Cavorting with Death

Enjoy...

Chapter 13

CwD

September 2nd, 1996

"Dear Morgana!" Andromeda gasped, her voice breaking the silence of the drawing room. Her eyes moved swiftly across the letter, brows arching higher with each line until she finally let out a weary sigh and set the parchment down.

"Is something amiss, dear?" Inquired Dorea, her gaze lifting from the book in her lap as she placed a delicate bookmark between its pages.

Andromeda gave a measured nod. "I… am not entirely sure. Tell me, Aunt Dorea, did Grandfather ever conduct business with the House of Azure?"

Dorea's lips pursed thoughtfully, and she turned fully to Andromeda, eyes sharp. "Arcturus did, indeed. He maintained substantial ties beyond our borders. If I recall correctly, the House of Azure was among his associates. But why do you ask?"

Andromeda held up the letter. "Hadrian received an invitation to attend an event the House of Azure is hosting this December."

"Oh?" Dorea's eyes glinted, her curiosity piqued. "And who signed it?"

"A Lord Giovanni Azure."

"Lord Giovanni… I could've sworn he passed away years ago," Dorea murmured, more to herself than to Andromeda.

"Well, apparently he's quite alive," Andromeda replied, her tone uncertain. "Do you think it is wise that Hadrian go?"

Dorea straightened, her voice taking on a stern edge. "He'd be remiss not to. He's the Lord Black, after all."

Andromeda frowned. "Despite how much he's grown, Aunt Dorea, Hadrian isn't quite ready for the complexities of international politics especially those that involve the Coloured Families."

"What choice does he have, Andromeda? It was only a matter of time before these influential families would seek an audience. At least now we have a few months to prepare." Dorea shook her head, her painted face taking on a wistful expression. "If only Arcturus were still with us… have you managed to locate his and Melania's painting?"

Andromeda shook her head, leaning back in her chair. "Hadrian forbade me from entering Grimmauld Place, claiming he can't guarantee that the wards won't harm me, despite my recent reinstatement."

"A wise caution," Dorea murmured approvingly. "Grimmauld's wards were designed to be… thorough, to put it lightly. It's best you heed his warning."

"He plans to find them over the holiday."

"That's fitting. Don't delay it," Dorea advised, her tone grave. "The Coloured Families are not to be trifled with, dear. Their influence spans realms that smaller houses can only dream of reaching. If you want a fighting chance, Arcturus's guidance is invaluable. I know of no one better suited for such delicate diplomacy."

"Not even Uncle Charlus?" Andromeda asked with a faint smile.

Dorea's lips curved slightly as her gaze shifted to the man beside her, dozing peacefully. "Charlus would hold his own admirably, of that I have no doubt. But against a family like the House of Azure?" Her smile faded, replaced by a sharp edge. "That requires a… darker touch."

Andromeda's gaze drifted, the weight of Dorea's words pressing on her. "Do you think Grandfather would be willing to help Hadrian?"

The older woman raised her chin imperiously. "He will if I have anything to say about it," she declared.

CwD

" – Sorry, mate. We tried saving you a seat but Malfoy and Crabbe got there before we could do anything." Ron whispered, giving Hermione a sheepish look when she glared at the pair of them for whispering during class.

Harry rolled his eyes at bushy haired girl in front of him. "S'fine, Ron. It could've been worse."

"Perhaps…" Daphne said, though she wasn't convinced. "I'm positive Draco's hiding something."

Daphne's words continued to echo in his mind and Harry couldn't deny that there may have been some truth to what she was saying.

Draco looked tired, paler than usual and jittery, as if he was struggling to stand still. Though he acted like he was concentrating on Slughorn's lecture, his eyes looked glazed, like his mind was elsewhere.

" – And what about this? Who can tell me what this potion might be?"

Pushing the thoughts of Draco out of his mind, Harry returned his attention back to Slughorn. The man had made them all get up and huddle around the front of the class where he had begun to quiz them on the three cauldrons in front of him.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"That's Amortentia, Professor. The most powerful love potion in the world," Hermione murmured, her gaze locked on the shimmering, mother-of-pearl liquid in the cauldron.

The rotund professor's eyes twinkled. "Correct! Take five points! And for another five, would you care to enlighten the class on its identifiable qualities?"

Hermione hesitated, but then nodded. She stepped forward, her expression shifting to something softer, almost entranced.

"The steam it releases is unmistakable, rising in distinctive spirals… Amortentia's scent is unique to each person, reflecting what we're most attracted to…" She trailed off, her cheeks flushing pink. "For example, I… I smell…"

"Yes, dear?" Slughorn's eyebrow arched in amusement.

"I… it's nothing, Professor." She quickly ducked away, a faint blush still lingering as she took her place back in front of a perplexed Harry and Ron.

Slughorn chuckled, his round face alight with amusement. "Excellent observations, Miss Granger! Another five points to Gryffindor." Turning to the rest of the class, he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "As Miss Granger described, Amortentia is an extraordinary potion – remarkable in both its complexity and allure. And as it so happens, this batch is exceptionally potent. Any brave soul curious enough to take a sniff… well, you may never get this chance again."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the room. Students leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. Soon, a few bold girls surged toward the cauldron with excited squeals, and some of the boys followed suit, eager to test the potion's reputed enchantment.

"Oh, can we go too? Please, please?" Tracey whispered, her voice buzzing with excitement. She looked at Daphne and Lily expectantly, her eyes practically sparkling.

Lily scoffed, crossing her arms. "Dream on, Davis. Go on your own." She smirked and glanced at Daphne, whose gaze was fixed on the cauldron, her expression distant and unreadable. "Or maybe take blondie with you before she accidentally summons the whole thing over here with that stare."

Daphne blinked, startled by the comment. A faint blush crept up her cheeks, but she quickly masked it, drawing on her Occlumency to smooth her features into practiced neutrality. Without a word, she shot a sharp glare at Lily, turned on her heel, and strode back to her seat.

Tracey's hopeful smile faltered as she watched Daphne retreat. "But… I thought we'd finally cracked her icy exterior," she murmured, her shoulders slumping.

"Let it go, Tracey," Lily said softly, rolling her eyes before adding in a gentler tone, "She's trying, in her own way. Remember yesterday? She actually opened up a little. That's huge for her."

Tracey hesitated, glancing over at Daphne, now seated with her usual, perfect composed demeanour. "Do you think so?"

Lily nudged her. "She wouldn't have sat with us today if she didn't want to. Baby steps, Trace. She's been on her own since Fourth Year. Give her time to figure it out."

Tracey's gaze lingered on Daphne. For a brief moment, Daphne's cool facade cracked, her eyes flicking toward them. Tracey took a chance, offering her a tentative smile.

To her surprise, a faint flicker of warmth touched Daphne's lips – a subtle quirk at the corner, fleeting but unmistakable.

Tracey grinned, turning to Lily with a renewed brightness. "Baby steps," she repeated softly.

Lily's expression softened, a rare smile gracing her face. "Exactly."

CwD

Daphne watched with detached amusement as the line to the cauldron shortened, her usual mask of indifference firmly in place. Only when Anthony Goldstein caught her eye, his lingering, almost wistful glance directed at her, did her expression shift. Her lips curled into a faint sneer before she turned back to the girls who had opted to stay with her instead of joining the crowd at the front.

"Disgusting... he's like a salivating dog," Lily muttered, wrinkling her nose in disdain.

"More like a bloody toerag," Tracey quipped, leaning casually against the table next to Daphne. But before anyone could reply, Tracey's eyes lit up with sudden excitement. "Look – Potter's going!"

At those words, Daphne's focus sharpened. Subtly, she shifted her gaze forward, though she wasn't alone; the class had fallen unusually quiet, every head turning to watch Harry as Ron and Dean nudged him toward the cauldron. Both boys grinned mischievously, their delight undimmed by Harry's dark scowl.

Slughorn's face lit up with unrestrained glee. "Harry, my boy! I was wondering when you'd give it a go!"

"Not willingly, Professor," Harry muttered, throwing a murderous glare at his friends, who returned it with unapologetic smirks.

"Nonsense!" Slughorn boomed with a hearty chuckle. "Perhaps one little sniff is just the nudge you need to, ah, head in the right direction." He winked conspiratorially. "Isn't that right, Harry?"

Daphne's lips twitched as Harry's face contorted in reluctant resignation. Then, to her irritation, he plastered on that fake smile – the kind that didn't touch his eyes, the one she had grown to despise.

"Can you believe this?" Tracey whispered, stifling a giggle. "Imagine what he'll smell!"

A fleeting thought surfaced in Daphne's mind, unbidden and unwelcome: Would Harry recognize her scent in the potion's pull? She shoved the idea aside almost instantly, burying it under layers of indifference.

Perhaps in another life… The bitter thought lingered, and though she tried to dismiss it, her hands clenched involuntarily at her sides as her gaze locked onto the back of Granger's head.

Beside her, Tracey nudged Lily, who had her arms crossed and was rolling her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

"It's just Potter," Lily muttered dismissively, her tone heavy with boredom.

"Just Potter?" Tracey repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. "Are you serious? He's the most eligible bachelor Hogwarts has had in, like, forever! Especially now – the papers won't stop raving about him. I knew you were oblivious, Lily, but I didn't think you were this blind."

Lily's eyes narrowed, her expression wavering between annoyed and begrudgingly convinced. "Alright, alright, maybe you're right," she conceded with a reluctant huff. "But it's still just… Potter."

Daphne, however, had already tuned them out, her attention fixed on Harry. She watched as he bent over the cauldron, visibly reluctant, and inhaled a cautious breath. His reaction was subtle – blinking rapidly before leaning back – but his expression gave nothing away.

"Well?" Slughorn asked eagerly, his grin widening as though he expected some profound declaration. "Enlightening, then, m'boy?"

Straightening up, Harry cast a glance around the room, his gaze flitting briefly over Daphne who felt as though her heart had stopped.

"Enlightening in some ways," Harry said evenly, his tone careful. "It's… a lot to take in, but useful."

Slughorn's hopeful enthusiasm dimmed for a moment, but he recovered quickly with an emphatic chuckle. "You're a tough nut to crack, Mr. Potter. But mark my words – one day, we'll all be enlightened!" he said, huffing good-naturedly.

Daphne couldn't tear her eyes away. She found herself wondering – what had Harry smelled? What memories had the potion stirred? Did it include her? Did he think of her at all?

Across the room, Ron and Dean had pounced, badgering Harry with eager questions about the potion. A scowl tugged at Harry's mouth, but Daphne caught the faintest flicker of a smile as he muttered something to Ron that left the redhead's face as red as his hair.

"Merlin, he's fit…" Tracey whispered, leaning closer to Daphne with a teasing grin. "Seriously, you're one lucky girl."

Daphne's heart skipped a beat, though she kept her expression cool. "What do you mean, Dav – Tracey?"

Tracey smirk widened.

"Well, let's just say that Busty Bones and Pretty Patil have been throwing daggers your way ever since they heard Potter's your partner for the project. Can't blame them, really. Hell, even I'm jealous!" Her smirk turned into a mischievous grin. "Say… you want to switch partners?"

Daphne's eyes flicked to the other side of the room, where Susan Bones and Padma Patil sat, openly casting longing glances toward Harry. A brief surge of satisfaction mingled with her irritation – a strange mix she quickly pushed down.

"Sooo?" Tracey pressed, entirely ignoring the exasperated sigh from Lily beside them.

The blonde turned back; her face perfectly composed despite the flicker of emotions roiling beneath the surface. "It's fine," she said coolly, forcing nonchalance into her voice. "Potter might be… irritating, but it's nothing I can't handle. As long as he doesn't get in my way, I'll just tolerate him."

Tracey rolled her eyes, shaking her head with exaggerated disbelief. "Figures that only you would act like being paired with the sexiest boy in school is some kind of chore."

"– Alright, alright, settle down! Back to your seats, if you please!"

Slughorn's booming voice cut through the chatter, and the students reluctantly peeled away from the cauldrons. As they trickled back to their tables, more than a few heads turned to Harry, who had returned to his seat beside Daphne with an impassive face. She mirrored his expression, her mask of indifference firmly in place.

"Illuminating, then?" Daphne asked coolly, her voice low enough not to draw Slughorn's attention as he began his lecture on the contents of the remaining cauldrons.

Harry shifted in his seat, shooting her a brief glance before fixing his gaze on the front of the class. "I suppose," he replied, echoing his earlier words.

Daphne sniffed haughtily beside him. "That's not what it looked like."

"And what did it look like, Greengrass?" Harry sighed, opening Advanced Potion-Making with little interest. As he flipped to a page, his attention snagged on a neat, cursive scrawl at the top of the parchment:

This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince.

Harry snorted internally, a flicker of amusement breaking through his irritation.

What kind of name is that?

"Nothing," Daphne said, her tone laced with a foreign edge that made Harry pause. Her voice held an unfamiliar weight as she added, "From the rumours I've heard over the years, one would think it'd be obvious who caught your eye."

Harry stiffened at her words, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the desk. For the first time, he turned fully toward Daphne, meeting her electric-blue eyes. Her gaze was unwavering but unsettlingly empty, a void where her usual sharpness should have been.

He cleared his throat, pivoting away from the line of conversation. "I was surprised you didn't go up."

Daphne studied him for a moment longer, as though weighing his sincerity, before finally turning her head away. Her voice was so quiet that Harry almost missed her next words.

"There was no need," she said simply. Her hands folded neatly atop her desk; her eyes fixed on the middle distance. Then, so softly that it felt more like a confession to herself than to him, she added, "I already know what I'd smell."

CwD

"Merlin's beard! It is perfect! I'd say a drop of that would kill us all!" Slughorn exclaimed, beaming at Daphne and Harry.

The rotund man turned to address the rest of the class. "The clear winner! I must say Harry m'boy, it's clear you've inherited Lily's talent. Your mother was a dab hand at Potions. And as for you, Miss Greengrass – your mother Ellanore was truly remarkable. There wasn't a single subject she didn't excel in, Potions included! Though, of course, I'm hardly surprised," he added, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Achieving the highest grade in your OWL for Potions was no small feat, now, was it?"

"Thank you, Sir." Daphne replied quietly, her composure unwavering despite the sudden attention.

Beside her, Harry raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the revelation. He'd always known Daphne was competent but to receive the highest grade for Potions for their OWLs was a bit of a surprise.

Harry couldn't say the same for Hermione though, looking at her from across the class. Her lips were set in a very straight line at the revelation.

"Here you are then – one tiny vial of Felix Felicis each, as promised." Slughorn's voice took on a more serious tone as he handed them the tiny vials filled with shimmering, molten gold liquid. "Use it wisely, both of you."

Harry quickly slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious look on Draco's face and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron, meanwhile, looked completely dumbfounded.

Slughorn clapped his hands, bringing the rest of the class back to attention. "Now, now, don't look so glum, the rest of you! This was a challenging potion, and it's only natural that a few of you struggled. Potions is as much about instinct as it is about skill. But do take notes, especially those of you whose brews… well, didn't quite reach their potential." He eyed Dean and Seamus', whose cauldron was emitting a faint but distinctly unpleasant odour.

As Slughorn began wrapping up the lesson, Daphne nudged Harry's arm discreetly. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes held a flicker of amusement.

"You did better than I thought you would. Though, perhaps I should thank that book of yours instead."

Despite the strained undercurrent between them, Harry's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Perhaps you should."

She seemed almost ready to respond, her fingers twitching as if she might reach out to him – but then she quickly averted her gaze, returning to packing up her things with practiced precision. "We would've won anyway, with or without the book."

Harry hummed, mirroring her as he placed his scales away in his bag. "Maybe, but Hermione and Ron's were pretty close," he admitted, almost as if confessing a minor betrayal.

At his words, Daphne stilled for a split second, an unreadable expression flickering in her eyes before she resumed packing up. "Close only counts in exploding snap and gobstones. Didn't Slughorn say that… Granger's potion was merely adequate?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Daphne's tone. It sounded as if it was supposed to sound dismissive and yet it was tinged with a hint of something else – smugness?

" – I do expect you all to meet up with your partners in the next couple of days to begin planning what kind of potion that you will be making for your project." Slughorn piped up as the bell rang, signalling the end of the class. "Remember, the grade you get for this project goes towards your overall grade so ensure you make this a top priority!"

After a chorus of reluctant agreements, the students began to file out.

The young Lord turned his gaze back at the blonde who was now surrounded by Lily and Tracey, the pair congratulating Daphne for winning the vial of Liquid Luck. Tracey caught sight of Harry looking their way and grinned, whispering something to Daphne who immediately snapped her head in his direction.

"I'll find you," Harry began before clarifying, "for the project, I mean."

Daphne once again had an unreadable expression on her face but she nevertheless gave the black-haired teen a small nod and without a second later, Harry turned away and began walking off towards the exit where Ron and Hermione was seemingly waiting for him.

Hermione was tapping her foot impatiently, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Harry repressed a sigh. "S'pose you think I cheated then?"

Hermione's lips tightened. "Well, it wasn't exactly your work, was it?" She said stiffly.

He was at first, going to let them know about the potions book he'd found but now thought otherwise. Without a word, Harry turned and started walking away, ignoring her protests.

"Harry!" Hermione called, rushing to catch up as Ron trailed behind, looking rather uncomfortable at the impeding argument.

Harry stopped abruptly, causing Hermione to nearly stumble into him. "What, Hermione? Am I so hopeless that you'd think I just let Greengrass do all the work for me?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed. "That's not fair! I didn't say that!" she protested, though her tone was defensive, as if she knew she'd come dangerously close to implying it. "It's just… odd, isn't it? You're suddenly brilliant at Potions when last year it was your weakest subject."

Harry narrowed his eyes, his frustration deepening as he noticed the way her gaze drifted, almost reluctantly, down the hallway where Daphne had just disappeared with Tracey and Lily.

"Is this about Greengrass?"

"Of course not!" Hermione immediately shot back, but it was obvious she was lying.

The young Lord forced down a groan. "So Slughorn said she got the best grade in the class… is that really such a big deal? You're better than her in practically every other subject!"

" – It's not about the praise, Harry!" She burst out, finally meeting his eyes. "It's just… you've changed, Harry and Ron's noticed too! He just hasn't said anything."

Harry eyed Ron who was managing to look anywhere but at Harry.

"You were always good at Defence, and that made sense. But Potions? All of a sudden? It feels like you've just… I don't know, slipped into this different person, especially when you're around Greengrass and Slughorn. Almost like you're trying to impress them instead of being… well, you."

"And tell me how I'm supposed to – be me, Hermione? By deliberately botching up potions just to keep up appearances just like when Snape was teaching us?" Harry said sarcastically. "And it's not like I picked Greengrass as my partner. You were there when Slughorn made me sit next to her."

"That's not what I mean!" retorted Hermione. "It's like… it's not about the potion or Slughorn or Greengrass. I-It's just – I don't want you getting caught up in them. They're so different from us, Harry. People like Greengrass – her family has always been part of that world. And Slughorn; it's obvious he cares about connections – about people he can showcase. It's like he's pulling you into that whole world and you're just letting him!"

Harry's eyes hardened, turning an icy shade Hermione wasn't accustomed to seeing. "Maybe that's what I've always wanted," he said, his tone low and detached.

Hermione was stunned. "You… You don't really believe that?"

"Don't I?" He chuckled humourlessly, "Hermione, the magical world is the only place I've ever truly felt I belonged. Every part of me feels like it was supposed to grow up here, to be part of it. I've had to straddle both worlds, but this one…" He paused, his expression steeling. "This one is where I belong. And I don't just mean as a student."

Harry's gaze didn't waver as he continued. "I'm the Lord of two families, Hermione. The Potter family and the Black family. These houses, these responsibilities… they're mine. My heritage, my birthright. And maybe – just maybe – being around people like Slughorn or Greengrass is part of that. Part of learning to handle it all."

Hermione's expression shifted, hurt flashing across her face. "I'm not saying you shouldn't take your responsibilities seriously," she said, her voice unsteady. "I just don't want you losing yourself in all of this. In them."

Harry's lips curled into a humourless smile. "Funny. Because it sounds like you think I've already lost myself."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, the words seemingly caught in her throat.

Harry shook his head, his expression tight. "I thought you'd understand… guess I was wrong."

With that, Harry turned and walked away, leaving Hermione and Ron standing in his wake.

Hermione watched him go, her expression a mix of worry and hurt. She folded her arms across her chest, as if to steady herself. "He was never like this before… what's happened to him, Ron?"

Ron stood there, his gaze lingering on Harry's retreating figure, as if seeing his friend in a different light. There was something unfamiliar in the way Harry had spoken – a certain determination, but also a guardedness, a coldness Ron hadn't seen before.

"I dunno," Ron said at last, his voice quiet, almost reluctant.

Hermione shook her head, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "It's only been two days since we've come back, and it feels like all we've done is argue. Why is he shutting us out?"

Ron sighed, stepping closer to her. He hesitated briefly before placing a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Something must've happened during the summer," he said carefully. "The bit when we didn't hear from him and he wouldn't tell us what."

"What do you mean?" She asked worriedly.

Ron looked uncertain. "Remember when we saw him on the train? It's not just that. I didn't want to say anything because I was hoping he would but one night, I overheard mum and dad talking. I couldn't hear them clearly but they said something about an attack."

Hermione frowned. "Ron, there are always attacks – "

"Yeah, but this one involved Harry and… Voldemort," Ron interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Hermione's eyes widened, the colour draining from her face. "What?"

Ron nodded; his expression uneasy. "I-I don't know the details. Mum and Dad usually aren't as tight-lipped as they think they are, but this… this was different. They mentioned it once, that night, and then never again. It's weird, though. Every attack makes the papers, but not this one."

"He would've told us!" Hermione exclaimed but ultimately sagged in Ron's arm; her voice as quiet as mouse. "Why wouldn't he tell us, Ron? We've done everything together."

Ron's gaze shifted back toward the corridor his best friend had disappeared down, his face etched with sadness. "I dunno, Hermione. But something must've happened. Something big."

CwD

September 3rd, 1996

Andromeda drummed her fingernails on the arm of her chair. Her expression remained cool and composed, a mask of serene indifference, though beneath it, her thoughts churned. The weight of her position and the venom in the glances cast her way were impossible to ignore, even for someone as practiced as she was.

"If there is nothing else, we can adjourn for today. Minister?" Dumbledore's calm yet authoritative voice broke through the monotony of debate and deliberation.

Amelia Bones, seated at the centre of the chamber, inclined her head with a curt nod. "Very well. I shall see you all at the next session. Aurors! Open the doors!" Her gavel struck sharply, signalling the meeting's end.

Andromeda exhaled softly, a small, measured sigh as she rose along with the other Lords and Ladies. As much as she despised the posturing and thinly veiled politicking that defined these sessions, she knew her presence here was vital – for both Harry and her. Still, the long hours of tedium left her shoulders stiff and her patience tested.

She descended the stairs with deliberate grace, the hem of her robes trailing behind her. Whispers and stolen glances accompanied her, the murmurs a familiar cacophony of resentment and curiosity. "Black proxy," they said behind raised hands. "Blood traitor. And now, Potter's shield?"

The corners of her mouth lifted in a faint smirk. Let them talk. Their disapproval was her armour, their fear her weapon. She carried the weight of two powerful names on her shoulders, and every hissed insult was proof that she bore it well. Besides, none of them would have the mettle to say it to her face. Not anymore.

Andromeda exited the lift with brisk precision, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor of the atrium. Her path through the crowded space was direct, her posture radiating authority that discouraged interruption. The whispers followed her, as they always did, like the faint hum of a persistent nuisance.

Reaching one of the grand fireplaces, she stepped inside, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and declared her destination. "The Leaky Cauldron!" The green flames roared to life, swallowing her whole.

When she emerged in the dim, familiar confines of the pub, the chatter of patrons briefly quieted before resuming at a lower volume. Tom, the barkeep, offered her a hesitant nod, his demeanour almost apologetic, as if he too had felt the weight of the scrutiny directed at her. Andromeda returned the nod curtly and left without a word, stepping into the brisk air of Muggle London.

Her sanctuary.

The chill of autumn greeted her as she wrapped her coat tighter around herself. Despite her reputation for composure, Andromeda was not immune to the strain of her new reality. The scrutiny, the pressure, the constant spotlight – none of it had been part of her life just months ago. But she bore it all, as she had to. For Harry.

She hadn't been there for him when it mattered most, and she would be damned if she failed him now.

Navigating the busy streets, Andromeda wove through the throngs of people with practiced ease until she found a quiet corner café off Endell Street. The quaint sign above the door read Diana's Diner. It was unassuming, a perfect retreat from the wizarding world's chaos.

Entering, she placed her order before taking a seat at the back of the café and it wasn't long till two steaming cups of coffee and a couple of pain au chocolat arrived at her table. As soon as the waiter departed, she subtly drew her wand and cast a privacy charm, layering it with a Muggle-repellent spell for good measure.

Satisfied, she picked up her coffee and blew into a couple of times before taking a small sip, the bitter taste grounding her. She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the serenity of the moment until she suddenly spoke.

"You can come out, you know."

For a long moment, there was no response. Andromeda took another sip, as if she had all the time in the world. Then, with a sharp whoosh of air, a figure materialized before her in a swirl of black smoke.

The young woman's appearance was dishevelled – faded red hair, a gaunt face, and hollow green eyes that glinted with wary intelligence. She looked startled, her hand twitching toward her wand.

"H-how did you – ?"

Andromeda's lips curved up. "I've known for a while now. Why don't you sit?"

Her tone carried an authority that left no room for argument. The girl hesitated but eventually sank into the seat across from her, movements stiff and unsure. Andromeda studied her in silence, letting the pause stretch just long enough to unsettle her.

"You're not here to kill me," Andromeda said finally, her voice as casual as if they were discussing the weather. "If you were, you'd have tried by now. And what better place than the anonymity of Muggle London?"

The redhead didn't reply, her gaze darting between Andromeda and the untouched coffee cup in front of her. Andromeda pushed the cup and the plate of pastries toward her with a decisive gesture.

"Eat. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in weeks."

The woman hesitated again but eventually reached for the coffee. She sipped cautiously, wincing as the hot liquid burned her tongue. Then, as if emboldened by the taste, she picked up one of the pastries, biting into it with ravenous hunger.

"My foolish son hired you, didn't he?" Andromeda asked abruptly.

The girl froze mid-bite.

"Of course, he did…" Andromeda muttered, more to herself than to her companion. Her gaze turned distant, thoughts spinning before snapping back to the present. "Well?"

The redhead hesitantly nodded.

"Lost your tongue?"

"N-No."

"Then speak, girl. What is your name?"

"Sierra," the girl answered quietly, her voice almost inaudible.

Andromeda arched a brow. "No surname?"

Sierra's jaw tightened, and she shook her head. "No."

"Hm." Andromeda took another sip of her coffee, studying the young woman with a piercing gaze. "Well, Sierra, when did this arrangement begin?"

"I… I can't say. If Potter even knew that I was speaking to you…" Sierra shook her head, "I should go – "

She began to rise, but Andromeda's hand shot out, gripping her wrist with a strength that belied her composed demeanour.

"Sit," Andromeda commanded, her voice steel. "Or I'll inform my son of this development myself."

Sierra clenched her jaw and glared at the woman before huffing and sitting down again.

"Now," Andromeda began, her grey eyes locking onto pale green, "I will not ask you again, explain."

Sierra sighed and reached into her pocket, pulling out a small medallion and slid it across the table. Andromeda picked it up, her eyes narrowing as she examined the object. Two crossed axes were etched into the metal, with a wand running vertically through their centre. Below, the Roman numeral "IV" was engraved. But it was the image of the darkened fang at the top, accompanied by the words Hidden in shadow, death in sight, that made her grip tighten.

Her hand trembled with suppressed anger. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as the implications hit her. "You're a mercenary… from the Shrouded Fang." Her voice was low, dangerous.

Sierra's wariness deepened, but she nodded. "Potter hired me. We crossed paths in Switzerland during some ICW ceremony he attended."

Andromeda's eyes narrowed. "Hadrian wouldn't hire just anyone – especially someone who's only a Grade Four mercenary to protect someone like me." She said as a matter of fact.

Sierra pursed her lips. "You are surprisingly well informed of our guild, Madam Black."

"I know more about the Shrouded Fang than you might imagine," Andromeda said coldly, setting the medallion back on the table. "Now talk."

Sierra hesitated, then sighed, taking a fortifying sip of her coffee. "It's… complicated."

"Winky."

The elf popped into view, her large eyes looking up to Andromeda. "Madam Black called?"

Andromeda offered a genuine smile to the elf. "Cancel all my remaining appointments for today."

"At once, Madam Black." Winky bowed, briefly flicking her eyes to Sierra before popping away.

Andromeda crossed her legs and leaned back into her chair. "Now… talk."

Sierra stared at Andromeda for a long moment, her expression a mixture of reluctance and resignation. The silence stretched until finally, she exhaled heavily, as though surrendering a part of herself.

"Like I said, it started when I met Potter in Switzerland," Sierra began, her voice steady but her tone guarded. "I was handling a contract… a particularly nasty one. A pair of grave robbers were planning to use the bodies of children for a ritual. After I… dealt with them, imagine my surprise when I realised Potter had been watching me."

Andromeda's lips thinned. "What did you do?"

Sierra shifted in her seat, her fingers tapping nervously against the edge of the table. "He was a loose end. My cover was blown, and I did what the guild expects in those situations…"

"You tried to kill him," Andromeda murmured, her voice calm yet laced with an edge as sharp as a dagger.

Sierra held her hands up in surrender.

Sierra raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Tried, yes. That's the creed of the guild. We complete the job cleanly, efficiently, and without witnesses." Her expression flickered with something close to admiration, though it was fleeting. "But your son… he's not like anyone I've ever faced. He dismantled me completely. I've fought some of the most dangerous individuals alive, but I've never been so utterly overpowered."

For the briefest moment, Andromeda's shoulders relaxed, a flicker of relief crossing her features. "So, Hadrian defeats you and then… hires you? Just like that?"

"He needed someone skilled enough to protect you without drawing attention. Someone who wasn't tied to any country or government. I fit the bill."

Andromeda hummed, the sound sharp and unimpressed. "And you agreed. Out of the goodness of your heart, I assume?"

Sierra's jaw tightened. "I agreed because he offered me something I couldn't refuse."

"What was it?"

Sierra averted her gaze, her voice growing colder. "That's between me and him."

Andromeda's eyes darkened. She leaned forward, her presence as imposing as a storm cloud. "If my son is paying you to protect me, I have every right to know the terms of this arrangement. Speak."

Sierra clenched her fists, her resolve faltering under the older woman's scrutiny. "When I figured out who he was, I gave him my terms. I told him I'd protect you if he promised to help me with something personal."

Andromeda's gaze sharpened. "What personal matter?"

"Like I said, that's between me and him!" Sierra snapped.

Andromeda tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "Perhaps I'll ask him myself. While I'm at it, I'll let him know about this little meeting of ours. I imagine he'll be less than pleased to learn his hired wand has broken protocol – "

"To get revenge on the House of White!" Sierra hissed, slamming her hand on the table. The force jostled the cups and plates, though the wards Andromeda had placed beforehand ensured the café's other patrons remained oblivious.

"The House of White…" Andromeda murmured; her tone sharp as a blade. The older woman studied Sierra for a long moment, until her expression softened slightly. "You've made an enemy of your own blood. And now, you've entangled my son in your mess."

"It wasn't his choice to get involved," Sierra muttered, her voice quieter now. "He offered, and I took the chance."

Andromeda's eyes narrowed; her tone clipped. "I will not press you for your reasons, but any business involving a Coloured Family – especially the Whites – is cause for concern. My Hadrian's involvement in your vendetta is both reckless and dangerous."

Sierra stiffened at the rebuke, but Andromeda's voice turned cool, measured. "Nevertheless, if my son deems you capable of keeping me safe, I will not question his judgment – yet."

"I've been watching your back for weeks now," Sierra shot back, her voice sharp. "You're still breathing, aren't you?"

Andromeda's lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "For now. But understand this, Sierra: I don't trust easily, and your affiliation with the Shrouded Fang makes you suspect by default. If you fail my son's trust or put my family at risk, I will deal with you myself. Is that clear?"

Sierra nodded stiffly.

A heavy silence fell between them before Andromeda stood gracefully, brushing imaginary dust from her robes. "I must leave. Is there a way I can contact you?"

Sierra rose as well, her movements fluid despite the tension radiating from her. "Usually, I am always watching and if there truly is an emergency, I will be the one to contact you. We're trained for all scenarios, but just for added insurance, here."

Reaching into her coat, Sierra produced a small object, handing it over with deliberate care. Andromeda examined the silver-dipped fang, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"My blood is tied to this fang," Sierra explained. "Infuse it with your magic if you ever need me. It'll transmit your location to its twin, which I carry."

Andromeda's gaze lingered on the fang before she pocketed it with a quiet, "Thank you."

The redhead nodded. "So now what?"

"Now we pretend this conversation never happened, for your sake." Andromeda replied with a sigh.

"He always finds out," Sierra murmured with a scowl, "It's like he has a sixth sense when it comes to me."

Andromeda's lips quirked up ever so slightly. "Then when he does find out, leave that to me."

Sierra hesitated, then spoke. "Just one more question."

Andromeda raised a brow in silent permission.

"How did you know about the Shrouded Fang?" Sierra asked, curiosity cutting through her guarded tone. "We don't exactly advertise."

Andromeda's expression darkened, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "I have dealt with your associates before."

Sierra tilted her head, intrigued. "Oh? You've hired us, then?"

"Not me," Andromeda corrected, her tone tense, the words razor-sharp. "My grandfather. He hired three Grade Six mercenaries when he was still alive."

Sierra whistled low; her surprise evident. "That sounds a bit overkill… but knowing the Blacks, must've been a serious hit. Who was the target?"

Andromeda's reply came like the crack of a whip, her words laced with quiet fury. "My husband, my daughter, and me."

Without another word, Andromeda turned and left, leaving Sierra wide-eyed and frozen in place.

CwD

September 4th, 1996

The tension in the room was a living thing, thick and suffocating. It clung to the air, wrapping itself around each silent figure seated at the long, dark table.

Drip… drip… drip…

A slow, rhythmic sound echoed through the chamber – the unmistakable splatter of liquid falling onto stone. It was the only noise, save for the occasional soft rustle of robes as someone shifted uneasily in their seat.

§Patience, Nagini…§ The high, cold voice cut through the stillness like a blade. §We are all famished, but it is common courtesy to wait for our friendssss…§

The great serpent hissed in displeasure; her dark eyes fixated on the meal sprawled before her. But at her master's command, she coiled herself back, reluctant but obedient.

Voldemort sat serenely upon his ornate throne; his long fingers curled around a shimmering goblet. He sipped from it leisurely, his crimson eyes glittering with dark amusement as they swept over his gathered followers. The Death Eaters sat stiffly, their gazes flickering between each other and their master.

The sound of footsteps broke the heavy silence.

"Ah, Augustus." Voldemort's tone was smooth, almost welcoming. "I am glad you could join us. Sit, my friend – I have saved you a place."

"My Lord." Augustus Rookwood bowed at in the door frame before entering into the room. His beady eyes glossed over his fellow Death Eaters before he took the proffered seat in between Bellatrix and Severus, neither of whom acknowledged him.

Voldemort's lips curved into a cold, cruel smile. "Now that we are complete," he drawled, "let us not delay. Eat."

But no one moved.

The silence deepened, broken only by the soft drip of blood hitting the stone floor. Voldemort leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp and mocking as he studied the frozen expressions of his followers.

"Lucius," he said, his voice deceptively soft.

Lucius Malfoy flinched. "M-My Lord?"

The blonde wizard's pale complexion seemed even waxier under the flickering torchlight. His hands trembled slightly as they rested on the table.

"Not hungry?" Voldemort asked, tilting his head in mock concern.

Lucius swallowed hard. His eyes flickered to the plate before him, laden with an extravagant feast – a cut of perfectly seared steak, creamy mashed potatoes, and glistening vegetables. A meal worthy of the wealthiest aristocrat. Yet his stomach churned at the sight.

It wasn't the food that repulsed him – it was what lay beneath it.

Voldemort's grin widened at Lucius's silence. He turned his gaze to another target. "And you, Severus? Surely you are not one to be distracted so easily."

Even Snape, master of composure, faltered. A flicker of discomfort crossed his usually impassive features. "I… have no appetite, my Lord," he said, his voice low but steady.

"Pity," Voldemort murmured, his tone laced with dark amusement. "After all the trouble Matthew went through to acquire sweet Nagini's meal."

At the mention of his name, Matthew Gibbon raised his goblet in acknowledgment, his smirk barely concealed. Blood dripped steadily from the corners of the table, pooling onto the floor beneath the lifeless form sprawled across its centre.

"For those of you unaware," Voldemort continued, his voice taking on a theatrical lilt, "allow me to introduce our guest. This is Caradoc Dearborn, a man who caused us considerable grief during the First Blood War. An informant who slithered his way into our ranks, feeding information to that fool Dumbledore. Imagine my disappointment when he vanished at the height of the war – only to reappear years later, thanks to Matthew's diligence."

Gibbon stood, offering Voldemort a slight bow. "My Lord," he said, his tone rich with false modesty, "I regret the mess. He was a crafty one to apprehend, and, well… my cutting curse was a touch overzealous."

A twisted grin played on Voldemort's lips as he gestured toward the corpse. Caradoc's body was a grotesque sight – his head barely attached to his neck by a thin strip of flesh. Blood spilled freely, painting the table and dripping in a macabre rhythm to the floor. His face was frozen in a grotesque mask of pain.

"You did well, Matthew," Voldemort said, his tone thick with approval. "Let this serve as a reminder. Those who defy Lord Voldemort will meet a fate most unpleasant."

He turned to Nagini, who had uncoiled herself in anticipation. "Nagini," he said softly, his voice almost tender. "Dinner."

With terrifying speed, Nagini struck, her massive coils lashing forward as her fangs sank deeply into the still-warm corpse. Her jaws clamped down on Caradoc's face, puncturing his eyes with a sickening squelch. The sound of air escaping from the ruined orbs was grotesque, like the deflation of an overfilled balloon. The stench of death thickened, mingling with the nauseating crunch of bones snapping between her jaws, a sound that could drive even the steadiest mind to madness.

Voldemort observed with a dark smirk curling his lip. "Nagini," he murmured, his voice calm but commanding, "do leave a limb. He must be made an example of. No one escapes me."

Nagini obeyed, her massive body retreating to the shadowed corner of the room, her meal reduced to a mangled foot left behind on the blood-streaked table. The remains were a gruesome testament to Voldemort's wrath.

"Wormtail." Voldemort commanded with a snap of his fingers.

The rat-like man let out a pathetic whimper as he scurried forward, his trembling hands scooping up the bloodied foot. He hurried from the room without a word, his hunched figure disappearing into the corridor beyond.

With a wave of his hand, Voldemort cleared the gore-streaked table before his eyes narrowed at his followers. "Now, report."

Lucius Malfoy straightened in his seat, his voice carefully measured. "Bones continues to impede us, my Lord. She has secured additional funding for the DMLE and is rumoured to be drafting legislation that would restore powers the Aurors once had under Crouch Senior."

Voldemort's long nails drummed on the polished wood of the table, a slow, ominous rhythm. His crimson eyes darkened with irritation. "Madam Bones would never have been in the position she is in today if only you had managed to put that fool Thicknesse in her place, Lucius."

Lucius bowed his head, his pale face taut with unease. "Dumbledore's faction remains strong, my Lord. The moment Fudge was cast out, they moved swiftly to push Bones into power."

"And the Neutrals?" Voldemort's tone was deceptively quiet, but the room tensed at the subtle menace behind his words.

Lucius's lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke. "Some of the Neutrals with the majority of the Light faction, cast their votes behind… Andromeda… no doubt, hoping to curry favour with Potter. It was inevitable."

Voldemort snarled. "And once again, we have been set back."

"As Lord of the Houses of Potter and Black," Thaddeus Nott interjected, his voice smooth but edged with disdain, "Harry Potter now wields considerable political power." He cast a sidelong glance at Lucius, his scorn evident, prompting a sharp glare in return.

Bellatrix who had been in a state of catatonic, twitched at Harry's name, causing Voldemort to briefly snap his gaze towards her.

Snape broke the uneasy silence, his voice as calm and measured as ever. "Dumbledore's apprentice as well."

"Yes…" Voldemort sneered, his tone thick with derision. "How could I forget? Albus has taken it upon himself to name dear Harry his apprentice."

Rabastan Lestrange let out a derisive snort. "And what of it, my Lord? Potter may be that old crackpot's protégé, but he remains nothing more than a no-good half-blood in the presence of true power."

" – He is much more than that." Rookwood, who had been silent until now, raised his head, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The room fell deathly silent as every eye turned to the former Unspeakable. Even Voldemort's crimson gaze sharpened with intrigue, fixing on Rookwood.

"You were correct, my Lord," Rookwood said, his tone steady and deliberate. "I have found the answer to our little conundrum."

Voldemort's eyes gleamed. "Do tell, Augustus."

With a flick of his wrist, Rookwood produced a folded clipping from his robes and handed it reverently to the Dark Lord. Voldemort's slender fingers unfolded the parchment, his lips curling faintly as he read the bold headline aloud:

WILLIAM POTTER AND ROBERT LONGBOTTOM ARE THE LATEST ADDITIONS TO JOIN THE FRONT LINE AGAINST GRINDELWALD!

"William Potter," Voldemort murmured, his voice heavy with calculation. His gaze lingered on the faded photograph beneath the headline: two young wizards standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their expressions grim but resolute.

Rookwood reached into his pocket again, this time withdrawing a small glass phial filled with a shimmering, silvery substance. "This, my Lord," he said, holding it aloft, "is a memory. It was exceedingly difficult to procure, but it comes from someone who fought alongside William Potter against Grindelwald's forces. I believe its contents will prove... illuminating."

Voldemort accepted the phial with a slow, deliberate nod, and with a wave of his wand, his Pensieve materialized in the centre of the table. The Dark Lord wasted no time in pouring the memory into the swirling basin and plunging into its depths.

When Voldemort emerged a few minutes later, his expression was inscrutable, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Indeed," he said finally, his voice quieter but no less menacing. "The level of power displayed by William Potter was exceptional, but there is no mistake – t is the same spell Harry Potter used against me. That peculiar purple lightning... its colour and force are unmistakable."

Rookwood inclined his head, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "It became more evident to me, my Lord, when I observed the magical marking on Potter's neck during our last confrontation. Upon closer analysis, I identified it as the image of a dragon – specifically, a Hungarian Horntail."

"The same dragon Potter defeated in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament," Snape interjected, his dark eyes narrowing in thought.

Rookwood turned toward him, offering a subtle nod before addressing Voldemort once more. "The marking, my Lord, is a hallmark of a Battle Mage. These marks appear on their skin when they have conquered magical creatures in combat – a way for them to distinguish themselves from other mages. There is little doubt: Harry Potter is a Battle Mage, possibly the last in Britain, if not the entire Continent."

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Voldemort's gaze dropped to the empty glass phial in his hand, his mind replaying the memory. He could still feel the aftershock of Harry's spell from their last encounter—a brief but undeniably powerful burst of magic. If he hadn't known it came from Harry, he might have attributed it to someone of Dumbledore's calibre.

His crimson eyes traced over the Bellatrix's dull form but for the first time since he had corrected her behaviour, there was a small smile dancing on her lips. Her sapphire eyes showed a hint of the madness he had failed to expel when he delved into the mess that was her mind not long after the battle at the Tonks' residence.

"Battle mage or Premier Mage or whatever next malarkey title the brat gets is useless!" Alecto Carrow exclaimed with a hiss. "He never stood a chance against us before and won't stand a chance against us now or in the future!"

Voldemort's gaze turned cold as he dismissed her outburst with a subtle tilt of his head.

Have I underestimated you, Harry Potter? he wondered, a thought so brief it was crushed as quickly as it arose. He was Lord Voldemort – peerless in brilliance and unmatched in power. No child could compare to him, least of all Harry Potter.

"Despite Alecto's rather optimistic words, over the years, dear Harry has continued to surprise me. Nevertheless, magically, he is inferior but the power he has obtained is not and must be curbed immediately." Voldemort whispered.

"He is politically untouchable, my Lord," Nott cut in, his tone hesitant but firm. "His position as Lord Black aside, Potter's status as Dumbledore's apprentice and Premier Mage Apprentice grants him protection under ICW laws. Even if he broke British law, prosecuting him would be... difficult. Dumbledore's foresight in appointing him was nothing short of masterful."

"I did not ask for your commentary, Thaddeus," Voldemort snapped, his voice a whip crack of irritation. The oppressive weight of his magic rolled through the room, making several Death Eaters flinch. With a sharp breath, Voldemort calmed himself, his eyes locking onto Lucius Malfoy.

"Lucius," he said softly, the venom in his tone unmistakable. "Leverage your international contacts within the ICW. Find a way – any way – to undermine Potter's position. Use ancient laws, exploit loopholes, fabricate dissent if you must. His influence must be neutralized."

Lucius hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. "It will not be easy – "

His protest was cut short by the menacing glow of Voldemort's eyes.

" – It will be done, my Lord," Lucius amended hastily, bowing low to mask his trembling.

A sharp knock echoed against the heavy wooden door.

"Enter," Voldemort commanded, his voice slicing through the murmurs of his gathered followers.

The door creaked open, and a young recruit stepped inside, bowing low until his forehead nearly touched the ground. "My Lord, a letter has arrived from Lord Macnair."

Voldemort's gaze flicked to Rodolphus Lestrange. "Rodolphus."

Without hesitation, Rodolphus stood and strode forward to retrieve the letter. He passed it to Voldemort, who unfolded it with a snap and began to read. The room fell into a tense silence as his eyes scanned the contents, narrowing with each line.

"Walden has made contact with the Vampires in Bulgaria," Voldemort began, his tone low and even, "but as expected, negotiations are at a standstill."

A ripple of murmurs spread among the Death Eaters, but they were silenced by a single glance from the Dark Lord.

"The Colony has demanded my presence to continue talks. I will depart tomorrow evening." His gaze shifted to Jugson and Rowle. "You two will accompany me."

"Yes, my Lord," they answered in unison, bowing deeply.

Voldemort's crimson eyes turned to Rodolphus. "You and your brother will begin planning an attack on Bones. Her interference is no longer tolerable. Work closely with Fenrir; her blood must be spilled. Thaddeus," he said, turning to Nott, "concentrate on securing alliances with the undecided Neutrals. We require more pawns for our cause if we ever wish to gain ground in the Wizengamot."

"Yes, my Lord," Nott replied, his expression unreadable.

With a wave of his hand, Voldemort dismissed the rest of his followers, who departed swiftly, leaving only Snape behind.

"The wards?" Voldemort asked, his voice deceptively soft.

Snape inclined his head. "Dumbledore has updated them, my Lord. Perhaps, save for you, I do not believe they can be quelled."

A low growl escaped Voldemort as he turned to face the empty room, his displeasure radiating in waves. "Then we must hope Draco succeeds."

Snape hesitated, his dark eyes flickering with unease. "Dumbledore's vigilance has only increased. His eyes are everywhere."

"Don't I know it," Voldemort sneered, his expression briefly clouded by memories of his own school days. His tone turned almost contemplative as he continued. "Draco's task is a fool's errand, designed to punish Lucius for his repeated failures. However, should he succeed, the rewards will be vast. But you, Severus – " His voice hardened. " – must not lose sight of your role."

Snape straightened; his face carefully neutral. "I will not fail you, my Lord."

Voldemort's lips curled into a faint, mirthless smile. "I hope for your wellbeing, that is true."

CwD

September 5th, 1996

Harry,

Please visit me in my office tonight after dinner.

Headmaster Dumbledore

P.S. I always find looking forward to having Chocolate Frogs this time of year.

Harry rolled his eyes at Dumbledore's eccentrics but found that he couldn't quite keep the excited smile from his face.

Finally. Training would begin. It was the moment Harry had been waiting for since Dumbledore first mentioned it.

He flicked his wrist, igniting the parchment. The flames crackled softly as they consumed the letter, curling the edges until only ashes remained. Harry watched the process with practiced precision, his focus unwavering.

Wandless magic had become a quiet obsession for him – not because it was easy, but because it was not. Slow and painstaking as his progress had been, he knew he was advancing faster than most. His grandfather's rather unhelpful words still rang in his ears when Harry had asked him why: "Hmph! You're my grandson. Of course you're a quick study!"

A draft swept through the corridor, tugging at his robes. Harry glanced toward the nearest window. Night had fallen, and the sky was a swirling mass of dark clouds. The oppressive blackness of the Forbidden Forest seemed even more foreboding against the backdrop of distant lightning.

"Poor Peevsie doesn't like storms," came a high-pitched, theatrical voice beside him.

Harry turned to find Peeves floating nearby, his translucent form shimmering faintly in the dim corridor.

"Neither do I," Harry muttered, his tone even.

"Storms remind me of the Baron," Peeves said with an exaggerated shiver, pointing a long, spectral finger toward the horizon. "Stormy clouds for a stormy man. Always brooding, always so grim."

Harry gave a noncommittal hum, turning away from the window and resuming his walk. Peeves followed, hovering alongside him, but for once, the ghost seemed more subdued.

"Doesn't it make you wonder?" Peeves asked suddenly, his voice quieter than usual.

Harry frowned, glancing at the spirit. "Wonder what?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" Peeves waved him off dramatically, but his grin lacked its usual mischief. "Just that storms have a way of making people think… think about things they might not want to, eh?"

Harry didn't answer. He had no desire to indulge Peeves' cryptic musings tonight.

"Fine, fine," Peeves said after a moment, spinning in midair. "I'll leave you to your broody broodiness. Good luck with the big boss, Potty!" With a cackling laugh, he vanished through the wall, leaving Harry alone once more.

The echo of Peeves' laugh lingered, but Harry dismissed it, focusing instead on the task ahead. His steps quickened; his excitement tempered by the gravity of what he hoped tonight's meeting would bring.

When he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office, he didn't hesitate. "Chocolate Frogs," he said clearly.

The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the spiral staircase and Harry ascended rapidly; his pulse was steady but his mind raced with possibilities.

Reaching the door, he went to knock before pausing when he could hear voices from the other side. Ultimately deciding he didn't want to be caught eavesdropping like he had done by Fake Moody, he rapped on the door and opened it when Dumbledore beckoned him in.

"Harry." Dumbledore greeted with a warm smile.

"Headmaster," Harry replied with a nod before his gaze shifted to someone unexpected. "Li."

"Potter," Su Li greeted coolly, her tone unreadable.

Of all the people Harry might have anticipated meeting in Dumbledore's office, Su Li wasn't one of them.

"Apologies, Miss Li. It seems our little discussion has run over. I appreciate your patience in meeting with me again."

Li dipped her head respectfully, her expression softening just a fraction. As she moved to leave, her eyes flicked to Harry. She gave him a brief nod, which he reciprocated, before slipping out, leaving Harry alone with the headmaster.

"I didn't know you met with other students." Harry said drily, taking a seat in front of Dumbledore who chuckled.

"I would not be a very good Headmaster if that was the case, m'boy."

Harry shrugged, his gaze wondering around the office. The circular office looked just as it always did; the delicate silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, puffing smoke and whirring though quite a few were noticeably missing.

"You fixed your office."

Dumbledore offered a sad smile to the teen in front of him, choosing to ignore the quiet mutters of his predecessors.

Harry's attention flicked briefly to the muttering portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, some of whom watched him with thinly veiled disapproval. He ignored them, focusing back on Dumbledore.

"I won't say I'm sorry for the way I reacted the last time I was here."

"I say! The nerve – "

Dumbledore held a hand at Heliotrope Wilkins, halting the former headmistress' tirade though that didn't stop Harry from glaring at the woman who glared back.

The old man shot a look at disapproval at his predecessor before his tired eyes softened as he gazed at the teen. "It was natural for you to be angry Harry and you had every right to be. For the sake of letting bygones be bygones, shall we move on to why I had asked you to join me this evening."

Harry nodded, his curiosity was already mounting. "Does this mean we're finally starting my training?" he asked, his eagerness slipping through.

Dumbledore chuckled again, standing with a fluid motion. "All in good time, m'boy." He crossed the room to a cabinet and retrieved a shallow stone basin etched with intricate runes along its rim. Harry immediately recognized it: the Pensieve.

"You look worried."

Harry had indeed been eyeing the Pensieve with some apprehension. His previous experiences with the odd device that stored and revealed thoughts and memories, though highly instructive, had also been uncomfortable. The last time he had disturbed its contents, he had seen much more than he would have wished. But Dumbledore was smiling.

"I thought you said you'll begin training me once I return to Hogwarts." Harry stated his frown deepening.

"And I have every intention in doing so, Harry but before that however, I would like you and I to view the memories I have collected over the years regarding Voldemort. To defeat Voldemort, it will take more than skill with a wand. You must understand him – his choices, his origins." Dumbledore said patiently.

"Know your enemy," Harry murmured, echoing a phrase Mad-Eye Moody had once drilled into him.

The old man nodded his head approvingly. "Precisely. Do not look too disheartened m'boy. You will come to see in due time how crucial this instrument really is."

Harry sighed but nodded reluctantly. "So, where are we going?"

Dumbledore summoned a crystal vial containing a swirling silver-white substance with a flick of his healthy wrist. "Inside the memory of a man called Bob Ogden. He was the current Lord Ogden's elder brother and had been employed by the DMLE."

"Was, sir?"

"He died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to release his memory of a very specific event he had witnessed." Dumbledore tipped the silvery contents of the bottle into the Pensieve, where they swirled and shimmered, neither liquid nor gas.

"Oh?" Harry stood up. Despite his initial reluctance, he couldn't help but feel intrigued. "And what event was that?"

"Where it all began." Dumbledore said cryptically.

CwD

They pair stood at the end of a long hallway on the second floor, facing a blank wall.

Harry frowned, perplexed.

He had explored every nook and cranny of Hogwarts over the years – more so after acquiring the Marauder's Map from the Weasley twins. Yet here he was, standing with Dumbledore in front of what he knew to be a dead end.

"Sir, is there a particular reason why we're here?" Harry asked, glancing sceptically at the unremarkable wall.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, a serene smile gracing his face. "Patience, Harry. All will become clear in a moment."

Harry nodded, though doubt lingered in his expression.

A minute passed in silence before Dumbledore raised his hand and placed it gently on the wall. The stone surface rippled and twisted as if stirred by an unseen wind, reshaping itself until a wide archway appeared. Beyond it stretched a previously hidden corridor.

Harry's eyes widened in astonishment.

"I imagine you're a bit confused, my boy," Dumbledore remarked, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

The headmaster stepped through the newly revealed archway, leaving Harry to shake off his surprise and follow. They walked in silence for a while before Dumbledore broke it.

"Tell me, Harry, how many students would you say currently attend Hogwarts?"

Harry took a moment to ponder the question. "About seven hundred maybe? Give or take a hundred?"

"Quite right – six hundred and eighty-three, to be precise, with the addition of this year's first years," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Now, would you believe me if I told you that, at one time, Hogwarts had nearly triple that number of students?"

Harry blinked, his brow furrowing. "I struggle to think how that's possible. There's no doubt Hogwarts is massive, but to house over two thousand students seems a little farfetched."

"Magic often defies what we imagine to be possible," Dumbledore said cryptically. Then, seeing Harry's curiosity deepen, he elaborated. "When I first joined the staff as Transfiguration Professor, the student population exceeded a thousand. Over the years, it continued to grow – until the war against Gellert Grindelwald."

Dumbledore's tone darkened, and the light in his eyes seemed to dim as his voice lingered on the name.

Harry's eyebrows rose at the old man's words. As they walked, he took in the strange, forgotten corridors stretching endlessly before them. Empty rooms thick with dust lined the hallways, and the faded outlines of paintings hung crookedly on the walls, their subjects long gone. Windows along the passage offered views of Hogwarts' familiar grounds, but the perspective felt alien, as though he had stepped into a different castle entirely.

"I trust you've pieced it together, Harry," Dumbledore said, his usual serene smile returning. "This is a part of Hogwarts long forgotten. These hallways, and many like them, were sealed off as the student population began to dwindle."

"When was the last time this part of the castle was used?" Harry asked quietly, his voice almost reverent in the stillness.

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully as he approached a large window. Moonlight glinted off his half-moon spectacles as he peered outside.

"Perhaps during Headmistress Wilkins' tenure," he said. Then, seeing Harry's blank expression, he chuckled softly. "The woman with whom you shared a rather intense glaring match earlier. She was Armando Dippet's predecessor."

A look of recognition came over Harry's features as he stood next to Dumbledore, gazing out in to the Hogwarts grounds. It was a bit odd looking at the grounds from this angle, but Harry couldn't deny that it took anything away from how breathtaking the castle looked.

"Do you know why I've brought you here, Harry?"

Harry considered this for a moment. "To find a place to train?" he guessed.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but his expression remained pensive. "Quite right. But not the whole truth." He paused, sighing as though weighed down by unseen burdens. "Throughout my life, I have made decisions – some good, many bad. Before I became a professor, I was, if I may say so, a rather accomplished wizard."

Harry nodded wondering where the old man was going with this. He had read about Dumbledore and his numerous accomplishments during his first year when he, Hermione and Ron found out about the man's connection to Nicholas Flamel.

"Despite my accomplishments, I had an insatiable hunger – to achieve more, to reach heights no wizard of my time had dreamed of. Ambition is a marvellous trait, but mine led me down a dangerous path, one I was blind to at the time. By the time I recognized the destruction I had wrought, it was too late. My life fell apart."

Harry remained silent; his face unreadable as he absorbed the confession.

"I was lost," Dumbledore continued. "Confused. My purpose had evaporated, and I no longer knew what I wanted from life. Then, the headmaster of Hogwarts at the time, Armando Dippet, offered me the position of Transfiguration Professor. It was as though I had found my calling."

The old man turned to Harry, his brilliant blue eyes meeting the younger wizard's glowing emerald gaze. For a moment, it felt as though they were speaking without words, their shared understanding bridging the years between them.

"I have a dream, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "A dream I fear I will not see realized in my lifetime. This country has been plagued by war, bloodshed, and destruction for far too long. The innocents – the children – are the ones who suffer most. They are robbed of the joy of life, the simple freedoms they deserve. I hope… I dream that one day, these abandoned halls will once again echo with laughter. That children will fill these spaces, living without fear, never having to wonder if their families will still be alive when they return home for the holidays."

Dumbledore's voice grew quieter, yet the conviction in his words rang clear. "When I first saw the horrors of war during Gellert Grindelwald's campaign, I vowed to end it. And for a time, I succeeded. There was peace. The world began to heal."

"Until Voldemort," Harry whispered, his voice hollow, his eyes smouldering like eldritch flames.

Dumbledore's expression darkened with sorrow as he slowly lifted his corroded hand from beneath his sleeve. "Tom was my mistake," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "And because of that, our country has been marked for death. Unlike Gellert, Tom is someone I cannot hope to defeat. Only you can, Harry."

The weight of the statement settled between them, unspoken but undeniable. Then, without another word, Dumbledore began walking, his robes trailing softly behind him. Harry followed; a step behind.

As they walked, Dumbledore's voice carried through the dim corridor, calm yet resolute. "In these lessons, I will teach you the way of the wand. I will show you spells and incantations I swore never to use again. I will mould you into the kind of wizard I most despise, because I believe nothing less will give you the strength to defeat Voldemort. We will duel, over and over, until you can best me. And then, we will continue to duel until the gulf in our skills is so vast that I cannot hope to stand against you."

Eventually, they reached a pair of magnificent double doors, their surfaces etched with intricate magical designs. Dumbledore paused, his hand resting on the frame as he turned back to Harry.

"I have one request, Harry," he said quietly. "I will teach you whatever you wish to know. But in return, I ask this: protect the innocents of this country. The ones without the courage or strength to protect themselves."

Harry's expression hardened, and bitterness laced his words. "What choice do I have? Isn't that the whole point of being the Premier Mage of a country?"

Dumbledore's eyes softened. "You must want to, Harry. It must come from you – your heart – not from duty."

Harry's response was sharp, immediate. "No."

With a flex of his magic, the double doors creaked open, swinging wide to reveal a vast, circular chamber. The walls were tall and blackened, their surfaces faintly gleaming in the soft, silvery glow of the full moon filtering through the glass ceiling. The air itself seemed alive, thrumming with latent power.

As Harry stepped inside, his magic unfurled like a storm. The atmosphere crackled, raw energy rolling off him in waves. The room seemed to shudder under the weight of his presence.

Dumbledore remained in the doorway, watching the young wizard with quiet sorrow.

"Despite belonging to the wizarding world, they never made me feel welcome," Harry said, his voice cutting through the stillness. He didn't turn around. "I've been humiliated, betrayed, slandered, hated. The people of this country did nothing to stop it; they only fed the lies.

"I fight Voldemort not for them, but for my family. For all I care, the people could burn – as long as Voldemort dies and Andromeda and Nym survive."

Dumbledore's heart ached at the declaration. He really has changed, he thought sadly. The attack on Andromeda has altered him. Perhaps… beyond recognition.

"Now that you know," Harry said, finally turning to face him, his magic receding into a simmer beneath the surface, "will you still train me? Or does my answer change your mind?"

Dumbledore let out a weary sigh and stepped into the chamber, crossing the space until he stood opposite Harry. "If there is one thing I have in spades, m'boy, it is hope. I have never stopped believing in you, Harry, and I will not stop now. Whatever your current feelings may be, I know there is goodness in you."

Harry muttered something under his breath, his glare sharp, but Dumbledore simply smiled, unaffected.

The old wizard flicked his wand into his hand – though curiously, not the knotted, gnarled wand Harry was accustomed to seeing. Dumbledore removed his outer robe, folding it neatly and setting it aside. Harry mirrored the gesture, summoning his holly wand from the holster Tonks had given him and falling into a duelling stance.

Dumbledore gave a small nod of approval. "Despite everything, Harry, I trust that you will do the right thing."

Harry clenched his jaw at the words, but his breath caught as he felt Dumbledore's magic unfurl.

It was blinding, brilliant, and utterly overwhelming. The air grew dense with power, vibrating with an intensity that seemed to reach into Harry's very bones. For the first time in years, Harry felt small.

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly, as if centring himself. When he opened them again, the transformation was complete. Gone was the jovial, eccentric headmaster. In his place stood the defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, the Premier Mage of Magical Britain – one of the most formidable wizards the world had ever known.

His voice was calm but carried a weight that left no room for argument.

"Let us begin."

CwD