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.
HP*SAVIOUR OF MAGIC*HP
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.
HP*SAVIOUR OF MAGIC*HP
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.
HP*SAVIOUR OF MAGIC*HP
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.