Magical Britain celebrated the death of Lord Voldemort and the end
of the war with great happiness. Fireworks exploded all over the
country as they had in 1991 with celebrations everywhere. People
were happy that there would be no more destruction and that their
lives could go back to normal at last. The common wizarding public
could not even comprehend the fact that the Minister of Magic
himself had been personally involved in the effort to bring down
Voldemort. They were so used to having incompetent leaders for so
long and listening to empty words from Albus Dumbledore that it was
quite a shock to have a leader who took action, involving himself and
his family personally. But people were also worried. They were
worried about their greatest hero; the boy who had finally killed Lord
Voldemort.
The wizarding public was worried for one Harry James Potter.
The nearly sixteen-year-old wizard had been at St Mungo's Hospital
for a week since the battle and had not yet regained consciousness,
having been placed in a medically induced coma. He had been very
badly injured while duelling Voldemort and that was not just due to
the curses which had impacted him. He was also bitten by a snake
whose venom was quite unique, so it took the healers some time to
diagnose and treat him. Then there were the various broken bones,
damaged organs and internal bleeding caused due to Harry and
Voldemort crashing to the ground. Ancient healing rituals were being
performed by druids publicly while various witches and wizards
participated, all praying to Mother Magic to heal their beloved
saviour.
Of course, the public had also not forgotten the newest heroes in
town – Daphne Greengrass and Dylan Lestrange, the two kidnapped
teenagers who together managed to kill the feared and notorious
Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. There was an
outpouring of sympathy towards them for having to brave Bellatrix's
torture every day for a month. The fact that Daphne Greengrass had
actually threatened Voldemort to his face had created a feeling of
awe in the younger generation, especially girls, though more
attention of the girls was now being directed at the cute boy who was
now a hero – Dylan Lestrange. It was strange how they were willing
to change their tune after the public realised on which side of the war
Dylan had truly been, having called him all the possible names just
several months ago for being the son of Rabastan Lestrange.
Not that both of them cared. In fact, neither Daphne nor Dylan had
stepped out of St Mungo's since they had been healed. They were
sitting in the private hospital suite, waiting for Harry to recover. They
were not the only ones there. Cyrus, Elizabeth and Astoria
Greengrass were there too. Sirius and Amelia had not been able to
concentrate on their work either, as they went to St Mungo's five
times a day to check on his progress. Little Rigel Black had been
inconsolable. He didn't understand what was going on, but he could
see that his oldest brother was not well, and that made him cry.
The healers had assured them that Harry would be fine and that he
needed more time to heal, but to them, they wouldn't believe it until
Harry woke up from the coma. The celebratory cheer had never
existed for them as they waited for Harry to wake up and smile at
them again.
All of them would have done anything to see the vivid emerald green
eyes look at them again, the usual twinkle of amusement present
whenever the boy was happy.
Wake up, Harry. Wake up.
Emerald green eyes blinked open slowly as they adjusted to the
darkness of the room. Harry Potter groaned softly as he felt the ache
in his muscles. He looked around and saw that he was in a large
hospital suite. The last time he had been here, it had been right after
Sirius had been released from Azkaban four and a half years ago.
The first thing he realised was that there was someone sitting on a
chair next to him, holding his hand. He smiled slightly as he saw the
dark blonde hair of his fiancée. There was also someone on the
couch opposite to him, but he couldn't make out clearly. He would
bet his life that it was Dylan.
Harry raised his hand as he slowly stroked Daphne's soft hair,
waving his other hand casually as he cast a privacy charm around
them. Tears stung his eyes as he saw her stir. Daphne slowly woke
up and in the dim light, saw who was stroking her hair. She blinked in
shock for several moments, but once she recovered, a bright smile
formed on her face as she climbed on the bed next to him and
hugged him tightly.
"I missed you, Daphne," said Harry in a choked voice as silent tears
trickled down his face. "I missed you so much. I'm sorry it took so
long to rescue you. How are you? Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine, don't worry," whispered Daphne as she stroked his face
lovingly, wiping the tears away. "How are you feeling? You've been
unconscious for more than a week. You were very badly injured and
the healers had to place you in a medically-induced coma to make
you heal."
"A coma?" asked Harry in surprise. "Huh. I guess that stunt of
transforming mid-air was not a good idea after all. That stupid snake
bit me! He is dead, right?"
"Yes, Voldemort is dead, the Death Eaters have all been captured or
killed and the war is over. Oh, Harry, you gave us quite a scare!"
Their lips brushed against each other adoringly for several seconds,
becoming deeper as they went on. Harry wrapped his arm around
her waist as he pulled her closer, kissing Daphne passionately. After
more than a minute, they broke apart, gasping for air.
"Where's Dylan?" asked Harry, looking at the form on the couch. "Is
that him?"
"Yes, that's Dylan," said Daphne quietly. "But not in a state that you
might think."
Harry felt as though his insides were suddenly made of ice.
"Daphne, what happened to my brother?" he said in a low voice, his
eyes darkening. "What did they do to him?"
"He's fine, Harry, physically," said Daphne sadly. "We finished our
Animagus transformation during captivity and killed Bellatrix when
she came down to the dungeons to kill us. We escaped and joined
the fight. I killed Rodolphus while Dylan – he – he killed Rabastan.
He was injured in the process, but I Apparated him to St Mungo's
immediately, so the healers were able to save him. But ... I think
killing his father has affected him very badly. Complicating the matter
was you being in a critical condition for several days. Let's just say
that Dylan didn't take it well."
The lighting charms glowed a little brighter and Harry could see the
large grey wolf sleeping on the couch.
"He prefers to stay in his animal form, maybe because he can
control his emotions better that way. The first time he saw your
mother, he didn't let go of her for nearly an hour; he was so tired that
he fell asleep in her arms. For the next few days at the hospital,
Amelia stayed here with him every night because he refused to let
her go. Like you, he has started addressing Sirius and Amelia as his
mum and dad. When she and Astoria aren't around, he stays in his
wolf form, refusing to leave your side. In fact, your mother, Astoria
and I are the only ones who can even get him to eat something
because he doesn't listen to anyone else. He rarely talks to anyone.
He's in pain, Harry, but as I said, not physically. He's been visiting a
mind healer, but I don't think it's helping all that much."
Harry looked at the wolf with sad eyes. There was a reason Dylan
was a wolf. He emphasised a lot on family and close friendships and
cherished them. For someone like that who always referred to
Rabastan Lestrange as his father ever since he had found out about
him, even in the direst circumstances like when he had argued with
Ron Weasley in front of the entire Order of the Phoenix, to have
actually killed the man, was probably eating him alive.
"Are you sure you're okay?" whispered Harry as he stroked
Daphne's cheek. "Did Voldemort or Bellatrix torture you?"
Daphne's silence and downcast eyes answered his question. Pulling
her to his chest, Harry hugged her tightly, breathing in her familiar
scent as he closed his eyes, listening to Daphne's story as she
recited what had happened during their stay at Riddle Manor.
"I actually threatened Voldemort to his face," muttered Daphne. "I
told him that he may torture me or kill me, but that didn't matter. I told
him that someday you would come to avenge me; that Voldemort
would have no place to run and would die by your hand. I don't think
he liked that."
"There is a time and place for everything and threatening a Dark
Lord who held you captive was very reckless. Brave, but reckless."
"He pissed me off! And you know very well how I get when I'm angry,
especially if someone has wronged you!"
"Don't I know it?" said Harry wryly. "I've taken the brunt of your anger
several times and so have people who have insulted me in the past.
A tigress on the streets and in the sheets, aren't you?"
" Harry !"
"Oh, come on, Daph! You know how wild you are in bed! It's nothing
to be embarrassed about! I certainly enjoy it. "
Daphne groaned as she buried her face in his chest, face pink with
embarrassment. Harry chuckled in amusement, kissing the top of her
head affectionately.
"I'll go outside and tell everyone that you're awake," she said quietly
after a few minutes. "It'll give you some privacy."
"Thanks, Daphne," Harry said softly. He slowly got up from his bed
and moved towards the couch as he heard her slip out of the room.
Gently stroking the wolf's head, he said, "Hey little brother. Wake up.
It's me."
The wolf's ears perked up as it heard the familiar voice. The grey
eyes looked intently at Harry as it pounced on him, licking his face
excitedly. Harry laughed as he tried to push the wolf off of him.
"Cut it out, brat, that tickles," Harry grinned. "Look at you! You're a
wolf. I'm so proud of you, Dylan."
The wolf whimpered at the compliment as it turned away.
"I want to talk to you. Will you please transform for me? After you
hear what I have to say, I won't stop you if you want to go back to
looking like that."
The wolf looked at him for several seconds until there was a pop and
a haggard-looking Dylan Lestrange was looking back at him.
"Harry!" Dylan whispered in a choked voice as he threw his arms
around his older brother's neck, hugging him tightly. "You're safe! I'm
so sorry. I should have been careful back in Hogsmeade. Had I been
more alert, none of this would have happened. I –"
"Shut up, Dylan," Harry snapped angrily. "Don't you dare blame
yourself, you hear me? I will never stand for it. You exceeded my
expectations in every way and I am proud of you! I consider myself
blessed to have you as my little brother and I would be damned if
you start blaming yourself for all this. Voldemort organised the attack
specifically to capture you and Daphne. You fought with all you had
and I'm proud of you and not for a second would I blame you for
getting kidnapped, okay? Stop blaming yourself."
Dylan nodded as he buried his face in Harry's chest as the tears
started anew. All the guilt and frustration developed over the past
month came crashing down on him as he cried. He had tried to bury
his emotions until now, but it was no use. He was only prolonging the
inevitable. Safe now in his brother's arms, Dylan let the emotions
out.
Harry rubbed his back soothingly as he rocked the younger boy,
trying to calm him down while negating the wild magic Dylan was
throwing around the room. The boy was clearly more distressed than
he had let on.
"I killed him, Harry," whispered Dylan, his voice trembling with guilt. "I
killed my father. All it took were a few seconds of furious rage and I
acted on impulse and – and – I killed him."
"Why don't you tell me what happened?"
Dylan looked away. "We had just escaped from inside the manor
which was falling all around us because of that large fire snake and
tornados. Daphne and I had been together the whole time as we
fought our way out. Suddenly, I found myself fighting with Father and
I could tell that he was surprised to see me. He said that I had
betrayed him by duelling against my own father. I – I said that my
father was dead, that I was an orphan. When he said that Voldemort
was all-powerful, I said that you were all powerful. I guess he got
angry when I insulted his master because the next thing I knew, he
fired a Killing Curse at me."
Harry tightened his hold on Dylan. "It missed me by an inch because
I thought for sure I was done for. I transformed into my animal form
as I couldn't handle the pain of my father trying to kill me just
because I had insulted Voldemort. Shouldn't his priority have been
me and not that snake-faced loser? I – I guess I couldn't control
myself. I was too angry so I charged at him and – and – and I
snapped his neck."
"Shh, it's alright," said Harry quietly as another tear slipped down the
boy's cheek.
"If it had ended at that, I wouldn't be feeling this guilty," Dylan
continued as he choked on a sob. A part of him was mortified that he
was sitting on his brother's lap, bawling like a five-year-old, but he
couldn't bring himself to care.
"He accidentally fired a curse that formed cuts all over my body, so I
collapsed next to him. I knew that he was going to die, but I was in
pain too. But – but just before he died, he said – he said that he was
sorry, said that he had failed me, and asked me for forgiveness.
There was always good in him, Harry, so why did I have to kill him?
I'm such a failure! I failed him as a son!"
"Of course there was good in him, Dylan," Harry muttered as he
hugged his brother tightly.
This was not the time to say anything otherwise. Rabastan was still
the same man who had committed unforgivable crimes in the course
of his life, but Harry wasn't about to say that to his brother. Dylan
was traumatized and if the boy wanted to think there had been even
a spark of good in Rabastan, then that's how it was going to be.
"He may have done all those heinous crimes, but he was still human.
The bond between a father and son was always there between you
and Rabastan. That's the beauty and wonder of magic. He may have
allowed Bellatrix or Voldemort to torture you because of his loyalty to
them, but when he tried to kill you, he was overcome by guilt. You
did not fail him, Dylan. He never fulfilled his role as a father, partly
because he was never there for you when you grew up. Even then,
he still cared about you. After knowing who your father was, not once
have you addressed Rabastan as anything but the term 'Father'.
That shows that you have not failed him. You accepted him as your
father. True, you were not on the same side of the war, but – that's
life, Dylan. It's not fair."
"If life was fair, my parents would never have died," said Harry softly.
"Look at everything that has happened in our lives. My parents were
betrayed by Dumbledore and Pettigrew, two people they thought
they could trust with their lives. Dad was sent to Azkaban and had to
brave the Dementors for ten years because Dumbledore wanted him
gone. Mum's entire family except for one brother, including little
children, were killed because Voldemort wanted them gone. You and
I grew up in horrible environments and had crappy childhoods – all
this shows that life is not fair, but you know what? A few years ago I
would never have said this, but life is beautiful too. You need to look
at the positives."
"I met several people who care about me," he continued. "For years,
I had locked away my emotions and yet I was able to feel when I met
people who loved me. I read my parents' journals and found out that
they indeed loved me. My godfather and his wife adopted me – and
now you as well – and showered us with love and affection, treating
us like their own children when they never had any obligation to do
so. I found my role models in both sets of parents. Most importantly, I
met the two people who are the most important in my life. One of
them was forced upon me, but she made my life worth living. When I
was cold and distant with her, she persisted, trying to find my inner
fire so that I could live and later became the love of my life. Pretty
soon I realised that Daphne was someone I could never live
without."
"Then came this little boy," said Harry, lightly tapping the tip of
Dylan's nose, "whom I could relate to so much that within a span of
two months, he entered my heart and cemented his place as my little
brother. We bonded over our childhood as I grew to trust him. The
title of brother which I had casually given to him actually held
meaning now as I became protective of him and loved him. I found
out that I could never live without him either. He held an integral part
of my heart, always being there."
"When I entered Hogwarts, I used to frown and sneer at families and
friends. I used to think they were quite useless. I admit that I only
freed Sirius from Azkaban because I wanted him to be my guardian
and the power he could wield as Lord Black, not because I felt
anything for him. Even though he knew how I felt, he still tried to
form a relationship with me and cared enough to adopt me as his
son. It is also true that when I first met you, I was thinking of how
best I could use your position as another child abused by Muggles to
further my goals, but like my godfather and his wife, I found myself
caring for you in ways I never realised or understood."
"That's the beauty of life, Dylan. Yes, you killed your father, but you
also fulfilled your duty as a son to the best possible extent. The guilt
would always be a part of you, but they are also the only memories
you have of your father. Know that your father indeed cared about
you. Accept that he made mistakes and that you are not to blame for
his actions. Don't get me wrong, I'm not defending him. What
Rabastan did to your mother was unforgivable. It was wrong of your
mother to have taken her anger out on you, an innocent child. She
willingly gave up her life instead of raising you, but she was the
victim, a seventeen-year-old girl. You once told me that you don't
hold it against her. That's what parents and children do, right? They
forgive each other if they made mistakes because they're family?
Well, he asked for forgiveness and you know in your heart that he
would forgive you too. There is nothing more you can do. You need
to accept it and move on."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, not saying a word. Dylan tried
to process what Harry told him as he tried to get his wild emotions
under control. It took some time, but he was finally calm, breathing
normally.
"Thanks, Harry," said Dylan quietly. "I needed that. You're right. If I
can forgive my parents, they would have forgiven me too."
"Exactly, and there is another way you can make it up to them," said
Harry as he pressed his lips to the boy's forehead, looking at him
proudly. "Your father's body would still be at the Ministry morgue.
Your mother would have been buried somewhere near the
orphanage, but wizarding culture dictates that it should have been
done by you. Give your mother, father, uncle and aunt a proper
cremation as per the traditions of your family. Do your duty as the
scion of the Lestrange line. They may not have taken care of you as
parents should, but they are still your birth-parents and they deserve
to be cremated by their son."
Dylan smiled softly and nodded. Yes, he would do that. He would
have to go to the Lestrange vault at Gringotts to grab any books on
funeral rites of the family, but he would do it. As a final penance for
killing his father, he would do his duty and cremate his father,
mother, uncle and aunt. It was a long-standing wizarding tradition
and he would honour it. He knew very little about his mother, but she
was the woman who gave birth to him, and that deserved respect.
Just because his father had acted without morals didn't mean he
would too.
The door opened and the healer stepped inside, followed by Sirius,
Amelia, Cyrus, Elizabeth, Astoria, Rigel and Daphne.
"Harry!" said Amelia as she rushed forward to hug her oldest son.
"Thank Merlin you're alright."
"I'm fine, Mum, don't worry," said Harry, smiling slightly.
"You always say that, but it doesn't necessarily mean you are doing
well," said Sirius, hugging his son too. "We were so worried, kiddo.
Our mission was a success. I'm so incredibly proud of you."
Harry's smile widened as he observed everyone. Rigel was clapping
his hands excitedly, having morphed to look like a miniature form of
Harry, much to the amusement of everyone else.
"You seem to be fine, Lord Potter," said Healer Thomson with a
smile. "But you'll have to stay here for two more days, just to be sure
that there are no traces of the venom in your bloodstream. Once you
are discharged, Healer Greengrass will give you a weekly check-up
for the next month to ensure you are healing properly."
"Thank you, Healer Thompson," said Harry. One of the hospital
house-elves brought him a hot plate of food and everyone gathered
around him.
"So, what's been going on? Did I miss anything?" asked Harry with a
smirk, his eyes twinkling in amusement, making everyone laugh.
"Yeah, he's fine," said Astoria wryly. Dylan smiled softly too as Sirius
wrapped an around the younger boy's shoulders.
Harry mentally sighed in contentment and rested his head on
Daphne's shoulder. The threat had passed and he was finally
surrounded by people who loved him.
Yes, life was not perfect, but it was still beautiful.
Harry looked at the items before him introspectively. A wand, a stone
and a cloak were sitting innocently on the ornate mahogany desk in
his study at Potter Castle. He had returned from St Mungo's Hospital
just an hour ago and he was quite curious about the objects. These
were the Deathly Hallows, the most powerful devices in the history of
wizardkind. He did not know if they had been invented by powerful
people or if there had actually been an entity called Death who had
given it to the Peverell brothers. However, he remembered what
Alfred Potter had said to him when he was a child. These objects
were heavily sought after by many all over the world. The Potter
Massacre had taken place mainly due to the Deathly Hallows. It was
then that Lord Alfred Potter ensured that nobody knew of the Potter
family's connection with the Peverells, deciding to suppress all
knowledge of it.
But now, more than a thousand years later, all three objects were
back ... back in the hands of the last descendant of Ignotus Peverell,
one of the three brothers of the tale.
Harry recalled what he had seen in Dumbledore's memory.
Apparently, James Potter had demanded an Unbreakable Vow from
Dumbledore to return the cloak to the former's family when the
headmaster had requested to borrow it. Dumbledore had been very
curious about the cloak and had been astounded by its discovery. He
recognised that it was the third Hallow. He had already won the Elder
Wand from Gellert Grindelwald, but with the cloak in his possession,
all he had to do was find the stone. Dumbledore had never been
able to get over his obsession with the Hallows, desperately
yearning for them, at the very least to apologise to his parents and
sister for having failed them. When he had realised what and where
the Resurrection Stone was, the Hallow he craved the most, he had
hoped to destroy Voldemort's Horcrux and take the stone for himself
at the same time. It was a win-win situation. But of course, there had
been one problem.
He had fallen victim to the lure of the Resurrection Stone as he put
the fake ring on, triggering the deadly and horrifying curse which
Harry had placed on it. That was when Dumbledore realised what a
fool he had been. He had traded his life for a fool's dream and had
not even found the Horcrux at all. It had been a fake. He spent more
time looking for the Horcruxes. He had been close to finding the
cave but had been bedridden after the attack on Hogwarts and
Hogsmeade.
Master of Death ...
Harry simply stroked the wand with a finger. The power of the Elder
Wand was undeniable. Talented and powerful he may be, but Harry
doubted he would have managed to defeat Voldemort without the
help of the Deathstick. The connection he felt, the power flowing in
his veins, the sheer pleasure of having one's body infused with the
magic of Death was alluring. No wonder the Elder Wand was the
most sought after treasure for more than a millennium.
But was it worth it?
Albus Dumbledore was many things, but he was hardly stupid.
Knowing the wand was a dangerous target, he planned on
destroying its power with his death. Having planned his death with
Severus Snape, he hoped to die undefeated, the wand's last true
master. However, he didn't anticipate Snape's true nature. Snape,
until his dying breath, had been loyal only to himself. He may not
have known about the Elder Wand, but his motives did not match
with those of Albus Dumbledore. Intent was powerful when it
concerned matters of old magic, and in this instance, Snape
disarming Dumbledore, intending to kill the latter regardless of their
agreement, made him the unintentional master of the Deathstick.
That was until Harry killed Severus Snape, becoming the new
master of the Elder Wand.
Knowing of the wand's power, should it be preserved or destroyed?
If it was preserved, it would always remain a concern at the back of
Harry's mind. Even if his own family disarmed him in a friendly duel,
the wand might switch allegiance. If that happened, no one could
keep track of who the true master was. Things might spiral out of
control several years down the line and could be the cause of a new
war – and Harry did not want that to happen. Hiding it would not
solve the problem either as someone in the future could use it for
their own benefit. The Potter family in the past had been quite
power-hungry and he could not trust his descendants with invincible
power.
Did he truly need the wand? He would still be one of the most
powerful wizards of his generation even without the Elder Wand, just
like Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald and Voldemort had been
before him. There would be several others like him around the world
who were that powerful too, but it was acceptable. He would be
playing the political game now and his goal was to avoid war in the
future. He would have used the Resurrection Stone to talk to his
parents, but why? He had made peace with their deaths and had
removed their remains from their graves in Godric's Hollow and had
cremated them as per the traditions of the Potter family several
years ago. Besides, the dead should stay dead. The Invisibility Cloak
was a great asset, so it would remain with him and his descendants.
It was the Clan's identity.
The Clan ...
A memory from when he was a ten-year-old boy flashed to Harry's
mind ...
"The Master of Death is said to be bestowed with immortality and
immense power," said Alfred Potter, looking at the ten-year-old boy
as they discussed the Potter Massacre and what caused it. "That's
why those objects are so heavily sought after. My nephew told his
so-called allies that we had the Peverell Invisibility Cloak. They
reasoned with themselves that if we had the cloak, we would surely
have the wand and stone as well. With that in mind, they nearly
brought the Potter family to the brink of extinction. We held the
Peverell Lordship for centuries, ever since Aradia Peverell married
into the Potter family, but I buried that title and any information about
our connection with the Peverells after the attack."
"Buried?" asked Harry, surprised. "How? I doubt you could make
everyone forget that you were Lord Peverell! There were bound to
be records of that in Ministry archives, in books, and in the minds of
several people!"
Alfred smiled softly, his ghostly form shimmering in the sunlight in the
classroom at Potter Castle. "You know how the Fidelius Charm
works, don't you?" he asked. Seeing Harry nod, he continued. "This
works on a similar principle but instead of hiding an object, we
decided to hide any information that revealed the continued
existence of the Peverell family. My wife and I altered the charm and
placed it into the Peverell signet ring itself. It was very tricky and it
took us ten years to perfect it, but when we were done, nobody
remembered the merge of the Potter and Peverell families that
occurred centuries earlier. Everyone thought the line had died a long
time ago, and that's what your history books say as well. I was then
known only as Lord of House Potter, not as the Lord of the Peverell
Clan, as we had been known since the early fourteenth century."
"But you essentially gave up a powerful title!" protested Harry, still
retaining his perfectly expressionless face. "Peverell is our name,
our identity! Why would you give up your name? You would have lost
political power and influence, right?"
"Yes, but I realised that our clan's thirst for power actually cost us our
family," explained Alfred patiently. "You don't understand how brutal
the Potter Massacre truly was. For that, you will have to understand
how our family was before the incident. Our clan was so powerful
that we had contacts all over, controlling so much international trade
in the magical world. That's the reason we are so wealthy. Let me tell
you, it was not easy building a business empire. We strived and
worked hard for centuries, so many generations working with a
single vision in mind, and so by the fourteenth century, our might in
international trade was unparalleled. None of our enemies lasted
long as anyone who caused us trouble would find themselves utterly
destitute, their large fortunes lying in our vaults at the castle. We
eliminated all threats, whether Magical or Muggle, whether nobles or
royals. Nothing got in our way of business. If we wanted some
legislation to be passed in the Wizengamot, we used the money we
had at our disposal. We believed ourselves to be untouchable,
arrogantly resting on a large pile of gold," he finished bitterly.
"From being one of the most powerful families in the world, to be
nearly driven to extinction, having to cremate several dozen bodies
of my family members on the same day, from my grandparents,
uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces and other cousins, to my little
grandnephews and grandnieces, was traumatizing. I never
recovered from that, which is why I decided not to move on,
remaining as a ghost. The Potter Massacre changed our clan
forever. We were at risk, with only three members of our once large
family alive. I had to do something to protect the future of our clan.
That's why we decided to hide the Peverell name. What's the point in
having that title if I lose my wife and son? It doesn't matter, Harry.
We are Peverells; no one can deny that. The Clan exists to this day
– in you. We just don't use the title in public. Family above all, Harry,
always remember that. Nothing is worth losing your family due to
something as stupid as money or titles. I learnt that lesson the hard
way. This lesson is something I ensured all my descendants learnt
from the time they were children so that we don't make the same
mistake again."
"But you still gave up your seat on the Wizengamot, didn't you?"
Harry persisted. His ten-year-old mind couldn't understand why his
ancestors would strive so hard to give up a name that gave them
their identity. It was like telling him to give up his last name of Potter
and he couldn't ever imagine doing that. His name had been the only
connection he had to his dead parents when had lived with the
Dursleys. "The castle's wards protected you when they launched an
attack and you prevailed. In that case, why would you want to give
up the power you hold?"
"What power?" asked Alfred, frowning. "I've told you, Harry, we never
had much political power. If we wanted something, we bribed
Wizengamot members to get the legislation passed. The Black
family essentially controlled the Wizengamot and had political
connections throughout Magical Europe. Politics is a heavy
commitment and you need to invest time and money, something we
didn't bother doing as it wasn't profitable. Since we didn't care about
politics, we kept to ourselves. We were more interested in magical
innovation and our business ventures. We still held the vote of the
Potter family, so it wasn't a big deal. We only concealed the name.
Nothing happened to our wealth and the Peverell family magic still
flowed in our veins. The Peverell Clan still existed, but in secret, as
we were known to the public simply as the Most Ancient and Noble
House of Potter. Not as a clan."
"The family magic still exists?" asked Harry surprised.
"Of course it does. What is family magic? It's nothing but the inherent
magic developed in the children of a family through their parents,
again in their children's children, and so on. It's the unique brand of
magic in our blood that ties family members together. Family magic
is like an individual's magical signature – they're unique but unlike
the latter, they also change with every generation. But even with
change, the crux of the magical signature remains the same. Some
families have certain traits that are unique to their bloodline. It can be
a manifestation or a change in the structure of magic that flows in
their blood; I'm not really sure how it truly works as I never studied
blood-magic in detail. Only witches and wizards at the Master's or
Sorcerer's level study family magic. What you need to understand is
that every magical family in the world has family magic. No one can
take it away. It's part of your blood, your very existence and identity."
"The Peverell family magic is still strong in you. Coming back to what
we gave up, let me point out that just because you are considered
nobility doesn't make you special, Harry. The title of 'Lord' gives you
a permanent seat on the Wizengamot and a few fringe benefits –
nothing else! Not all Ancient and Noble Houses are wealthy or
influential; several of them aren't. The House of Ollivander, for
example, is one of the oldest families in the country, but their political
influence is less than zero. The rest of the Wizengamot is comprised
of elected representatives. The heir ring you currently wear on your
finger and the Head of House ring you will inherit on your eleventh
birthday were designed by the family for protection and as a means
of identification. Anyone can have a signet ring made for their family
too, even Muggle-borns! So in essence, the Noble Houses are just a
title for politics, the members holding one permanent seat. That's it!
Now, tell me, what did we lose by hiding the existence of the Most
Ancient and Noble Clan of Peverell?"
Harry thought for a minute as Alfred observed him. "Nothing, really,"
he admitted quietly. "I'm still as much a Peverell as I am a Potter.
The loss of one vote in the legislative body doesn't take away my
identity."
"Exactly," said Alfred, a proud smile on his face as he beamed at his
descendant. "We, in fact, saved our clan from extinction. No power is
worth losing your family, Harry."
Harry nodded slowly, his mind thinking fast. "What happened to the
Peverell signet ring?" he asked curiously.
"Do you remember the secondary blood ward in the bowels of the
castle near the high-security vaults? The place I asked you to pour
several drops of your blood in a small basin? Well, it contains the
Peverell signet ring. There is no secret keeper as it is strictly not a
Fidelius Charm, but it is protected by our family's blood. My wife
placed a very complex intent-based enchantment on it so that if the
ring feels there is someone in our clan who is worthy, it would accept
them as Lord Peverell. If you are indeed capable of protecting your
family in the face of danger, the ring will automatically come to you.
You can then revive the clan. Have you understood what we have
discussed this morning, Harry?"
"Yes, Grandfather," said Harry in his usual monotonous voice, his
intelligent green eyes sparkling with curiosity as he walked towards
the castle's library to find out more information.
Alfred Potter smiled in satisfaction. The boy was going to confirm
everything that was told; good. It meant Harry wouldn't accept
anything at face value. The boy was truly unique and special. If there
was anyone who could revive the clan, it was him.
Sixteen-year-old Harry James Potter stared at the three objects
placed on his table. He had a decision to make. Just as he turned
towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Deathly Hallows glowed.
Identical silvery eyes belonging to Luna Lovegood and Garrick
Ollivander snapped open as they were assaulted by a vision. The
Centaurs observed the stars and planets from their home in the
Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts.
"Mars is unusually bright tonight," said Ronan.
"And to think we thought the war had finally ended, only for the stars
to warn us of another," replied Firenze. "Come, we must warn the
others. We have to prepare for what is eventually going to happen."
With that, the two Centaurs trotted off deeper into the forest.