aback by the question, and Harry shook his head.
"So, that is the measure of this body," he sighed. "You decide upon hearing things whether or not someone should be punished based on nothing but your feelings on a particular matter."
"We have laws, Potter!" one of the men snapped.
"Then tell me which one I broke," Harry insisted.
He knew the laws the group had agreed upon.
Salazar had provided him with the rather loose list, and what he'd done to Rookwood was not punishable under any of them.
Those gathered knew it to be true, and some appeared uneasy by his insistence to provide something of substance he could be held accountable to.
"You cut off my son's hand!"
"And if it wasn't your son, I wouldn't be standing here," Harry pointed out. "If you know my reputation so well, each of you will know I have done much worse to others in the pursuit of maintaining peace across Britain. Your son, Rookwood, was caught in the act of doing something most reprehensible, and I ensured he did not get away with it. Just because you are personally affronted by what happened, does not give you the right to think you can punish someone because it suits your personal vendetta you have against me. I will not apologise for what I did. By the laws you have all agreed upon, I could've taken his life, and Dustin could also have been executed by the king. In this case, you should be damned grateful none of those things happened."
Harry stood before them defiantly, his gaze roaming over the members of the council.
Some appeared to be offended by the way he'd addressed them, and others rather impressed by his presence.
Harry had not intended to be such a way, but Rookwood reminded him much of Lucius Malfoy in how he'd pompously assumed Harry would be cowed by him.
He would not.
He'd never been so by Voldemort, and he would not by a gathering of witches and wizards who held their positions only because of the gold they possessed.
The very first woman who had spoken to him fell victim to another coughing fit, and she held up her hand once more.
"Again, you are correct, Harry Potter," she croaked. "There are those of us here who would wish to punish you for what happened, but there are those who only desire to live by the laws we agreed upon. I admit, we are far from perfect but our work to be the best we can for all our people is ongoing. There is no law against what you did, and if Willan Rookwood has a personal vendetta against you, it should remain just that without interference from the Wizard's Council."
Harry nodded appreciatively, though he frowned.
"Our people," he murmured. "What of the muggles? Are they to continue being victimised by our kind just because we hold an advantage over them?"
The members of the Wizard's Council appeared uncomfortable, and Harry realised that, for the most part, the majority of them didn't care.
He shook his head, and the woman who had been somewhat supportive of him fell victim to another coughing fit.
Out of the forty gathered members, less than half had any sympathy for the plight of the muggles.
Harry snorted to himself as he removed a trunk from within his robes.
Resizing it, he rummaged through the contents until he came across one of the brews Morgana had included in his potions kit; something she insisted he keep with him at all times in case of need.
"Here," he sighed, approaching the coughing woman. "This will get rid of that within a few hours."
"It will?" she asked sceptically. "It has plagued me for months. I often find I struggle to breathe and feel fatigued."
Pneumonia.
Given that the woman was a witch, the illness was not so fatal, but eventually, it would take its toll on her and perhaps lead to an untimely death.
"It will," Harry assured her.
She took the vial and eyed the swirling liquid within.
"Are you a Healer, Harry Potter?"
He shook his head amusedly.
"No, but my wife is an exceptional one. The brew will see you right, and if it doesn't, I'm sure your colleagues here will hunt me down."
The woman frowned before nodding, and Harry's gaze swept across the room once more before he took his leave.
There would be no help from the Wizard's Council. If anything, Harry got the impression that most were staunchly against him even before he arrived, and as he apparated away from Canterbury, he couldn't help but think that Arthur was right.
If the crimes against muggles were to be stopped, it would take another approach entirely, and that person that took it upon themselves to do so would merely have to deal with the Wizard's Council as and when the need arose.
(Break)
She hummed a tune to herself she had heard on the wireless in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place as she tended to her many brewing potions, counting the stirs to the right and left whilst Taran rested peacefully in the sling across her chest.
Of course, she'd cast a bubble around the boy to protect him from the fumes, and he was sleeping, having already eating his fill, for a while at least.
This was what Morgana found to be truly peaceful; the sound of the bubbling cauldrons, the many smells that filled her nose, and how relaxing the atmosphere of her brewing room was.
She had come to relish her time here, revel in the peace she and Harry had been allowed to enjoy these past moons and enjoy motherhood.
Even now as she looked upon her slumbering son, Morgana could scarcely believe that she was a mother now. It was proving to be more than she could've ever anticipated, and yet, she could think of nothing she would ant more.
Not that Harry wasn't a proud father, but he was a restless man.
Thoughts of her husband caused her to release a deep sigh.
Morgana did not doubt that he treasured all they were still building for themselves, but Harry was not like her. He would never be content to remain home and tend to their land.
No, as much as he would deny it, he was an adventurer, a wanderer, and at his very best on the battlefield.
Harry was the embodiment of a warrior, something Morgana realised would not change in the near future.
Of course, she had helped him upon their return to where he'd come from, and even in the war against Guthrum and the dead, but Morgana did not crave such things the way her husband did.
No, as much as she loved exploring her magic, pushing her limits, and growing exponentially, she was no warrior.
Her husband was.
Harry thrived on the battlefield, enjoyed the conflict; both the good and the bad, and excelled at it.
Morgana had always known this, and though there was a part of her that wished he was not the way he was; Harry Potter would not be the man she'd fallen in love if he was different.
Nonetheless, that did not stop her worrying for him, and she expected there would be many more times throughout their lives together that would be so.
She even expected the same would be for Taran, and any other children she birthed if they took after their father.
Oddly, such a thought did not trouble her as much as she expected.
Her children, ll of them, would be trained by their father, and if nothing else, Harry was as meticulous with that as he was gifted in the art of war.
"I don't suppose it went as intended?" she asked as he entered the room, a deep frown creasing his brow.
"Not quite, but not as badly either," he mused aloud. "There are those that would sooner agree with me than the others, but they are not the majority."
"But you already have a plan to change that."
Harry shook his head.
"Not as such," he sighed. "Things will have to change, but it's clear most do not care what is happening to the muggles."
Morgana hummed as she watched her husband. She could almost see his mind already formulating plans to change things, and she could only shake her head amusedly as she handed her son to the man.
"Whilst you are plotting, you can hold him," she said with a grin.
"I'm not plotting."
Morgana quirked an eyebrow at the man.
"Harry Potter, I have known since you were a meek little boy. I know when you are plotting."
He merely grinned in response, sporting a look of mischief.
"Maybe a little," he conceded. "I need to speak with Arthur."
"And what is it you intend on saying to the king?"
"That he is right," Harry answered. "That if he wants to make a difference and want the council to take note of his power, he will have to give them a reason to. His idea is not a bad one, so long as it is executed carefully so not to provoke their ire."
Morgana shook her head.
"We both know that is inevitable, don't we?"
"Maybe," Harry acknowledged, "but as long as the path is trodden carefully, I think it might lead to something worthwhile."
Nonetheless, he was frowning as he handed Taran back to her and Harry left their home once more.
"Maybe one day he will be content with peace," Morgana sighed amusedly.
(Break)
It was not so often that it was Myrddin summoned to meet with his associates in such high places, and as he entered a tavern in Cent he'd not frequented for some time, a cup of honeyed mead was handed to him by the man he'd come to meet.
"He finally answered our summons," Wilberforce explained.
"Potter?" Myrddin asked with a frown.
Wilberforce nodded.
"He certainly made quite impression, some not so good, but others were impressed with him. I myself find myself of the latter. He is quite the polarising figure, Myrddin. He was confident, unapologetic, charismatic even, and unyielding."
Myrddin released a deep sigh.
He had truly expected nothing less of the man.
"And none of it compares to his magical prowess," he murmured. "Make no mistake, Wilberforce, Harry Potter is not merely wind and words. He wields magic like no other I have seen, and he has the mind of a warrior."
Wilberforce shook his head dismissively.
"It will come to nothing," he said with certainty. "As impressive as he is, he is only one man. He will never be welcomed by the majority of us. He lacks the resources and his influence is minimal."
"No, they remember him, old friend," Myrddin said firmly. "The Crow is not so easily forgotten. He may have been away for some time, but his influence remains strong. If he chooses to cultivate it, his threat might just be unparalleled."
"You are concerned?"
"Only a fool would not be," Myrddin murmured. "I have seen what he is capable of, the loyalty he inspires. He may lack the resources now, but I expect he could accumulate them if he so chooses."
Wilberforce finally seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.
"What would you have done?"
"Nothing, for now," Myrddin answered thoughtfully. "Thus far, Potter has shown no intention of expansion. He is content with his little corner of influence, though if a handle on the unpleasantness is not grasped, then his reputation and influence may continue to grow. I have it on a reliable authority that he has been frequenting taverns and muggle dwellings up and down the country. If you believe what he did to Willan's son is troubling, I fear you are uninformed of just how dangerous a man Potter is."
"Then perhaps you should tell me," Wilberforce urged, gesturing for more drinks to be brought to them.
(Break)
Arthur was taken aback by the sudden appearance of the man, and he eyed him curiously for a moment.
"You think it is a good idea?"
"I think it is the only idea," Harry sighed. "Most were unmoved, but if they see that you have a means to protect your kind from us, they will take notice. I urge caution, of course. You punishments for any transgressions should not be nominal, but enough that they feel they must intervene. I must stress that I am relying on Myrddin's own ambitions to keep you safe from any reprisals. I expect they will take exception to my efforts, however."
Arthur nodded his understanding.
"It will be to your discretion. I will defer to you, Harry, but take responsibility for what you believe is the correct course of action in your capacity. You do not seem thrilled."
"I'm not," Harry snorted, "but someone has to be willing to do it if things are to change the way they should. I will make it clear, Arthur, I still do not agree that our worlds should come together. It is with good reason they remain separate, but until others see sense, the fallout must be minimised."
Arthur nodded as he offered his hand.
"Then let us discuss what it is you will need to make this happen," he urged.
"I will need other magicals to begin with," Harry replied.
"Are you able to recruit them?"
Hary nodded thoughtfully.
"I have a few in mind who will be willing to help."
"Excellent," Arthur declared. "Then we are already halfway there."
"No," Harry denied. "It is just the beginning of a very tense time ahead of us. We will need allies still, powerful ones among my own people."
"You're powerful," Arthur pointed out. "Even now they still speak of you across the kingdom."
Once more, Hary appeared to be displeased, but he nodded his agreement.
"Then perhaps my name should continue to pass their lips," he murmured. "I'm sure with what is to come, it is inevitable. I will consider what else we may need, and I'll be in touch again soon."
With that, he vanished, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.
At the very least, there was someone working with him who was willing to defend his people from those Arthur feared he could not.
What good it would do remained to be seen, but the king had learned long ago to have faith in Harry Potter.
The man had not let him down yet, after all.
(Break)
She continued to eye the owl curiously, and the bird returned the gesture unflinchingly.
Morgana had never seen one act so regally, standing proudly sporting a harness made of the leather. At the very centre of its chest, he wore a large, gold plate with the image of a large tree embedded in the middle.
It had not allowed her to retrieve the scroll attached to her leg, barking in protest as Morgana had attempted to do so.
She shook her head as she continued rocking Taran to sleep, smiling fondly at her son.
It was only a few moments later that her frowning husband returned, pausing as he took in the sight of the large owl perched above the fireplace.
"Yours?" he asked curiously.
Morgana rolled her eyes at him.
She did have a proclivity for collecting companions that wandered near to their home, but this certainly wasn't one of them.
"Yours, I think," she replied.
Harry released a deep sigh as he relieved the owl of its missive, and the bird immediately took its leave of their home whilst Harry unrolled the parchment it had delivered.
"Bad news?" Morgana asked.
"Not as such," Harry answered handing her the letter.
To Sir Harry Potter,
I would first like to thank you and ask that you pass on my gratitude to your wife for creating such an excellent brew.
As you explained, the illness that had plagued me for so many moons was all but gone in a matter of hours.
I had begun to fear it would be the end of me, and for that alone, I owe you both a considerable debt.
I expect it did not escape your notice that most of my peers were rather displeased with how you comported yourself during our meeting, but I wished to assure you that there are those of us who agree with you, even if we are a minority.
I would like to meet with you to discuss mutual interests further in the hope that a solution can, at the very least, be considered.
Once more, you have my gratitude,
Lady Adelaide Meadows
Morgana was as perplexed as her husband, but Hary nodded thoughtfully.
"It would be useful to have some allies amongst them," he murmured.
"So, you will meet with her?"
"I will," Harry decided. "I expect we may be able to help one another with all that is to come."
The meeting with the Wizard's Council had gone no better than Harry had expected, but perhaps this would be a silver lining for him on a horizon that appeared to be so bleak.
Britain could certainly not continue as it was, and with the prospect of war with the goblins and the issues mounting between muggles and magicals alike, it could well be a much-needed step to a lasting peace.