HP: Night of the Wolf

As ever, the Great Hall had been decorated with festive adornments. A dozen of the largest trees that could be found lined the walls, each trimmed with tinsel, baubles, and housing a family of fairies.

Harry suspected there were other creatures living within the branches, but he hadn't glimpsed them yet.

'Maybe they're nargles?' he thought to himself amusedly, memories of the eccentric, silvery-haired girl coming to the forefront of his mind.

He didn't know about nargles or crumpled horn snorkacks but aside from the loyalty she had shown him the night the teens had ventured to the Ministry, Luna had never failed to amuse him with her odd but endearing ways.

"What are you smiling about, Evans?" Charlus broke in. "We've got potions first."

Harry grimaced at the thought.

Even the absence of Snape had not made him enjoy the subject anymore, and Charlus was in the same boat, though he'd never had to endure the sallow-skinned and hooked-nosed man.

Perhaps being bad at potions really was an inherited curse of sorts?

"But we only have a few days left of term," Harry reminded the boy. "Then no potions for a couple of weeks."

Charlus nodded appreciatively, his demeanour brightening.

"What're you reading there anyway?" Ogden interjected. "You only ever look at the investment pages."

Harry said nothing but slid the morning edition of The Daily Prophet towards the boy.

"Drooble's Best Blowing Gum?"

Harry nodded simply, the advert in the middle of the tabloid a stroke of genius on the part of Mr Gladding.

The man had evidently been busy and had managed to secure a deal with Honeyduke's to sell the product. He'd suggested the advertisement to Harry who had readily agreed, and even paid for the space in the newspaper.

"Wait, isn't that one of the products you invested in?" Charlus questioned.

"It is," Harry confirmed.

"Bloody hell," Tiberius said appreciatively. "It says here that its for sale in Honeyduke's. You're going to be rich!"

"Not rich," Harry disagreed.

The gum would grant him a steady stream of income through sales, but it was not as though he could retire at the tender age of seventeen.

"But it's a start," Charlus pointed out.

Harry nodded.

It was, and though it would be some time before Dr Filibuster's would reach the shelves, that investment too would provide him with a regular income.

As things were, the products were under heavy scrutiny by the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, but Harry was hopeful that snag would not cause a lengthy delay.

Admittedly, he hadn't considered this barrier before investing, but knowing that it would come good meant that he wasn't stressed by it, and as excited as he was to see the products do well, his investment into those were secondary to his latest delving.

He couldn't believe his luck when he had come across a plea from a prospective broom-maker for investment into a prototype he had named the Nimbus 100.

Naturally, Harry had thrown the required gold at the bewildered man, and though his coffers were now significantly less, he knew he would reap considerable benefit from the venture in the coming years.

"I'm pleased for you," Charlus declared proudly. "It's a risky game but it seems to be paying off for you so far."

Minerva shot Harry an amused, knowing look before busying herself by buttering her toast.

Only she knew of the advantage he had.

"So far," Harry replied.

"You're still coming for Boxing Day?"

"I am," Harry confirmed.

This year, he would be spending Christmas with the Flamels. Perenelle had insisted upon that, but the Potters had extended the same invitation they had the previous year.

When they learned he wouldn't be able to spend Christmas day with them, they'd invited him along with the Flamels to the Potter home for the following day.

Much to Harry's surprise, Nicholas and Perenelle were keen to attend also. Either that, or they did not wish for Harry to be put in a position where he'd have to choose between them.

Regardless, it worked out well for all involved, even if Harry suspected the Potters did not know what they were getting themselves into where Nicholas was concerned.

Harry was not worried about Perenelle.

She was a wonderful woman, well-mannered, and kind.

Nicholas was not his wife, however.

"I'm excited to meet the Flamels," Charlus declared. "Nicholas must be a fascinating man."

Harry snorted.

"You don't know the half of it," he chuckled.

Charlus seemingly had a question on the tip of his tongue but was cut off by Poppy as she spoke, nodding towards the door.

"Who's that with Dippet?" she asked.

"I don't know," Minerva replied with a frown, "but they're coming over here."

Harry turned to see the headmaster approaching with a large, unsightly man wearing gold robes. His once black hair was liberally streaked with grey, as was the neatly trimmed goatee. His eyes were a deep brown, and he wore a thoughtful frown as he observed the students around him.

"Ah, Mr Evans," Dippet greeted Harry somewhat concernedly. "This is Vladimir Federov. He is a representative of the Department of Justice for the International Confederation of Warlocks, and he would like a word with you."

"Not a word, Mr Dippet," Federov corrected. "I am here to carry out Mr Evans first assessment. You did apply to be a Hit-Wizard, da?"

Harry nodded as he stood.

"Then you will come with me," Federov instructed. "Mr Dippet? If you can find us a private room that we can use."

"Of course," the headmaster agreed.

Harry made to follow the duo but was stopped from doing so by Minerva who had grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"You actually applied?" she asked worriedly.

"I did," Harry confirmed, trying to ignore the looks of surprise and concern sent his way.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," Minerva sighed as she let go of his sleeve.

She was upset.

For what reason, Harry knew not, but he didn't have time to dwell on it now. The headmaster and his assessor were waiting for him.

"We can speak about it later," he assured the girl, offering her a comforting smile before taking his leave of the hall.

"Your friends do not seem happy by your choice of career," Federov commented.

"They're just worried," Harry said dismissively. "It is different for them. They have their lives planned out already. Mine isn't so simple."

Federov looked at him speculatively before nodding.

"Da," he replied.

Harry watched the man. His eyes wandered constantly, the same way that Moody's used to.

Constant Vigilance!

The words meant more to him now than they ever had.

"Aren't you supposed to give me notice of an assessment?" Harry asked with a frown.

Federov smirked.

"A Hit-Wizard must be ready for anything, any time," he said as though he had repeated the sentence numerous times. "Are you ready, Mr Evans?"

"He we are," Dippet broke in, gesturing to a seldom-used classroom on the third floor. "I'm sure this will suffice."

Federov nodded.

"I would like for you to remain also, Mr Dippet. You did give the reference for Mr Evans."

"I did," the headmaster acknowledged.

"Do you believe he is capable?"

Dippet frowned.

"I would not have supplied the reference if I didn't."

Federov laughed.

"It would surprise you how many times I hear that response," he explained, "but I will be the judge on whether Mr Evans has what it takes. So many boys believe they are ready, but few are," he added, removing a small trunk from within his robes before resizing it.

Harry watched as he removed several items from within, placing them on the floor and nodding satisfactorily when he was done.

"Today, you will demonstrate all that I ask of you. If I am satisfied with your work, I will submit my own recommendation for you to proceed with the application process. If I am not, you will progress no further. Do you understand, Mr Evans?"

"I do."

"Excellent, then we will begin, but before we do, you should be aware that whilst you are being assessed, you are under the laws set out by the ICW that apply to those that hold the position you wish to obtain. That merely means that anything I ask of you will be within your remit for the duration of the assessment, da?"

Harry nodded his understanding.

"I would like you to begin by demonstrating five spells that can be used to subdue or detain a wanted criminal. These should be non-lethal," Federov instructed as he enlarged a training dummy.

Harry began with a simple stunning spell, followed by an immobulus, a body-binding jinx, a transfiguration spell that would turn the feet so they were facing the opposite way, and finished off by conjuring, and wrapping the dummy in thick, iron chains.

"Good," Federov praised. "Now, I would like you to demonstrate two ways that you can conceal yourself effectively, one that will hide you in a hostile area, and one that will allow you to blend in with a crowd."

Harry began with the former by casting silencing and scent-masking charms on himself before disillusioning himself.

When Federov nodded his approval, Harry ended the spells and performed some charms and transfigurations that would alter his features. His hair was now blonde, his eyes blue, and the shape of his cheeks, nose, and chin were different.

None would recognise him like this.

"Very well done, Mr Evans," Federov offered appreciatively. "Your transfiguration and charms work is excellent."

"Indeed," Dippet added.

"Now, although you would be expected to apprehend those you are hunting, there are times where that may not be possible," Federov continued severely. "If you are not able or willing to kill when needed, then you risk death. The people you would be pursuing are as dangerous as they come and will not hesitate to resort to whatever means necessary to evade capture. You dying would mean a lot of paperwork for me, and I would not appreciate that. With this in mind, I would like for you to demonstrate three lethal spells. Do remember, Mr Evans, that I am asking you to demonstrate how you would kill someone if required. No spell is off limits."

With his words given, Federov folded his arms expectantly, and Harry shot a glance towards the headmaster who offered him a reluctant nod.

Bracing himself, he took a deep breath before casting his first.

The chest of the training dummy exploded outwards, showering the floor with splinters, that if were a human, would be a mixture of bone, blood, and tissue.

Federov held up a hand to prevent any further casting whilst he inspected the damage.

"Dead," he declared before repairing the dummy. "Proceed."

Harry's next spell caused the skull of the dummy to compress and collapse under the pressure of the magic.

"What was that spell?" Federov asked with a frown.

There had been no jet of light to indicate Harry's work.

"It's elemental magic," Harry explained. "I used the air in the room to do that."

Federov smirked almost ferally.

"That is quite resourceful and well done," he replied. "I do not need to look closer to tell you this person would be dead."

He repaired the dummy once more and gestured for Harry to continue, his eyes alight with curiosity now.

The man was looking to be impressed, and Harry did not wish to disappoint him.

Taking aim with his wand, he transfigured two of the desks behind the dummy at the back of the classroom into spears before summoning them towards him.

The was a dull thud as they penetrated the dummy, one through the back of the skull, and one through the chest.

Federov clapped his appreciation this time.

"Your work is efficient, and exemplary. Whether you could do this to a person remains to be seen, but that is your worry, Mr Evans. There are three other things that I must cover with you today, and the first will not require your wand."

Harry placed it back up his sleeve.

"On your application, you stated that you have received training in occlumency. It is part of my job to verify any skills you claim to have," Federov explained. "Out of respect for the Mind Arts, I am asking for permission to attempt to breach your defences. If I am successful, I will withdraw immediately."

This was the test that Harry was least looking forward to.

For months, Snape had entered his mind at will, had left him with the worst of headaches, and had seemingly taken joy in it.

Releasing a deep breath, he nodded and Federov slid his wand into his hand.

"Legilimens."

At first, it did not appear that anything was happening, but slowly, a familiar pressure began to fill Harry's head, though it was nothing compared to Snape's presence.

Evidently, the potions master had not held back in his efforts to breach Harry's non-existent defences, the attack feeling like a battering ram against a door whereas Federov's felt more like a lockpick trying to ease his way in.

"You must have had an excellent instructor," the man commented, having ceased his attack. "Your defences are exceedingly strong for one your age."

Harry frowned.

Had that been it?

He had no headache, and he had barely had to resist against Federov's efforts. Oddly, he found himself somewhat disappointed by this.

Had Snape's harsher approach benefitted him?

There was no other explanation for it, though Harry knew the man was an excellent practitioner of the Mind Arts, second only to Voldemort according to Dumbledore.

He shook his head, never believing that he would be grateful for anything Severus Snape had taught him.

"There are only two other tests," Federov reminded him, breaking into Harry's thoughts. "Your defences are strong, but they can count for very little when facing one determined enough to take control of your mind. With your permission, I would place you under the Imperius Curse to see how well you can resist it."

"Is that really necessary?" Dippet asked worriedly.

Harry waved the headmaster off.

He had no doubt that he could do this.

If Voldemort couldn't control him, then he doubted that Federov would have any more success than the Dark Lord.

"Imperio!"

The man had given no indication that he would cast, nor allowed Harry any time to prepare. Nonetheless, the pleasant warmth that enveloped him was not enough for him to give in to the demands of his assessor.

"Cartwheel for me, Mr Evans… DO IT NOW!"

Harry forced the presence of the man away from him and Federov blinked in surprise.

"Impressive," he muttered, once more eying Harry speculatively, "and finally, you informed us that you are fluent in another language, as is a requirement for all applicants. What language will you be assessed in?"

Whilst he was speaking, he removed a case from within his pocket and enlarged it.

Inside were dozens of coloured, glass orbs.

"Parseltongue," Harry answered.

Federov was taken aback and unleashed a bark of laughter.

"I do not have an orb that can test that," he chuckled. "Perhaps you could find another way to demonstrate for me?"

Harry frowned before nodding and drawing his wand.

With a hiss, he summoned a large cobra that was not best pleased by the intrusion.

It spat angrily, its' hood flaring as it reared up defensively.

"Stop!" Harry commanded.

The serpent turned to him, its tongue flicking out to taste the air.

"No one will harm you, just calm down."

The cobra continued gazing for a moment before nodding and lying flat on the ground.

"Can I pick you up?" Harry asked.

"Only because the floor is cold," the snake replied. "I do not like the cold."

Harry laughed as he wrapped the snake around his shoulders where it buried his head into his neck, sighing contentedly.

"I think I have seen enough," Federov declared, packing away his things.

"How did I do?" Harry asked.

Federov smirked.

"Better than most," he answered cryptically. "I will be in touch in due course, but if I was you, I would begin thinking of an alias you would like to use. You do not want to become the hunter that is the hunted, Mr Evans."

"I will," Harry assured him.

"Then we will meet again, when the time is right," Federov returned. "Mr Dippet, if you could see me out?"

The headmaster nodded, offering Harry an encouraging smile as the two left the room.

For a moment, Harry absentmindedly stroked the scales of the conjured serpent, pondering the strange and unexpected morning he'd had.

Still, it had gotten him excused from potions, and if Federov was as impressed as he seemed to be, one step closer towards obtaining his Hit-Wizard licence.

"Would you like me to send you back?" he asked the cobra.

He received no response.

The snake had fallen asleep on his shoulders, and instead of disturbing the dozing creature, he carefully lowered himself to the floor.

The snake had helped him out, and the least he could do was allow it to rest.

(Break)

The gathered Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot eyed him curiously as he entered the chambers, some whispering amongst themselves, likely wondering just what he was doing here.

Arcturus ignored them, his eyes firmly on Minister Fawley, his expression matching that of his peers.

"Mr Black is there something we can do for you?" the Minister asked.

"I am here to represent my family in my father's stead. His ill-health means that he is incapable of doing so with the attention the position of the Lord Black requires."

Fawley frowned at Arcturus.

"We have not been informed of this by your father," he explained.

"That is because he is unable to do so," Arcturus returned.

"And we know why that is," Lord Parkinson called across the silent room, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

Arcturus's nostrils flared.

"I'm sure you do, Parkinson," Arcturus growled. "I suppose Selwyn there has been very liberal with his inability to keep his mouth shut. What he forgets is that he is dealing with the Blacks, and he will be dealt with in due course. Unless you wish to find yourself in a similar position, you will shut your trap."

Parkinson snorted.

"You think that I am scared of you boy?"

Arcturus shrugged.

"Perhaps not, but perhaps you should be. I am not my father, Parkinson. Do not think that I won't pull the plug on every little venture you have in place with the current Lord Black at my earliest convenience. Or I could simply expose you for the sneaky bastard you are. I have seen the letter you sent to my father after you became aware of his condition. I have seen all of them," he added to the room at large. "Now, if there are no objections, I will take my seat."

"You do not belong here, boy!" Selwyn interjected.

Arcturus glared at the man before smirking.

"I think you're mistaking my demeanour as bluster," he sighed. "I thought this would happen, so to show how serious I am, I've already taken a few steps. Since it was you that was the catalyst for the others to begin making their ridiculous requests, I have cut off all ties between the Selwyn family and the Blacks. That means that any assets that have been paid from my family to yours will be returned in full, that any shared businesses we have will be terminated, and any monthly stipend you receive from past marriages or other arrangements will discontinue from today. My lawyer and the goblins were very helpful with that."

Arcturus removed a thick envelope from within his robes and banished it towards the dumbfounded Lord.

"That will explain everything you need to know," he said with a grin. "Maybe if I believe you have learned a lesson in five years or so, I may reconsider."

In the interim, Selwyn had torn the missive open and shook his head as he read the contents.

"You can't do this!" he snarled. "You do not have the power!"

"It is done," Arcturus replied. "As the Black heir, it is well within my power to take whatever action I see fit if it is deemed that the current Lord cannot fulfil his duties to the best of his ability. You have sixty days to pay what you owe, or I will take everything."

Selwyn had paled and Arcturus gave the man a final look of disapproval before turning his attention back to Fawley.

"You have my apologies, Minister, but it was necessary to demonstrate the ruthlessness I possess. I do hope the rest of the Lords and Ladies were paying attention."

"It was unmissable," the Minister commented cautiously. "If there are no objections to Mr Black acting in his father's stead?"

None spoke, evidently cowed by Arcturus's show of strength, not that the Black heir was content with only dealing with Selwyn. In the coming days, there were several others within this room that would be brought to heel for their attempted transgressions against his family.

They would learn that Arcturus was indeed a Black of his word and not the inexperienced fool they believed him to be.

"Since there are no objections, please take your seat, Mr Black," Fawley urged.

Arcturus did so, shooting a final warning glare to those situated around him, and releasing an internal breath of relief.

His efforts had not gone as smoothly as he would have liked, but it could have been worse.

He would have preferred to keep the family business affairs private, but Selwyn had steered his hand with his stupidity.

Still, it had been rather satisfying dealing with the fool, and the sight of the man squirming uncomfortably in his seat brought a grin of amusement to Arcturus's lips.

(Break)

"I didn't think he would actually apply," Poppy grumbled.

The Gryffindor teens were waiting in the common room for Harry to return. Lessons for the day had finished some time ago, and yet, there was still no sign of him.

"This is Harry we're talking about," Charlus huffed. "We should have known that he would."

"But what about his investments?" Augusta asked. "If they're going well, then he doesn't have to be a Hit-Wizard."

"He doesn't have to be one anyway," Tiberius cut in. "He's doing it because that's what he wants to do."

Minerva nodded her agreement.

She would not pretend to be thrilled by Harry's choice of career, but who was she to try to deter him from it?

For her, she had the benefit of understanding some of what Harry had been through throughout his life, but to the others, he was making an uninformed decision or simply didn't know what he was getting himself into.

Minerva doubted the latter notion.

Harry wouldn't subject himself to the unknown in such a reckless way. He knew exactly what he was signing up for.

"The question is, what do we do to stop him?" Poppy questioned.

Tiberius shook his head.

"Come off it Pops, you know as well as any of us that if Harry has made his mind up about something, you won't change it. Just look at what he did with the investment thing."

"But this isn't an investment where he might only lose a bit of gold," Augusta pointed out. "This really could get him killed. Can't you talk him out of it, Minnie?"

"Do you really think he would listen?" Minerva returned. "He's a stubborn sod, and Tiberius is right. He won't change his mind if it is what he wants to do."

"So, we do nothing?" Poppy asked.

Minerva nodded morosely.

"We support him," Charlus decided. "If this is really what he wants to do, then who are we to try to stop him. He's our friend, and just because he's a reckless idiot that I'm going to strangle, this doesn't change that."

Although the thought of Harry intentionally putting himself in danger didn't sit right with her, Minerva could find no point to argue.

Just because she and the others didn't agree with his choice, that didn't give them the right to try to talk him out of it.

"He's a reckless idiot," she agreed, "but he's our reckless idiot."

"Ah, thanks," the voice of Harry spoke from the entrance to the common room. "The idiot part I could do without."

"I could call you a prat instead," Minerva offered dryly.

"You could, but then you wouldn't be getting a Christmas present."

"And what did you buy her this year?" Tiberius asked.

"Probably her own Quidditch team," Poppy snorted.

Harry shook his head.

"No, something much simpler, and something she will get much more use out of."

Minerva eyed him suspiciously, the look of mischief in his eyes bringing a smile to her lips.

It was not often they saw this side to him.

For the most part, Harry was quite a serious boy, something that Minerva understood, but occasionally, when he was relaxed, he would offer a glimpse of the same cheek that Charlus possessed, and it warmed her to see him so carefree.

"How did it go?" Tiberius asked Harry.

"It went well, I think," Harry answered. "I won't know until he contacts me, but I didn't fail anything."

"And this is what you really want to do?" Charlus pressed.

"It is," Harry confirmed. "I don't expect any of you to understand, but this is something I will be good at. I will get to see the world, and make a real difference," he added thoughtfully.

Harry had plans.

Minerva knew this, and though he hadn't divulged any details, he had to have them.

Whether they amounted to merely preventing his parents being murdered or something on a bigger scale, he was thinking ahead, and she couldn't shake the belief that becoming a Hit-Wizard played into those plans.

Perhaps she would be able to discuss it with him?

If anything, knowing what his true intentions were may just set her mind at ease.

She just hoped he'd be willing to share.

Him gallivanting across the globe and getting into all sorts of trouble whilst she was in Scotland was not appealing to her.

No, she would broach the subject with him when she got the chance.

"So, are we going to do presents tonight?" Poppy asked excitedly, the group no happier with Harry's choice but content to let it lie for now.

(Break)

Christmases had come and gone like any other day of the year for centuries. Even Perenelle had grown tired of the frivolities of the festive season long ago, so the Flamels did not really celebrate.

They always exchanged gifts, but they didn't prepare a special lunch or decorate their home. This year, however, was different.

Harry had joined them, and though Nicholas could not remember how it felt to be so young, both he and his wife had insisted upon a more traditional affair for the sake of the boy.

He had arrived late the previous evening, had greeted them as one would when held with fondness.

Nicholas liked to think that Harry had indeed grown fond of them. If he hadn't, he hid it well.

At least a few times a week they would exchange letters via the box Nicholas had gifted him just a year ago.

The boy was doing well despite his difficult position, and Nicholas was immensely proud of him.

He watched as Harry cut into his roast beef and couldn't help but compare him to the last boy he and Perenelle had welcomed into their home.

Albus and Harry were similar in so many ways: both brilliant, both talented, and dedicated to anything they undertook.

But that was where their similarities ended.

Both had encountered their fair share of adversity during their youth, and both dealt with it in their own ways.

Albus had become introverted, his ambitions being quelled by what he had experienced. He had turned his talents to teaching, a position where he could gain little power, something he believed he should never be granted.

Harry was the opposite.

Instead of allowing himself to be brought down by all that had befallen him, he had become vengeful, determined to ensure those that had harmed him would pay dearly for doing so.

Were it not for the fact that he was such a caring and sweet boy, Nicholas may have been concerned about his motivations, but he wasn't.

Harry was a survivor, a product of the life-threatening situations he had overcome. Yes, he was vengeful, but in a way that in light of all that had happened to him was unavoidable.

Albus may have shied away from his problems and buried himself in his work, but that was not Harry.

Perhaps it was an unexpected effect of the ritual, but Nicholas did not believe so.

It was simply the man Harry was growing into.

"Albus mentioned that you had applied to become a Hit-Wizard," Nicholas spoke, eliciting a nod from the boy.

"I have," Harry confirmed. "I had thought about being an auror, but I won't work for the Ministry."

Nicholas nodded his understanding.

"I think it will be a good career for you," he replied. "You are talented enough and have faced more than your share of dangerous situations."

"Nicholas do not encourage him," Perenelle chastised.

"Harry needs no encouragement from me."

"I don't," Harry agreed.

"All I wish to know is what is motivating you to do this?" Nicholas asked. "You are talented enough that you do not need to, and I know that you have a reason."

Harry deflated.

"I don't know what else to do," he sighed. "I know there's not much I can do to stop the war, but this is something. This way, I can be on the continent, learning what I need to, and if the chance comes along to get rid of some of the worst of them, I will take it."

Nicholas nodded.

"This war, will it truly be so bad?"

"Millions will die," Harry answered ruefully. "Muggles, and us."

"Millions?" Perenelle gasped. "You're not exaggerating?"

"I wish I was, but no. This will be the worst war in muggle and magical history."

"Merde," Nicholas sighed. "I do not wish to discourage you, Harry, but what do you plan on doing?"

Harry shrugged.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, "but being a Hit-Wizard will give me the chance to be in the best place possible when I need to act."

Nicholas hummed.

"But there is one thing that you are forgetting," he said matter-of-factly. "If you are registered with the ICW, they can call upon you to fight on their behalf. You could find yourself on the frontline, in open battle."

Harry nodded.

"I know, but if that's what it takes, then that's what I will do."

Nicholas didn't know if he should feel proud or concerned by how willing the boy was to be in the middle of the conflict, so he decided to not comment.

Harry would do what he felt was best and there was nothing that would deter him from doing so.

Perenelle knew it to, and without saying a word, the two agreed that all there was to be done was to be there for the boy when he needed them.

He would eventually.

Even if it was to merely come to terms with what he would see and do, he would need them, and Nicholas could only hope that the boy before him would live to see that day.

He frowned as his mind wandered to the prophecy surrounding Harry and this Dark Lord whose destinies had been intertwined.

…and either must die at the hand of the other…

Oddly, the words filled the aged alchemist with comfort.

If the prophecy was to be believed, Harry would not die on a battlefield somewhere on the continent. His end would only come at the hand of this Voldemort, and though Nicholas did not relish the thought of the boy facing such a dangerous foe, his odds of defeating one opponent were much higher than the dangers of being in a position where an errant spell could strike him down.

No, if Nicholas had his way, he would keep Harry away from the coming conflict, but that was not to be, nor would his death come from it.

Harry's fate would be determined when facing the foe that had marked him as his equal.

And what an equal he was becoming.

(Break)

As it had always been, Minerva had spent much of her Christmas day in church mixing with her father's flock. Her life at home was a far cry from what it was in the magical world. Here, she did not use her wand even though she was now old enough to do so.

Her parents had not forbidden it, but her mother had once gone to great lengths to hide what she was, and Minerva did not wish to make her father feel uncomfortable.

He had never told her that he was disappointed that she was a witch, but he had not been thrilled by it either.

He had allowed her to attend Hogwarts using the same lie her mother had when her parents first met.

According to the villagers, Minerva attended a special boarding school that meant she would be away most of the time.

It wasn't a lie really, but it felt like one.

She did attend a special school, though not one any of the muggles could know of.

If truth be told, she didn't fit in here.

She was a witch and a proud one at that.

She couldn't envision living the life her mother had, concealing what she was, and hiding her wand from the man she had married.

Robert McGonagall still struggled with the secret he carried, the teachings of his god clashing with the necessity of protecting his wife and daughter.

Her father was a good man, and an honest one to boot, torn in two directions by things that meant everything to him.

It was no wonder his life was not an easy one.

"Minerva?" her mother called as she knocked gently on her bedroom door before entering. "I just wanted to see that you're okay. You've been very quiet since you came home."

Minerva nodded.

"I'm fine."

"You don't seem it."

Minerva snorted.

Her mother had always been able to see through her efforts to hide her moods. She wasn't fine, not really, but she didn't know what else to say on what was plaguing her thoughts than she already had to her friends.

"Come on," her mother urged. "Let's get some hot chocolate and you can tell me about it. Your father has fallen asleep in front of the fire and won't wake up for a while yet."

Despite her rather down demeanour, Minerva smiled and nodded.

Her father always slept after a long service.

"Where on earth did you get that?" her mother suddenly asked, pointing to the broomstick carefully leaned up against the wall.

Minerva had brought her Comet home so that she could clean and polish it over the holidays.

"It was a Christmas gift last year from a friend," she explained.

"That must be quite a friend," Isobel commented. "I know I have been out of the wizarding world for some time, but I know brooms can be rather expensive. Who is this friend?"

"Harry," Minerva answered simply.

The boy would undoubtedly come up in conversation shortly, so she felt no need to hide the truth from her mother.

There was enough of that in the McGonagall home.

"Harry? As in a boy?"

Minerva nodded and she felt her cheeks warming.

"It's not like that," she denied.

Isobel held up a hand.

"It's not my business," she said simply. "You're a woman now, Minerva, your choices are your own. I would not interfere in such things."

She wouldn't.

Isobel Ross had been all but disowned by her family for her choice in husband, her parents and relatives unable to come to terms with her marrying a muggle.

If nothing else, Minerva's mother would never treat her the way she had been treated.

"So, this Harry brought you a broom?"

Minerva nodded as her mother leaned in, her eyes twinkling excitedly.

"And what did he get you this year?" she asked.

Minerva grinned as she pointed to the corner of the room.

"A cat bed?" Isobel asked confusedly.

Despite herself, Minerva giggled, the warmth in her cheeks increasing.

"If you knew the story behind it, you'd understand," she explained.

Instead of something lavish, Harry had indeed bought her a cat bed.

Somewhere to sleep if you have need of it

That was the simple note he had written to her, and even though it wasn't a broom or anything of the sort, he couldn't have picked a more meaningful present for her.

"Well, I'm certainly lost," Isobel declared.

"Then I suppose I have some explaining to do," Minerva sighed, already feeling embarrassed by what she was going to share with her mother.

(Break)

When Charlus had broached the subject of inviting the Flamels to spend Boxing Day with the Potters, he hadn't even considered the possibility that it would be accepted.

He'd thought they'd receive a polite refusal, but no, the almost mythical man and his wife had graciously accepted.

He watched amusedly as his mother flapped about the kitchen, ensuring that everything was in order. Even William Potter who was as unshakable as they came was visibly nervous about hosting the prominent couple.

Charlus wasn't in such a state.

Maybe he was too young to understand the importance of the occasion, but he thought it more likely that he had ready some of the letters Harry had shared with his uncle.

Nicholas Flamel may well be a living legend, but he was still a man, and one with a proclivity towards upsetting his neighbours when the opportunity arose.

Evidently, that was quite often.

"They're here," William announced, releasing a deep breath as he left the room to greet the Flamels at the arrival point set aside for invited guests.

Harry had been gifted a portkey that would bring them here by William when they had departed the Hogwarts Express for the holidays.

"Please Lord Potter, you may call me Nicholas, I do not carry a title such as the one you do."

The man and woman that entered the room were aged, but not as advanced as Charlus had expected.

What would a six-hundred-year-old person look like anyway?

He shook his head of that thought as Harry appeared behind the conversing adults.

"Then you may call me William," his father insisted. "I see no need for formalities."

Nicholas Flamel chuckled.

"And this must be your wife Angelica," he said warmly, taking the woman's hand in his own before brushing his lips across the back of her knuckles. "It is a pleasure."

"Thank you for joining us," Angelica replied.

Nicholas offered her a smile before turning his attention to Charlus who felt the gaze of the man rest on him.

"This would be our son, Charlus," William introduced.

The teen accepted the offered hand, his grip matching that of the older man.

"Of course. Harry speaks very highly of you, of all of you," Nicholas added. "Oh, where are my manners. This is my wife, Perenelle."

"It is wonderful to meet you," Charlus said, offering the woman a bow.

"I see you've been reading the book," Harry broke in with a grin.

Charlus narrowed his eyes at the other boy.

"Come closer and I'll wrap it around your head. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?"

"Charlus!" Angelica chastised.

"Book? What book?" Nicholas queried.

Charlus huffed as he removed the offending item from within his robes and handed it to the man.

"101 ways to woo your woman," Flamel read aloud, laughing as he finished. "You bought this for him?"

Harry nodded unashamedly.

"I'm sure he will get some use out of it when he decides to ask someone out," Harry said pointedly. "He has the charm of a troll."

"I do not," Charlus denied.

"Alright you two, that's enough," William interjected, smirking at the teens. "Both of you are probably as clueless as each other when it comes to women."

"That is likely," Nicholas agreed. "Ah, before I forget. Harry explained that you look after a village as part of your duties to your title. This is something for your people," he added, removing an envelope from within his robes and handing it to the Potter lord.

"That is very generous of you Mr- Nicholas," William replied gratefully.

Nicholas waved him off.

"Your family has looked after Godric's Hollow since even before I was born. That is true loyalty, and a duty that you did not need to take up. If I remember correctly, it was the Peverells that once held the position of protectors."

"You know your history well," William complimented.

Nicholas nodded.

"Even during my younger years, the Peverells were a mysterious family, a legacy that has only grown over the past centuries. I suppose there will always be those that seek the Hallows."

"The Hallows?" Harry asked.

"A story that most would believe to be an old wives' tale," Nicholas replied. "Three brothers, three items of considerable power, and the mysterious figure said to be Death."

"What's a Hallow?" Harry pressed.

"Well, in this case, the three hallows were magical artefacts that the Peverell brothers possessed, but I suppose William would be the better of us to explain. I fear it has likely changed several times since I heard it as a boy."

"The hallows were said to be gifted to the three brothers by Death as a reward for tricking him: An unbeatable and powerful wand, a stone that could bring back the dead, and a cloak of true invisibility."

"Indeed," Nicholas chimed in. "People spend their lives hunting these items to seize their power. The only one I have even heard rumours of is the wand that has changed hands over the centuries."

"Do you believe the story, Nicholas?" William asked somewhat nervously.

Nicholas shrugged.

"I do not see why they cannot exist. I have invented a stone that will keep me alive for as long as I wish. It is not difficult for me to believe they could be out there somewhere, though I would like to think that the families that came into possession of them have kept them safe. Who knows what trouble could be had if they were to fall into the wrong hands?

William nodded his agreement.

"It could be very dangerous," he agreed.

Charlus looked between his father and the aged alchemist curiously, his mind wandering to his own cloak the former had given him on his eleventh birthday.

"Look after it, Charlus. This cloak has been in our family for generations and is more special than you will ever know."

It couldn't possibly be, could it?

He knew not, but Harry seemed to be just as puzzled, a frown creasing his brow as he seemingly pondered the veracity of the tale.

Little did he know, he was possibly less than only a few dozen feet away from one of them.

If the cloak Charlus owned was indeed the one the story spoke of, then it was an invaluable magical item.

The Tale of the Three Brothers had been read to him as a boy, but he had not made the connection between the story and his very own cloak.

Not until now at least, and as he followed the rest of the group to the table, he couldn't help but think what had happened to the others.

Where was the stone that raise the dead, and where was this unbeatable wand?

The thought of facing a foe carrying such a weapon did not sit right with him, and though he had his doubts, a part of him wished that the story was not real.

If it was, then somewhere out there was someone that possessed the wand, and that didn't sit right with him at all.